Page 103 of Just (Fake) Married
“Why epic?” I asked, softly.
“Because safe kissing you is pretty amazing, so I have to imagine that really kissing you would blow my mind,” he said, with a mischievous chuckle.
You know when you’re a kid and you fall asleep on the couch, or the backseat of the car, and you wake up for just a second and you hear the hum of your parents voices? And it’s comforting. You think, I’m safe. Here.
Ethan’s laughter was like that.
Like a hug.
“Let’s just get back to cleaning out some of these boxes,” I said, making sure we were focused on the business at hand.
Because of course, this was my life, the next box I opened was a box of vibrators.
Jesus, Mary and Tom Hanks.
“What?” he asked, looking at my face. He stepped closer so he could look in the box. “Holy shit,” he laughed.
“My sisters used to do all these direct sales parties. Skin care and cooking stuff. Jewelry. Well, their last one was selling vibrators to women at bachelor parties.” I went to shut the box but he kept it open.
“My brother mentioned that,” he said.
“It went gangbusters for about a year and then tapered off when everyone in town that was marrying age got married.”
“So, these are the vibrators no one wanted?” He asked, lifting up a box that highlighted multiple speed settings.
“They’re waiting for the next round of bachelorette parties,” I said. It was cyclical in the Gulch, every three years, we had a wedding boom, and then a year later, a baby boom, like cicadas.
Or at least, that’s how it used to be. If we pulled off this festival, it might be again.
“Do you have one of these?” he asked, and I refused to look at him. “You do!” he cried. “Which one?” he asked. He held up another one that said dual stimulator.
I had both. But I was NEVER telling him that.
“I was supporting my sisters,” I said, with so much blood in my face I couldn’t feel my feet.
“Did you bring it with you to my house?” he asked.
“I don’t think that’s your business,” I said primly. But yes, I’d put my vibrators in my bag, in part, because I didn’t want my mom to find them while I was gone. It was one thing living with your mom at my age, it was another thing all together when she found your vibrators.
“Oh,” he laughed. “I’m making it my business.”
This time his laughter didn’t make me feel safe. Nope. I felt endangered. Like I was blind and walking right off a cliff.
“I’m going to take these things down to my truck,” I said, referring to the boxes of my sisters’ stuff. I needed to get away from him and these four walls. It was getting hard to breathe.
“These boxes, too?” he asked, pointing to Bliss’s stack.
“Yeah, but I…”
“I’m here to help,” he said, and grabbed two of the boxes, stacked on top of each other. “Stop thinking you need to do everything by yourself.”
It would be easy, I thought, to get used to this. Carpooling, casual drop-ins with liver treats. The look in his eyes like he was proud of me.
Just another reason I had to force myself to remember this was all temporary.
Because I was cleaning out this apartment for myself. For my future.
My future without him.
