Page 77 of Wild Side
“Very funny, Doris.” Tabitha laughs to cover the tremor in her voice.
I scowl at Doris as I draw up straight and watch her take Tabitha’s drink order. Then I’m forced to stand around making small talk when what I really want is to be at home.
Alone.
With my wife.
At the end of the night, we both take our respective rides home, me with the guys, and Tabitha with the girls. And when West drops me off, she’s already there, sitting out on the front steps. She has her jacket collar pulled high around her neck to keep the chill out, turning over a white envelope in her hands.
I wave goodbye without taking my attention off her and saunter toward the stairs with a growing sense of dread. Because I’m pretty sure I know what that envelope holds.
It’s the only thing that’s kept me here rather than on the road.
“Marriage certificate is here,” she says with forced enthusiasm, holding it up to me.
“Oh.” I stop and stare at it. I should be happy, because we were waiting for this. It makes everything easier. I go on the road, and Tabitha keeps Milo at home. We eventually only meet up for… I don’t know. Christmas? Easter?
Suddenly, I’m relieved that Tabitha didn’t tell me to keep going earlier. Bad as it stung, having to pull away from her after taking that turn would be worse. No, this is better. We can part ways as two… friendly acquaintances. Sharing nothing but brief moments of insanity to laugh about when Milo is older.
Yes, this is much better. So long as I ignore the nausea building in the pit of my stomach over leaving them, this is just fine.
My feet carry me forward, and I take a tentative seat beside her. I reach for the envelope, and her gaze stays on me as I peel it open. My hand shakes when I pull out the contents, and I know she notices, because she slides a comforting palm over my knee.
Then, under the porch light, I analyze the marriage certificate.Ourmarriage certificate. Tabitha Lynn Garrison. Rhys Malcolm Dupris. I run my fingers over her name and then mine. Her name proudly chosen by her parents, the same middle name as her mom. My name… a mystery. I’ll never get to know why they chose my name, only that people who gave me up assigned it to me along the way by. A thread of shame tightens in me.
“You don’t have to take my last name, you know,” I say, keeping my gaze on the certificate. “I’m not a fan of it either.”
She rests a shoulder against mine. “I love your last name. It’s strong. It suits you. I like the way it sounds with your first name. I just…”
“I know. We’re not?—”
“No, it’s not you. It’s Milo. He’s a Garrison. I feel like matching that will just be easier for school and stuff as he gets older. And I feel tied to my sister with our last name in a way. I’m actually not sure I’ll ever change it.”
I nod. “Smart. That makes sense.”
And it is. And it does. But something about it hurts. I’m still on the outside. Still on my own. I’ve got a pretend family—but not a real one.
I bump my shoulder against hers. “I’m gonna have to hit the road now, you know.”
“I know.” It grows so quiet that I can hear her swallow. “How long will you be gone?”
“I don’t know. I need to make up for some lost time. Anthony is far too excited about the creative liberties they can take while I’m not there.” I scrub a hand over my mouth, somehow dreading saying this out loud. “Weeks? The lead-up to Pure Pandemonium will be busy.”
“Weeks,” she repeats the word back to me as though it’s new to her. “Okay.”
“I’ll… uh…” I clear my throat, feeling emotional about leaving them forweeks. This woman and this little boy who I’ve grown to… care for. “I’ll make sure I pick Milo up in the morning, say goodbye to your parents and him. Maybe I’ll take him to the park for a bit; Then I should drive to the city and start heading back.”
“Okay. Yeah, of course. Sounds good.”
Her thumb moves in a circle on my knee, and my lips quirk up.
That’s my move.
“I’m going to hit the hay,” she says, pushing to stand.
I nod, but don’t look up. Then her fingers glide into my hair, combing through tentatively. Nothing like earlier today. When the tips of her fingers slip from my scalp, I miss the pressure of them. The heat of her nearness.
God. I’m so fucked.
