Page 26 of Dearly Unbeloved
“Between you and me, I’m really happy that it’s your family Rose married into. She’s always seemed so lonely, and you know what our parents are like. It was so healing for me to be accepted by the Michaelsons—Maggie, too—and feel like a part of a real family for a change.”
I push a piece of arugula around my plate with my fork, squirming uncomfortably.
“How did your parents take it? Were they excited?” Jazz asks, but I don’t look up. I can’t look up.
“Yeah, they were really excited. They can’t wait to meet Rose.”
“That’s sweet. She deserves a good family to look up to—and you both deserve a marriage like your parents, Sierra. Don’t get me wrong, I’m still a little baffled and blindsided, but I’m happy for you both.”
I thank her, then hide behind my almost empty coffee cup, dragging out the last mouthful.
All I’ve ever wanted is a relationship like my parents have. Marriage is a sacred thing between them, and I knowKyo struggles with the fact he’ll never get to marry both people he loves. Yet here I am, trampling all over something so important to them. They would be ashamed of me if they found out. They’re going to be devastated when Rose and I get divorced.
I know I’m not entirely blameless here, but fuck Rose for putting me in this position. Fuck her for being so unbothered by it all.
What I need is a break—from Rose, from the guilt, from all of it. What I need is to spend my Friday night in a bar, and to leave with someone who’s going to make me forget all about Rose Cannon.
13
SIERRA
Ilook myself over in the mirror, smoothing my hands over the tight, burgundy leather-style pants. They’re not my usual style, but they were on clearance and I’ve never met a bargain I could pass up—even when my closet is already overflowing with shit I never wear.
It’s been a long week since family dinner last Friday, and I need to get out of here. Being stuck in an apartment with Rose is shitty at the best of times. Being stuck here while we’re learning to navigate our new situation? So much worse.
When we initially agreed to stay married, I didn’t think anything would change at home. I figured that we’d only notice it when we were around others, lying our asses off. But there have been constant reminders, and, just like at breakfast with Jazz, the guilt is eating me alive.
First, it was our official marriage certificate. It arrived the Monday after family dinner and I didn’t want to lose it, so I stuck it to the fridge with the purplepoker chip magnet, assuming Rose would file it away wherever she keeps all her important shit. But she didn’t. Five days later, and it’s still stuck up there, a glaring reminder every time I want a snack.
Then, the gifts started arriving. Rose’s parents clearly feel guilty about how they acted at family dinner, because they’ve sent thousands of dollars worth of gifts: gift cards, kitchen shit, fancy towels, bedding, and, weirdly, a personalized welcome mat. Rose still isn’t speaking to them, but she wrote out a thank-you card and mailed it to them.
They must have told their friends about us, too, because packages have been arriving daily from people I haven’t heard of. I felt guilty at first until Rose pointed out that most of them probably outsource gift-sending to their personal assistants and wouldn’t notice the dent in their bank accounts.
The gift that bothered me most, though, was the drawing Kami’s daughter, Lexi, drew for us. It’s mostly scribbles, but it’s two clearly defined people, one with black hair, one with yellow, and a giant purple heart. She even painted a frame for us. Every time I look at it, displayed by the TV, I wonder how many asshole points Rose and I gained for lying to a four-year-old. Probably more than I want to know.
But tonight, I’m putting all of that out of my brain. I’m going to my favorite lesbian bar to have a drink, meet a woman, go home with her, and have so many orgasms that I don’t spend a second thinking about?—
Shit. We never talked about this. I should probably ask Rose if she’s cool with me hooking up with other womenwhile we’re married. Knowing her, she’ll probably say no just to spite me. I grab my purse and heels and head out into the living room.
Rose is lying on the couch with her feet up, a barely cracked paperback in her hand (god forbid she breaks the spine). I perch on the arm of the couch, and she doesn’t bother hiding her sigh as she puts the book down.
“What?”
“I’m going out tonight,” I say, and she raises an eyebrow that clearly says, “and why would I care?” I count to three in my head. “I wanted to make sure you were okay with me sleeping with other women.”
Rose furrows her brow. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Because wearetechnically married.”
“Legally, yes. But that’s it. Personally, we still hate each other’s guts, and I don’t care what you do.”
Succinct and a little mean: the Rose Cannon specialty.
“Great. In that case...” I stand and head toward the door.
“Where are you going?”
“I thought you didn’t care,” I say, looking back over my shoulder.
