Page 23 of Marry Me, Right Now

“Yeah,” she looked a bit guilty. “If you want me to decorate a little, I should know something about the art in your condo. I thought that skimming through this would refresh my memory from art classes, and help me brainstorm. Plus it will look great on the shelf.”

“Good thinking,” I said.

“It’s over a hundred dollars though. Is that okay? It’s supposed to be the most complete textbook out there.”

I gave her an exasperated sigh. “Mia, you couldn’t possibly spend too much money.” Chuckling, I added, “I should force you to spend five thousand a week just to get used to it.”

She glared at me, looking positively horrified.

“Okay, for a start, you should buy all of this with your new credit card.”

“Oh, okay,” she said in a tiny voice.

“I’ll get you a new one with your new name as soon as I can,” I said brightly. The way she pasted on a smile almost convincingly was reassuring.

M I A

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CHANGING JOBS

As I got ready to go to my place of work for probably the last time, I couldn’t stop humming that old country song about taking your job and shoving it. My manager hadn’t been that bad, as far as overbearing men who adore bossing you around go. But last minute schedule changes, the constant lack of respect, and endless reminders that my life was subject to his whims were quite exhausting.

Suddenly being a lady of leisure was an alien concept to me. I had been working various jobs since I was sixteen years old, and although my job did not define my identity, working was part of who I was.

As I marched into the café, trying to appear outwardly calm, I realize that my only line of defense would be to imagine myself as Jacob’s employee now. We were working on a project together.

As I filled out the little resignation for

m, that I assume he had put in place due to the extremely high turnover of women working in this shop, I realized I didn’t even know Jacob’s full address. My final check would have to be mailed, or I could make up some excuse to come pick it up instead.

I pulled out my phone to stall for a moment, thinking that perhaps checking my calendar was a logical thing to do. Next week would be swamped with wedding plans, but surely I’d be able to take a moment to pop in.

Just then, a text came in from Jacob.

“Here is your new address. I think you mentioned you were going to quit your job today. In case you need anything mailed to you, please feel free to have it sent to your new home. The concierge can accept any packages and hold them for you. Have a great day!”

I couldn’t believe it. He was helpful, nearly bordering on eager. My logical mind said that he was trying to make everything go smoothly so that I would be comfortable and not jeopardize our marriage arrangement. But on a more emotional level, I felt cared for. Nurtured.

Quickly filling out the form with my brand new address, I wondered how excited real wives were when filling out their new address, their new name for the first time. So many firsts that real wives were likely completely thrilled about, but for me, it was sort of hollow. I was excited but didn’t feel that it was right to be.

I dropped the paperwork on the manager’s desk, grabbed the bottle of hand sanitizer and extra ponytail holders from my cubby, and left quickly before any of the staff could begin making dramatic farewells. I didn’t have the energy for embarrassment or faking emotions today. I had to save that up for my new project.

Walking briskly to the subway, I finally allowed myself a sigh of relief. Tears pricked at my eyes as I gazed over to the little park where I had spent so many lunch breaks, trying to figure out what to do with my life.

This was actually happening. My new job was paid wife, and in a year, I would be a millionaire. It was ridiculous. Having a secret of this magnitude was odd, like a heavy, foreign object taking up a lot of space in my mind. Holding this in would be a challenging mental exercise, or at least, that was how I’d have to frame it to myself.

After spending an hour packing up my two rolling suitcases, and leaving Stacy’s apartment as spotless as possible with a thank you note on the kitchen table, I lugged the essentials of my life back onto the subway, and down to Jacob’s condo.

I felt like an urchin entering a posh hotel as I rolled my stuff into the grand lobby.

“May I help you, Miss?” The concierge jumped up.

“No, thanks. I can handle it.”

“Of course, Miss. Mr. Stoneburrowes is currently at home. He just picked up your new pass and keys.”

He must have registered the surprise written all over my face. “Welcome to the building, Miss. I’m Zav.”

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