Page 61 of The Wrong Brother

“Wow. That changes—” I lean down, kissing his bottom lip softly, “absolutely nothing. My terms: stay with me. The end.”

He chuckles, kissing me passionately. “You drive a hard bargain, Brookner. Are you sure that’s all you want?”

“I only want you, Raff. Hug friends, shower friends, nap friends, book club friends, sex friends…I want it all with you.”

39

rafferty

I wake up the next morning to an empty bed. After yesterday the last thing I was expecting is waking without Catherine in my arms. There is early morning sunlight streaming through the windows and before I can call out to her, Catherine is padding into our room. No one in the history of the world has ever woken up as naturally beautiful as my Cat. Her golden waves are sleep mussed, her soft blue eyes are still sleepy, and she has the cutest little crease on her cheek from how she slept on it. She brings me a mug of coffee and puts a small circle of fabric in my hand.

It looks like she made me another patch. I fucking love these things. They’re so creative and thoughtful as well as unique—our own inside jokes, lovingly crafted by my love. They were telling me how she felt all along and I was too stuck in my head, too much of a dumbass to see it. I smooth it down on my lap, running my fingers over all the carefully stitched images. The outer frame has small replicas of the items she used on the previous patches: flowers, bubbles, pillows, lips, all the little things to represent the facets of our friendship. There are a couple of new ones and I can feel a dopey grin growing on my face as the full picture comes together. The center of the patch has a bold, elegant script reading “M.T.F.” The bottom, like all the others, has a small cursive “R & C” but the top has two rings, intertwined. She’s watching me take it all in, always the picture of patience. I pull her down into my lap, smoothing my hands over her face.

“Is M.T. F. More Than Friends?” She smiles sweetly and nods. “I’m sorry, Cat.”

“What for? Please tell me it’s not because you don’t want to be more than friends. That would be the stupidest turn of events after yesterday. I’d probably have to slap your dumb sexy face.”

“Can you imagine? I make the logical leap fromI’ve loved you all of my lifetoI’d prefer to only be friends.” She giggles her girly little trilling laugh and shakes her head at me. “No, I’m sorry for the way I reacted to the other patches.”

“I didn’t want to be a jerk about it but since you brought it up, what was that all about? It hurt my feelings a teensy bit. Maybe more than that.”

“I misread them. I thought they were telling me we were friends.Onlyfriends. I was so far gone, so deeply and madly in love with you, and I thought those patches were more nails in the coffin of my hopes for us.”

She purses her lips, eyeing me seriously. “Don’t do that again, Rafferty. You misunderstood, no big deal, that happens. But you know what you do if you’re unsure about something? You ask questions. You talk to me and tell me what you’re worried about. Don’t read into things and shut me out. You hurt me.” She kisses me gently, reassuring me before worries can even take root.

“I’m sorry. I hate that I hurt you.” I look down at the patch, touching the letters. “I really do love the patches. All of them.”

“Even this last one? Is it too much? Too forward for a boring, buttoned-up, ladylike accountant?”

“Not when she’s also a caring, badass, secret sex kitten and I’ve been swept away with her.”

And that’s how, after enjoying our coffee and a morning shower, we end up ring shopping. Maybe we didn’t have the big romantic gestures and the perfectly planned proposal of a storybook, but I love that ours is authentically and uniquely us. I’d rather have Catherine being 100% herself than that other shit any day of the week.

I don’t have any trouble honing in on the perfect ring for Catherine. I know what she likes and I believe, at this point, I’m an expert at finding what makes her feel beautiful. In this case, it’s an oval peach sapphire set in rose gold with marquise-cut diamonds around the band that remind me of the scallops of lace on those panties of hers I love. Not that anyone else ever need know that little detail. She cries when I slip it on her finger and cries some more when I select two matching bands. I can see the worry in her eyes when I pay for everything, but she’s forgetting how much of my income went straight into my bank account without bills to pay.

It’s incredibly easy to get a marriage license in the state of Hawai‘i. By mid-afternoon we’re standing in front of a stranger in his office, exchanging rings and saying our vows. She’s the only part I care about. Someone else might have been sad about missing out on all the pomp of a big wedding celebration, self-conscious about getting married in a slate blue slip dress, missing the formal photographs. Not my Cat. Our ceremony is intimate and meaningful. It’s fully us, committing ourselves to only each other for the rest of our lives. The older lady who has our paperwork uses my phone to take pictures for us throughout. I forget she’s there, I can only see Catherine. To hear her sweet voice pledging to be mine is everything I’ve ever wanted and our first kiss feels like the realization of a dream.

We spend the next few hours celebrating, just the two of us, in my most favorite way. We have got to clean those front windows. And change the sheets. Catherine sends out a cryptic group text, demanding a dinner meet-up, no excuses accepted. After the month everyone has had, I don’t think anyone wanted to say no. There’s a pull to be together. We dress up in the nice clothes we barely got to wear the night before. My wife looks even more beautiful tonight than she did last night. The rings on her left hand could be helping, the tiniest bit. I like how they look there. I like the external evidence that she’s mine and I’m hers.

We made the restaurant reservation but purposefully arrive late. Everyone should already be seated. We only want to do this once. The hostess leads us back and our families are already there, sitting together. My mom and dad are facing Auntie and Uncle, talking across the table animatedly. Mina and Griffin are on one side, his arm protectively around her. Her bruises are still colorful but fading and she has a cast and sling now. We walk up hand in hand, greeting everyone, and as Catherine predicted (I owe my Kitty Cat a good petting now), the moms notice our rings first. There’s exuberant celebrating with hugs and tears. We finally sit and order our food, the buzz of laughter and conversations familiar and sweet. It’s been so long since we’ve all been together like this and seeing everyone around the table, it hits me how much I’ve missed it.

“How did this even happen?” my mom asks. “We were speculating about whether or not you two could maybe be nudged toward dating and you’re married!”

We look at each other. I don’t know about her but I’m not sure what to tell our parents about the last six weeks.

“Basically, Auntie, I needed a date for an engagement party. I convinced Raff to go with me, then tricked him into being my boyfriend until he couldn’t live without me.”

My mom laughs.

“Whoa, now. That is not how it happened. I tricked you into letting me pretend to be your boyfriend and worked really hard to make you forget it wasn’t real!”

“Agree to disagree, Love. It’s okay that you don’t want people to know you were duped.” She purses her lips, eyes sparkling.

“You’re the one that got played, Kitty Cat.”

“Kitty Cat?” Mina interrupts. “No one has ever gotten to call Catherine a nickname! How do you get to?”

Catherine grabs my hand, squeezing. “DO NOT tell her what you told Pressley. I will take back my patches, Rafferty Simms!” Her eyes flick frantically to our parents and I almost want to say it, just to watch her freak out.

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