Page 114 of Real Fake Husband

It’s pathetic.

My blood freezes when I look around and realize how right Josie was. My past. My childhood. Why I clashed all the time with the one girl who was courageous enough to stand up to me, why I did what I did, using her as my outlet, why I never even felt bad about it.

Why I kept pushing her. To this day.

Years ago, I beat my demons back into submission. But that’s not an excuse. It will never be an excuse. No wonder she carries apprehension, maybe even resentment toward me.

I used to push her back then, and I’m still pushing her now—relentlessly.

Fuck. No wonder she got out as soon as she could.

Knock. Knock.

It’s 8:42 a.m. Who’s that? It’s her. My heart lurches. “Coming, baby!” I reach the door within a second.

It’s not her. It’s Vance.

He stands there, mouth open, staring at me, at my messy hair, the squished toothpaste in one hand, a jumbled couch blanket in the other. His eyes fall to the mess behind me.

“Buongiorno, Mr. Ashford,” he finally says, his poker face back. “Is everything all right?”

“Just having fun, what’s up?”

He hands me the divorce papers. And a set of keys for Gran’s storage room.

As soon as he’s gone, I rip the papers apart and toss them into the trash can. Nobody’s getting a divorce on my watch.

I want to tell her to come home, tell her I need her.

I don’t just want to be inside her body.

I belong in her heart.

But given my realization just now and how we left things last night, with Josie saying she needed space, I need to tread carefully. I need to give her the time and space she asked for. Luckily, there’s enough to occupy my mind with the opening, scheduled for this Saturday.

But a text just to remind her that I’m still here for her, and flowers to celebrate her success with Armbruster (which I don’t doubt for a second) won’t hurt.

I will not rush her. I’ll just tell her I’ll be there, arms wide open, if she needs me.

42

JOSIE

Friday

Iwake up to the sun searing my eyeballs through my tiny window. Lying on the couch, I stare at the cracked ceiling and listen to the cars going by outside. My neighbor is playing music so loudly I can hear the low bass through the wall.

No more quiet apartment.

No Cal. No smell of him. No strong arms wrapped around my waist. I knew it was going to be a tough adjustment, a challenging first few days, I just didn’t realize how much I’d miss him. I’ve hardly slept all week.

It’s for the best, I tell myself. It’s the same mantra I’ve been trying to hammer into my mind ever since I moved out. You need to work through all the new changes before throwing another variable into the mix.

I heave myself up into a sitting position, looking around. I try a smile. While everything still feels weird, there is the sense of calm serenity that comes with being in your own space. It’s familiar, warm, safe—all the things you want your home to be. That being said, there is excitement at the realization that I can get something bigger, a better place to suit my growing needs.

I have to think positively. I can’t dwell on the “maybes” and “what-ifs.” Cal and I may not be together right now, and yes, it hurts, but it will get better.

Besides, it’s not like he’s completely out of my life.

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