by Nia Arthurs
My inner voice has a good point.
I swat away my compassion. It’s always that stinking nurturing side of me that pushes me into relationships with man-babies I thought I could raise into men.
Of course I always fail.
A woman isn’t supposed to teach a man how to be a man. She can’t. It’s impossible.
“I’m really sorry, but I can’t get married to you. We don’t even know each other. It’s… I only wanted a date to my cousin’s wedding not a whole husband. I…” My words falter. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He leans back. Studies me. “There’s no need to apologize.”
“You have a tight deadline…”
“I’m sure other arrangements can be made.” Despite the bravado in his voice, I can tell when his eyes dart away that he doesn’t really believe it can happen.
Who would?
A wife in less than twenty-four hours?
That’s crazy.
This is…
I mean, he’s insane.
My appetite completely gone, I call for the waiter. “Can I get this to go?”
“You can stay,” Brogan says, reaching for his wallet. “I’ll go.”
“No. We should both—I’m sorry for wasting your time.”
“And I’m sorry for wasting yours. Your family sounds…” He pauses. Looks up. “Intense.”
“Oh, they are.”
There.
A glimmer of a smile.
I wish he’d do that more. It makes his eyes sparkle. Makes his face light up. There’s kindness in him, even if it’s buried under a whole lot of reserve and guardedness.
I hope whomever he ends up with can see that too. I mean, sure, it sounds like he’s not looking for a loving, caring marriage, but I get the feeling he deserves a break.
The waiter returns with our food in boxes.
It’s time to end this weird date.
I offer my hand. “Even if it was under these circumstances, I’m glad I met you again, Brogan.”
“You too, Elizabeth.” His fingers are long. Soft. I’d expected his hands to feel as rough as his appearance, but they’re surprisingly free of any callouses. Apart from the scars on the back of them, they’d be completely normal.
“Let me get your number,” I say suddenly.
He arches an eyebrow what for?
I don’t know.
I’m not even sure where the words are coming from.
But we exchange numbers and then I leave Brogan at the front door.
On the drive home, I keep sighing.
My mind keeps flashing back to Brogan’s sad, hopeless eyes.
“Get it together, Liz,” I command myself as I hold the steering wheel. “You don’t marry someone because you feel sorry for them. That’s a recipe for disaster.”
My pep talk does nothing to make me feel better. It’s like Brogan’s proposal got under my skin and is rattling around in my stomach.
Or maybe it’s just early signs of food poisoning.
Who knows?
I park in front of my apartment building.
A fleet of compact SUVs with Caribbean-themed bumper stickers grab my attention.
Immediately, my shoulders tense.
This should be fun.
Stepping out of my car, I plod the flight of stairs to my third-floor landing, dreading each and every step and taking long pauses even though I’m pretty fit and can run up these with my hands full of groceries every week.
There’s light coming from under the scarred door.
Of course Mama let herself in.
Easing closer to the door, I press my ear against it.
Voices chatter back and forth.
A loud cackle.
Tinkling glass.
I’d say about four of my aunts are in there.
Maybe five.
Plus Mama.
Soca music plays loudly.
The bass thumps hard enough to rattle the doorknob.
I cringe, already anticipating my landlord passing on my neighbours’ complaints when I pay rent next week.
“Why isn’t she up yet?” a voice yells.
Sounds like my Aunt Becca.
“Is her car still in the lot, Sharon?”
“Yes!” Aunt Sharon hollers back.
“Should we go downstairs and see what’s happening?”
That’s Mama’s voice.
“No, Tina. Let her be. She’ll come up soon.”
That’s my cue.
I jangle my keys as I pull them out of my purse. Fit them into the lock.
Turn. Push.
Four pairs of dark brown eyes pick me apart when I enter.
My aunts are varying shades of black—from light brown like me to rich dark chocolate. They’re all thick—wide torsos, massive thighs, and juicy butts. Their voices are as loud as their personalities.
Mama swoops in to hug me. “Liz! You’re home!”
“Mama,” I say through gritted teeth, “I thought I told you that key was only for emergencies.”
“This is an emergency,” she replies. “I heard you’re bringing him to the cake testing.”
“Him?”
“That mysterious boyfriend of yours,” Aunt Sharon pipes up.
Damn.
Novah and her big mouth.
Mama smooths the collar of my dress. “I didn’t think it was right that Novah got to meet him before I did, so I was hoping you’d introduce us tonight.”
My jaw drops. “What?”
“A pushier parent would have insisted on seeing him in person, but we all believe in giving our children space, so we’re gonna settle for a phone call.”
My aunts bob their heads in sober agreement.
I scowl.
Space my backside. Mama doesn’t even know the meaning of the word.
“Ooh,” Aunt Linda stares at my dress, “you look nice, Liz. Were you just with him?”
“Um…”
“Of course she was, Linda. You think my daughter’s a liar?”
Yes. I’m a liar. A huge, shallow liar!
Mom grabs my arm and jerks me down. “There are rumors flying all over the family that you made him up,” she whispers hotly in my ear. “It’s insulting. We both know you’re not that pathetic.”
I wince.
Leaning back, Mama says loudly. “Let’s move this to the living room. Give me your phone.”
“Now? Don’t I get to warn him first?”
“Oh, he won’t mind.” Mama drags me across the room.
Panic fills my chest.
No.
This is going to be a huge disaster.
“What’s his name?” Mama asks, scrolling through my phone.
Sweat beads on my forehead. On my upper lip. In my bra.
Mama’s brown eyes zoom in on my face.
All my aunts crowd me, silently judging.
“Elizabeth…”
“Brogan!” I blurt. “My boyfriend’s name is Brogan.”
Five
Brogan
I’m on my laptop, scrolling through Russian mail order bride sites and finding more porn than legitimate businesses when my phone rings.
With a sigh, I reach over to where I have it charging on the nightstand. Pick it up. Stare at the screen.
Elizabeth.
My brain sends no signals.
Suddenly, her face comes to mind.
Brown eyes.
Brown skin.
Big smile.
Big fat no to my marriage proposal.
Elizabeth?
Thinking she might have gotten into a car crash or something, I answer urgently. “Hello?”
“Hello?” A voice that sounds much heavier and louder than Elizabeth’s cheerful tone hollers back at me. “Is this Brogan?”
“Yes, it is.”
A flurry of gasps and excited squeals follow her statement.
I tear the phone away from my ear.
Stare at it.
Put it back.
“Hello?”
The woman on the line clears her throat and in a softer, more regal voice says, “Hello, this is Elizabeth’s mother.”
“Mama…”
“What?” Her mom snaps.
“Mama, you heard him. He’s real. Now give me back my phone.”
There’s a grunt. A rustle. Sounds of a fight.
And then the woman’s voice returns to the line.
Elizabeth lost that scrimmage.
“Brogan. What kind of name is that?”
“Well, it’s Irish—”
“Sorry. Was I too crass? Parents have all kinds of names for kids these days.”
“Uh…”
“Forget about your name. How long have you been dating my daughter?”
I wait her out.
As expected, she doesn’t even pause before continuing.
“I know how you young folks do it nowadays. Everyone is jumping into bed with no signs of commitment. That’s why, when they hear how close we are as a family, they get intimidated. No one is going to mess with our girls.”
Murmurs of agreement sound behind her.
“I hear you’re coming to the wedding.”
“Mama, the phone. Please.”
“You’re also going to the cake tasting with Novah. How is it that you intend to meet the cousin first before you meet the parents? Isn’t something wrong with that picture?”
My mind churns with new information.
Elizabeth told her family we’re together.
She lied despite turning me down tonight.
That means her back is firmly planted against the wall just like mine is.
I can use this.
My eyes flit to the fruitless Google search I’ve been working on.
More than that.
I have to use this.
“Hello? Brogan? Are you still there?” Her voice gets quieter and I imagine she’s pulling the phone back in confusion. “Did he hang up?”
“Elizabeth,” I say calmly, my eyes swinging to the picture frame on my nightstand. “Are you listening?”
“I am.”
“I need to know something.”
There’s total silence on the line.
“Is this a yes?”
“What is he talking about? Yes to what?”
“Elizabeth,” I call her name again. Firmly. Intently. “Do we have an agreement?”
Someone sighs.
Probably Elizabeth.
I can imagine her biting down on her bottom lip.
Eyes darting back and forth.
Fingers curling into her dress.
She’s weighing whether seven days of marriage to a total stranger is worth the cost of her pride.
I switch the phone to my other ear and make one last push. “Hello?”
“She’s here,” her mother says. “She’s sitting down with her head between her legs. Becca, would you check on her? It looks like she’s panicking.”
“Elizabeth?”
Still no response from her.
I speak slowly into the phone. “This is no time to panic. Calm down and make your decision or I’ll tell them the truth.”
“What truth? What is he talking about, Elizabeth?”
“Are you threatening me?”
“That’s not an answer.”
Silence again.
Her mother huffs in my ear. “What on earth is going on?”
I’m desperate, so I push as far as I can.
I’ve got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
“I’m sorry to say this, ma’am…”
“Brogan…”
“But the truth,” I hold the phone tighter, “is that Elizabeth and I aren’t—”
“YES!” Elizabeth screams over my confession. “I’ll marry you. I’ll do it.”
Relief shoots through my veins.
I collapse against the bed.
Thrust a fist in the air.
Squeeze my eyes shut.
I did it.
I got myself a wife.
Pandemonium breaks out in my ears. Screams and shrieks of ‘she did what’ and ‘are you serious right now’ shatter my eardrums.
I wince.
Something thuds.
Sounds like the phone hit the tiles.
“Mama! You cracked my screen!”
“I can’t believe this. My baby’s getting married! My baby’s getting married!”
There’s more rustling.
Feet pattering.
Suddenly, Elizabeth’s voice sounds crisply in my ears. “I have to go.”
“Wait.”
She does.
“I’ll book a flight to Vegas for tomorrow. Can you make the time?”
“For my own wedding?” She sighs loudly. “Yeah, I think I can do that, but there are rules.”
“Of course.”
The screaming and weeping on her side of the line intensifies.
“We’ll discuss it tomorrow. I need to go.”
Click.
Rolling over on my back, I let my arm fall against my forehead and stare at the ceiling. All the reasoning in the world can’t stop my senses from reeling with equal parts dread and panic.
Marriage.
I never thought I’d fall into that trap again.
My divorce did a number on me.
Broken trust.
Dark arguments.
Long bouts of restlessness.
The memories haunt me now, as hot as the flames that had scorched my hands in a last ditch effort to save my broken relationship.
I smile grimly.
This is different.
There’s no disguise between me and Elizabeth.
No need to pretend that what we’ll have is love.
It’s an arrangement.
A mutually beneficial exchange.
Seven days.
And then it’s over.
This isn’t like Lana.
I’m not going to be blindsided.
Pulling my laptop to me again, I book the tickets to Vegas and then fill out my part of the pre-application for the marriage license online. After, I send the blank part to Elizabeth.
It’s a little unsettling to realize I don’t know something as simple as her middle name or when she was born and yet she’s going to be my wife for seven days.
I feel the bitterness creeping in my heart again.
Gran knew exactly where to hit me to make it hurt. I’ll give her that.
With a sigh, I climb out of bed and grab a glass of water to take with my sleeping pills. Under usual circumstances, my insomnia would torment me.
But tonight?
On the eve of my second marriage?
There’s no way in hell I’m getting a wink of sleep without external help.
After setting my alarm, I lie down on my back.
The clock on my nightstand ticks loudly.
I sigh. Roll over on my side.
The bed feels empty.
It always does.
Loneliness is a part of me now.
Not that I’m complaining.
Sleeping alone is ten times better than sleeping next to someone who’s checked out.
I stretch out flat on my back.
Stare at the ceiling again.
Wait for the pills to kick in.
They don’t usually take this long.
Damn.
I was hoping to avoid this.
The restless tossing and turning.
The doubts.
The regrets.
My thoughts are too strong.
The past is breathing down my neck and the future is chomping at my heels.
Should I take another pill?
Maybe it’ll work faster.
Yeah. If you’re trying to off yourself.
In the stillness, my phone blares.
I answer.
“Hey.” It’s Elizabeth. She sounds tired, out of breath. “Um…”
When she goes quiet, I ask, “Did your mom leave.
”
“Yeah, she and my aunts went home.”
I sit up. Turn on my lamp. “They sounded… excited.”
“They wanted my marriage more than world peace so, yeah. They’re pretty happy.”
“And you?”
“I wanted personal peace.”
“Congratulations?”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
I chuckle.
She pauses. Asks softly, “Are we really doing this?”
“We’re really doing this.”
“Just like that?”
“It’s a Vegas wedding.”
“Will it be… you know, legal?”
“In the eyes of God and all fifty states.”
She goes quiet.
I lean back. “It’s only for seven days.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.”
“I’m not a crazy ax murderer.”
She laughs prettily. “I wasn’t afraid of that either.”
“No?”
“Are you an ax-murderer?” she asks hesitantly, as if the thought just struck that I might be a criminal.
“I don’t know many people who’d answer yes to that question, but for what it’s worth, I’m just a normal guy.”
“Who’s about to inherit a boatload of money.”
“Right.”
“To save someone.”
I nod.
She lets the silence linger, clearly expecting me to expound.
I don’t.
She sighs. “I should sleep. We have that flight tomorrow morning.”
“Need me to pick you up?”
“No, I’ll meet you at the airport.”
“Okay.” I lick my lips. “Elizabeth?”
“Mm?”
Hesitantly, I try to find the words. It’s my second marriage, but it’s her first. She’s the one who stands to lose the most.
“Brogan?”
“I’m glad you said yes.”
She lets out another terrified breath. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Click.
I toss the phone on the nightstand and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Six
Elizabeth
Mom thinks I’m engaged. She has no idea I’m thousands of meters up in the sky, heading to my wedding.
My wedding.
I still can’t believe this.
Neither will she.
That dream ceremony she’s been planning since I was eight? The one she’s been saving up for since I got into college? It won’t happen.
She’s going to flip.
I shudder at the thought.
When it comes to my parents, my dad’s more of a ‘hands-off, let ‘em learn’ type.
