Marital Bitch

by Jc Emery

  I walk into the en-suite bathroom and change into my sweatpants and an old police academy t-shirt that I stole from my dad years ago. When I return to the bedroom, I see Brad standing on the opposite side of the bed. He’s wearing sweatpants and his own old police academy t-shirt. We point at our matching shirts and laugh. In his right hand is my veil.

  “Will you wear this, Mrs. Patrick?” I laugh at his request, but acquiesce. He tosses me the veil. I do my best to secure it to my head, and crawl into bed. “Beautiful,” he says. I curl into Brad’s side and fall into a blissful sleep.

  THE NEXT DAY we wake up tangled around one another. My veil is long-since gone and my hair is a knotted disaster. I am wrapped securely in his arms, my back to his chest. I can tell he’s awake by the way he’s breathing. When he’s sleeping, he snores loudly. He’s not snoring now. I remain very still, pretending that I’m still asleep. He moves slightly against me and groans, muttering to himself. And that’s when I feel it—he’s stiffened behind me—all of him, I mean.

  “Seriously, dude?” he says quietly, disbelief in his voice. I’m not really sure who or what he’s talking to. I don’t think I want to know. I want to laugh at the situation, but I’d rather he get up and take care of his not-so-little issue while he thinks I’m asleep. This whole morning after marrying your best childhood friend thing is sort of awkward enough as it is.

  “Stop it. She’s Colleen. She’s off limits,” he groans, sounding annoyed. I remain still, keep my breathing even, and shove aside my feelings of inadequacy. I am an idiot. We were drunk, he was being sweet. “The Yankees, The Chief naked, James’s ass…” he speaks slow and steady and in a moment I feel him deflate. I decide that it’s safe for him to know that I’m awake now. I stir in the bed, trying to make it believable. I just want to sprint from the bed and wash away this marriage and Brad’s expertly crafted lies. I am such a fool.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Patrick,” Brad says, a smile in his voice. My back is to him, so thankfully, he can’t see me wince. I don’t have deep-seeded feelings for Brad. It’s just that, I’m alone. So very alone, and Brad was saying such kind, gentle things to me. He played his part perfectly, the devoted husband. He was very believable. I’m the one who messed up here. I went beyond playing my part and having fun. I fell into my role and for even the slightest sliver of time, I allowed myself to enjoy the fantasy. The fantasy that someone loved me, even if it was Brad; even if we were drunk; even if it made no sense; and even if it was only for one night.

  “Don’t call me that,” I snap and push away from him. This is how it always is with us. One step forward and two steps back.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  (Brad)

  Flashback: Sometime back in the 90s

  “BRADLEY! HURRY UP!” I hear my mom calling me from downstairs. We’re late for dinner at the Frasiers’, and she is not pleased. Oh well. I shuffle my weight from foot to foot. I’m not ready for dinner at the Frasiers’ just yet. Or, more correctly, I’m not ready to see Colleen just yet. Last week, I told dad about my plan. He’s pretty fucking excited about it. He says it’s about time for me to step up to the plate and ask Colleen out properly. I agree, but he’s never tried to ask Colleen Frasier out before. It’s just not as easy as it looks.

  “Brad!” I hear the sounds of the terrible twosome stampeding down the hallway and moments later they barge into my room. My fifteen year old sisters, Mary and Maggie, stand side by side in my doorway with knowing smiles. The twins are always up to something. God only knows how mom and dad are going to handle them once they start dating. Mom says they’re as beautiful as my older sister, Charlotte, and that it won’t be long before dad is going to have to lock them up and send them to a convent. I guess they’re pretty. I don’t know really, they’re my sisters.

  I eye them wearily, “What?” I say with hesitation clear in my voice.

  “So,” Mary begins, slyly giving Maggie a devious smile. “We were wondering…” she trails off.

  This can’t be good.

  “Well,” Maggie picks up, “We heard you were considering asking Colleen to prom.” She returns the sly smile to her twin. I gulp. Does everyone know about this?!?

  “And we were curious if you were going to ask her after dinner,” Mary nods and waits for Maggie to continue. I know this routine.

  “Or if you were going to, you know, chicken out.” Maggie’s grin is blinding and all I want to do is to shove her in my closet and lock the door. I don’t like this one bit. That conversation was between me and dad. I should have known better… growing up in a house full of women and all. I tell dad and dad tells mom and mom tells Charlotte, because at this point they’re more like girlfriends than mother and daughter, and then Charlotte tells Darla, and sure enough Darla tells Lindsay who lets it spill to the twins. I’m surrounded by nosey women. I don’t know why I thought a conversation between two men could ever be private. Colleen must know at this point—though, she is oblivious to almost everything.

  “Get out,” I shout, now annoyed with their little game. It takes the twins a moment to realize that I’m serious. I stalk towards them, muttering obscenities before they scurry away, no doubt, to rat me out to mom. Sisters are so fucking annoying. Why couldn’t I have been blessed with brothers? At least I have James Frasier, who is as much family as my own flesh and blood. God, I hope he doesn’t know. As I chase the twins from my room, I see dad laughing and shaking his head from down the hall.

  “I’m sorry, son,” he says. His shoulders are shaking with laughter. Dad was an only child so he doesn’t really understand my plight. I have three sisters and no brothers and my best friend is a girl. I don’t think many men could understand my plight. I’m cursed with having more knowledge about the inner workings of the female anatomy than most vagina doctors. Now if only I had half as much understanding of sex, I’d be fucking set.

  “Whatever,” I gripe, walking out and slamming my door behind me. “Next time, you wanna just plaster it on the side of the station? That’d be easier, ya know.” I stomp downstairs, ignoring mom’s complaints that I’m going to leave a hole in her stairs. Maybe if I did stomp a damn hole in her stairs I could fall the fuck in and skip what is surely going to be a humiliating evening. Why I hadn’t considered the possibility that my talk with dad would be public knowledge by know, I don’t even know.

  I reach the bottom of the stairs and mom hands me a ceramic dish filled with something that looks like mom’s famous stew. Charlotte is waiting by the door playing with her cellular phone. I don’t know why anyone would want a phone that goes with them everywhere. It seems annoying to me, but she’s all over it. Mom asks her to put it away and she sticks it into her pocket and takes the soda bread that mom hands her. Charlotte doesn’t talk much these days—not after she introduced me to her boyfriend, Peter, and I let the guy know what’s up. Yeah, that didn’t go well.

  Mary and Maggie follow Charlotte out, asking her all about the cellular phone and how much is costs. The twins are convinced that if they just present the idea the right way that mom and dad will cave and get them their own cellular phones. I don’t know what the fuck it is about girls and talking on the phone. Colleen isn’t like that, which is one of the amazing things about her. When I first tried to ask her to prom last week, I’d done it over the phone, but five minutes into my rambling, she had outright asked me if there was a point to our conversation, because if not, Friends was on and she was missing something funny. I sighed in defeat and let her go. She was distracted and at that point it wouldn’t have done me any good to ask her because she wasn’t even listening. Plus, I’d lost my nerve.

  We walk down the street to the Frasiers’, all of us carrying something. When we do dinner, we do it up big. Mom says it’s our Irish appetites. All too soon, Colleen’s mom, Louise, swings the door open and excitedly greets us. She’s more excited than usual, which tells me that she knows. Fuck my life. I follow my sisters into the house, but before I can make it past Louise, she pulls me into a
tight hug. I half hug her back, careful not to drop the stew. She calls me her boy and tells me how handsome I’ve gotten since the last time she saw me. I don’t remind her that the last time she saw me was like two days ago. Yeah, there’s no doubt that she knows.

  As it usually is, getting settled for dinner is an affair in itself. James bounds downstairs and wraps each of my sisters in a tight hug. The Frasiers are definitely huggers, except for Dan. Thank God. I give James the eye as he whispers something in Charlotte’s ear that makes her blush. He may be like a brother to me, but she is my sister and he’d do well to remember that. I don’t care if he’s bigger than me, and likely stronger, I’m not above taking him to task. Even if he would be an improvement over that douche Peter that she’s dating. He’s got Darla anyway, it’s a moot point.

  Louise leads us into the dining room where Colleen is setting the large table. She’s wearing a deep blue fitted shirt and matching sweater atop a pair of black jeans. Her shoulder-length hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She looks really cute. I don’t care for her haircut. She said it was called “The Rachel”, which doesn’t mean shit to me except that she cut her long blonde hair that I liked so much. She grins up at all of us. Nope, she definitely doesn’t know that I’m planning on asking her to prom. If she did, she’d be looking all nervous and fidgety toward me. My pretty girl is oblivious, as usual. Good.

  After much chatter, the girls scurry around to get dinner ready while we men sit and watch ESPN discuss the Red Sox and their chances in October. That’s the benefit of being surrounded by so many women; they group together leaving no room for us guys to help. Dan shoots me knowing glances. He’s smiling, clearly happy with my attempts to… woo, I guess, his daughter. It sounds old-fashioned, but I guess that’s what it is. I definitely want to get better acquainted with her body… her curvy, warm, soft body; but I don’t want to just fuck her, either. I really want to have sex, I think it’ll be pretty fucking cool… you know, once I get the hang of it, and I think my best friend is who I want to lose my virginity to. James says I already lost it to Lisa Wilks back in sophomore year, but that was just a blow job. I disagree—warm, wet holes are not all the same. Not at all.

  “Dinner’s ready boys,” Colleen bounces into the room. She literally bounces. God, I love her tits. I wait a moment before standing up. Nobody, especially her dad, needs to know I’m hard right now. Colleen waits for me, her smile still in place. She is completely oblivious to how much I like her tits, no matter how many times she catches me copping a feel. I walk up and drape my arm over her shoulders. “Heya, pretty boy,” she grins. I roll my eyes, tighten my grip on her shoulders and playfully glare at her.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, you can’t call a dude pretty,” I say firmly. She giggles and covers her mouth. My pretty girl likes to get me riled up. If she goes to prom with me she’ll really see me riled up.

  Dinner drags out and the twins make multiple not-so-subtle comments about our upcoming prom. Every time the “p” word is mentioned, I get nervous. I really don’t like how this is going. Colleen remains silent on the subject until James calls her on it.

  “Okay, little sister, what’s going on over there?” She stares at him blankly, not having a clue to what he is referring. “Prom. You’re going, right?” Colleen clears her throat and blushes and looks down at her plate. James’s gaze shoots toward me and I try to play innocent. I haven’t a clue why he’s looking at me. Nope. Not a one.

  “I don’t know. My friend Lindsay wants me to go, but,” she shoves some stew in her mouth and chews, trying to delay the conversation. “Neither of us have dates, so I don’t know.” I quickly shove some bread in my mouth and chew vigorously. I look up and survey the room. Everybody but Colleen is looking at me. This is fucking fantastic. “Do you have a date, Brad?” Colleen asks without looking up from her plate.

  “Uh,” I begin, “no, I don’t.” I swallow the last of my bread, trying to figure out how to ask her… in front of both our families. This sucks.

  “I thought Lisa asked you last week?” Colleen looks up and tilts her head to the side. Of course Lisa would have told her that she asked me to prom. I really shouldn’t be this surprised, but I am.

  “You mean Sucks-A-Lot Wilks?” James asks, laughing loudly. I scratch the back of my neck, not liking where this is going. Colleen scowls at him and throws a piece of her soda bread across the table. Louise tells them both to knock it off. Everyone else is trying to maintain composure.

  “Yeah, but I said no,” I say, shrugging my shoulders and trying to maintain the appearance of calm. Colleen appears confused. My heart rate increases and I feel like an idiot. “So,” I can feel myself beginning to ramble because I’m nervous. “Why don’t we go to prom together?”

  “Are you asking so you don’t have to go with Lisa?” she asks; her voice small.

  “What?” I don’t quite know how to respond. I mean, yeah, that’s part of the reason. But I really do want to go to prom with her. Not because it’s prom, but because I know all about prom night. I know that James got Darla to give it up at prom last year, and the year before that it was with another girl. Shit. I hope he doesn’t know I’m hoping his little sister will give it up to me at prom.

  “Am I like, your last-ditch effort to get a date so Lisa won’t ask you again?” she asks. I try to respond, but she seems pretty pissed. I can’t figure out why she’s so pissed. I’m fucking asking her out here. She looks so hot when she’s pissed.

  “No,” I snap. “You sure know how to fuck up when a guy is asking you out!” I’m embarrassed and pissed. How dare she! Maybe I don’t want to go out with her after all. Lisa Wilks will have sex with me on prom night. Mom yells and Louise gasps at my language. Colleen crosses her arms over her chest, pushing her tits up, and she huffs. Okay, I do still want to go out with her.

  Colleen looks down and I hear her sniffle. Fuck. She’s crying. I stand up to walk over to her, but before I can apologize, she’s up and running out of the dining room. I grumble a string of curse words and chase her up the stairs. Damn, she’s quick. I catch up to her in her room. She’s sitting on her bed, looking at the floor.

  “What just happened?” I ask her honestly, because I really haven’t a clue. She shrugs her shoulders but doesn’t say a word. “Okay,” I snap, again, “I’ll tell you what happened. I asked you to prom and you bit my head off.” She looks up at me with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

  “You’re such a jerk!” she screams, startling me. I begin to defend myself, but she keeps interrupting me. Why in the hell do I want to go out with this girl again? Soon, we’re both screaming at each other. I don’t have any clue what she’s screaming about, but apparently she’s really upset about it. She stands up and flings herself at me, her little fists flying at my chest. I laugh a little at first, but then it starts to hurt and it’s not funny anymore. I restrain her hands and glare at her. She’s glaring back, cheeks flushed, breathing labored, and her red lips are moist and inviting.

  Without another thought, I grab the sides of her face and kiss her roughly. She freezes under my lips, but I continue to kiss her. If she doesn’t respond soon, I’m going to call it quits. Throw in the towel. Hang it up. Basically, I’m going to give up on this whole prom idea. A few moments later and her lips move gently against mine. This is a good sign, I decide. We continue to kiss until we’re both gasping for air.

  “Fine,” she says and pushes back off my chest. I pray she doesn’t look down and see me pitching a tent. Wait, fine? Fine, what? “Fine,” she repeats, “I’ll go to prom with you,” she says, pretending to look annoyed.

  “Okay,” I say, grinning like a fool, “cool.” She just shakes her head and laughs.

  “Thank you, Brad,” she grins at me. “I know you’re just doing this so I don’t have to miss out on prom. I really appreciate it. You’re the best friend a girl could have.” I stare at her stupidly. “You almost had me convinced there,” she smacks my chest playfully, “that ki
ss.” She pushes past me, laughing lightly and heads downstairs. I stand in her room, confused and a little dejected, wondering if my pretty girl will ever see me as more than just her best friend.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  (Colleen)

  Now enjoy being married.

  I RUN INTO the en-suite bathroom like the chicken that I am. Brad’s terms of endearment don’t sit well with me. Not when I know that I’m just Colleen. I’m off limits. He’s not supposed to be aroused around me. I get it, Bradley. My stomach lurches at the thought.

  I take several deep breaths, willing myself to calm down. I married my best childhood friend—I thought this was going to turn out… how? This was such a bad idea. What had I been thinking? You weren’t thinking, I remind myself. Oh, yeah. That explains it. When I feel myself sufficiently calmed down, I decide that it’s time to assess the situation at hand.

  I start at the root of the problem: I’m an idiot. Aside from that, mine and Brad’s relationship is pretty volatile and has been for a long time. Brad has mastered the art of the push and pull. He will push me just far enough away and then when he’s in danger of doing irreconcilable harm to our relationship, he’ll pull me back. It works every time. Unfortunately, this last round of push and pull has resulted in the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. I don’t think I’ve told him “no” with any seriousness even once. The more I examine the situation that we’re in, I realize something truly unappealing about myself.

  While Brad may be a master of the push and pull, I play along. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me lose my ability to think clearly. As I mentally categorize my issues that have led me to being fake married to my childhood best friend, I decide that this level of psychoanalysis can really only be dealt with by a professional. First thing back in Boston I’m going to make an appointment.