Jock Royal

by Ney, Sara

  I glance over at him; he’s stopped working on whatever he was working on and is giving me his full attention.

  I never really took Jack seriously—he’s just always been my kid brother, in the background, a few years younger, so not really crossing my path. When I was finishing school, he was beginning.

  We never hung out unless we had to, forced together by our mother, not bonding like I’ve seen my American mates do with their siblings because they lived together and played together.

  Jack and I were in boarding school, and not even at the same one.

  This is the first time he’s given me advice.

  “You think I should talk to Dad?”

  “I think…” He takes the laptop off his thighs and sets it on the bed beside him. “You should go to the States and figure out your shite with Georgia. You have to get closer or spend time together, one of the two.”

  Wow.

  Wow—this is unexpected coming from him.

  “You have to do something. You can’t do this much longer, mate. Living here—I don’t mind it. Stay as long as you want. Mum and Dad pay my lease anyway. But you’re walking around on autopilot, refusing to date other people…”

  He’s given me something to mull over, that’s for sure.

  And I do.

  It’s all I can think about for days.

  Going through the motions, I go to work. I’ve started at my father’s firm as an entry-level associate. Yesterday he was actually in the office; he’s here in town, staying in his flat after leaving the office, in London for the week before going back to the country to be with Mum, a habit he got into when I was a lad.

  We had lunch.

  We had a chat.

  I ring Georgia for a video chat, seated in my cubicle at the office, hoping I’m not interrupting while she’s in the middle of something or having dinner—but this is fresh on my mind and it has to be said.

  Dad and I came up with a plan. Or, he did, and I’m about to lay it out on the line with my ex-roommate slash girlfriend slash wife.

  She picks up almost immediately and I sigh with relief, smiling when I see her gorgeous face.

  It looks like she’s at home, in bed.

  Her parents’ place, since she moved home after graduating. Can’t afford a flat of her own, working a shite job while looking for something better.

  “Hey babe, are you at work?” She’s adjusting herself on the bed and getting comfortable, fluffing the pillows behind her so she’s propped up for the call.

  “I am. Just had a chat with Dad.”

  “That’s nice—what time is it there?”

  She still hasn’t figured out the time change, can never tell if it’s day or night or afternoon when she calls me. Sometimes she’ll ring me at one in the morning thinking it’s dinnertime, or at four AM thinking it’s noon.

  But maybe she won’t have to figure it out much longer. Not after what I’m about to propose.

  “It’s just after lunch. One thirty.”

  “Oh good. I’m heading into work soon, though I don’t know if they’ll have much for me to do. I might get sent home early, which sucks since I need the money.”

  “Sorry babe, that is a pisser.” But it’s also a great segue into the next part of the conversation. “Dad and I were talking and—well. I’m just going to throw this out there since it’s been on my mind.”

  Neither of us have been able to sleep, texting each other at all hours of the day and night, making the situation that much worse. Making me miss her more.

  There aren’t enough messages and video chats that can fix being an ocean apart.

  “You know how much I miss you,” I begin.

  Georgia nods. “I miss you, too. I miss you like crazy, but…” It hardly matters when you’re thousands of miles away.

  “See, Georgie, that’s the thing. I can come back—Dad is willing to let me come back to the States. He’s giving me six months to work remotely, to figure out what we’re going to do, you and I.” I begin rambling, speaking a mile a minute, her smile fading the more I babble. “We can get a place for the next few months, and we can fill out paperwork—whatever you want to do. I can work from home and you can keep looking for a better job or internship, and six months is plenty of time to sort through the tangle. What do you think?”

  She hesitates.

  Speaks slowly. “You would do that?”

  “Yes.” Of course. “When Dad suggested it, I almost fell out of my chair. They really liked you when you were here, Georgia, even if we cut ties at the end of it all and go our separate ways.”

  I’m never going to find another girl like her, but I would try.

  “But I’d only have six months. That would be it. And I…my life is going to be here, Georgia. I can’t make promises about that. I’ve always wanted to work for my dad and take over his business with Jack, and I don’t think that is ever going to change. But I’m willing—no. You’re important, and…shite. I love you. I don’t just want to leave you there. I want…”

  She’s nodding along as if she understands, but she can’t possibly know that my heart is thumping out of my chest and my palms are sweating and I keep watching for someone in the office to walk by and overhear me pouring my heart out like an idiot.

  Shite, someone actually could be listening; these walls all have eyes and ears and will probably talk, too.

  “I can’t ask you to come back here, Ashley. You have a job there and your parents are important and—”

  “You’re not asking me to come back, Georgie. It’s what I want to do.”

  Her head gives a little shake. “I know, but…”

  One of the executive assistants is approaching from behind me, stopping my girlfriend’s next few words.

  At a leisurely pace, Beth strolls along with a notebook in her hand, obviously pretending not to notice I’m on a video chat with a young woman.

  Georgia and I wait until she’s out of sight, and I lean in closer to the monitor.

  “Look, I should go. Think about it, okay? I’ll only come back if you want me to.”

  “Of course I want you to…it just feels so selfish. You’d be giving up everything to come back here and—what? Watch me work at the same basic job I’ve had for three summers while I scramble to find something better? Or an internship that barely pays anything? I’m still going to be stuck living with my parents.”

  “Have you told them yet?”

  She’s quiet. “No.”

  I get it.

  She sees no sense in getting them all worked up if we’re not going to stay together. It can just be a distant memory swept under the rug, and twenty years from now, she can tell the children she has with someone else that Once upon a time, when Mom was wild and crazy in college, she married her roommate in Vegas.

  Then again, I wasn’t planning on telling my folks either—they found out by accident because they have access to my bank account.

  My girlfriend nibbles on her lower lip, something she does when she’s anxious.

  “Don’t fret about it just yet, okay? Just think it over. I’ll text you when I’m home tonight.”

  “Okay, I’ll try not to.”

  I can see that she’s lying—she’s one hundred percent going to worry herself about it all day long, but there is nothing I can do about that.

  “Goodbye, babe. I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  Twenty-Seven

  Georgia

  Three weeks after that…

  It’s been a while since my chat with Ashley about him coming back to the States to spend time with me and get this mess sorted out, and it’s consuming me. Eating me alive, taking away my appetite, filling me with guilt.

  My mother notices.

  Sits herself down on the couch with me one night, not reaching for the remote control as she usually does to watch her home improvement shows.

  Back when I moved home, she made it clear that the television was hers to commandeer, and if I wan
ted to watch my own shows, I could do it in my bedroom on my laptop.

  It’s my home, but it’s not my home.

  A strange place to be.

  “What’s going on with you?” Mom asks, turning her body to face me. I have my phone in my hand and was texting Ashley, our usual daily I miss you and How was your day?

  What’s going on with me? Where do I begin?

  Where do I begin?

  With the truth, I suppose.

  The truth makes me want to vomit, but that’s neither here nor there, and it won’t help me now. I have a boy who wants to come here to be with me and help me work through this so I’m not alone, and how do I explain why he is coming all the way from England to do it?

  “So, you know how I moved in with that guy at school?”

  “Yes. The guy with the girl’s name.”

  I nod. That’s the one. “He’s from England. He’s home now, and we were talking—”

  “Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant,” she jokes.

  “No.” I shake my head and actually manage a laugh, although she’s not going to be any more pleased with my actual news than she’d be if I told her I’d gotten pregnant out of wedlock.

  It’s on the tip of my tongue to say, It’s nothing like that, but the truth is, it’s sort of like that. “He and I took a trip to Vegas a few months ago, before school was done.”

  “Okay…” She’s not following, obviously.

  “And you know how it is.” I give her an expectant look, hoping she’ll rush in to fill in the blanks. “Lots of drinking.”

  “Did you end up getting arrested?”

  I give a wry smile, wishing it were that simple. “No, I would have called.”

  “Did he do something to you while you were there?”

  “Ashley? God no, he’s the perfect gentleman.” I clear my throat. It’s now or never. “The kind of perfect gentleman you…um…get drunk and…um. Marry.”

  Mom tilts her head. “I’m sorry—I’m not following.”

  “We got drunk and got married.”

  Silence.

  Silence.

  Followed by more silence.

  “Say that again?”

  “We got married?”

  “And you were drunk.” A statement, not a question.

  I nod. “Yes.”

  “And have you heard of such a thing as an annulment?” Her face is unquestionably getting red, and her lips are pursing. I didn’t think she’d be cool about this, but I didn’t think she’d act so stoically, either.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “And you haven’t gotten one?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Why not? Do you love him?”

  “Yes, I love him.” But not enough to marry him, for crying out loud. This wasn’t part of my plan! Not that I had a plan, exactly, but this wouldn’t have been anywhere in or around it.

  “You’re in love with someone you lived with even though you told your father and me not to worry, you got drunk and married your roommate in Vegas, and you’re just now telling us about it.”

  Um.

  That pretty much sums it up.

  Ashamed, I nod.

  She says nothing.

  More of nothing.

  A silence so deafening I almost want to check for a pulse; I swear I hear the ticking of a clock somewhere in the distance.

  My mother is silent for so long I actually begin to worry.

  “Mom, please say something.”

  Her mouth opens.

  Closes.

  Opens again, but she’s looking above my head and out the window behind me. “I don’t know where to start, Georgia. I’m so…I’m so…” Are her fists clenching? “I don’t know what to say.”

  She sits, as silent as I’ve ever seen her, and I wish to god she would please say something.

  Anything.

  I would even be able to handle it if she started yelling right now, or crying, but her not saying anything at all is freaking me out. I knew this was a terrible idea and I knew I shouldn’t have told her.

  “Mom…”

  “What do you want me to say?” Her tone is controlled. “Do you really want to know what I’m thinking right now? Because I don’t think you do.”

  “Yes! Yes, please.”

  “Fine.” Her lips press into a tight line. “I think that…you’re an adult, and therefore, it’s time to start acting like one.”

  I sit there, shellshocked.

  “I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean.”

  Mom goes on to explain. “I have to talk to your father about this, and he’s going to be disappointed too, but I speak for both of us when I say…perhaps it’s time for you to move on.”

  Move on?

  “Yes. Perhaps it’s time for you to move out and spread your wings. You went to Vegas, you got drunk, and you got married. And from what you’re saying, you didn’t get an annulment, which would’ve been the responsible thing to do as soon as you got back to school, but you didn’t. For whatever reason, you’re dragging your feet. I don’t know why, but there must be something about this boy that you like enough not to separate from him.”

  She’s absolutely right of course; she usually is. But just because I haven’t gone and gotten an annulment yet doesn’t mean I’m attached to Ashley in some way that would make me want to stay married to him at twenty-two years old. It’s not like I’m purposely putting it off, am I?

  “Do you want me to move out?”

  Mom shrugs casually…coldly. Pulling an expression I’ve never seen on her before.

  “You’re married. You should go figure your life out. You have a husband somewhere and you’re sitting in my living room, wallowing.” She stands, brushing her hands on the front of her jeans. “How does thirty days sound? That’s what most landlords give their tenants.”

  Tenants? “I don’t pay rent.”

  “Exactly,” Mom says as she leaves the room.

  I am at a loss.

  Too stunned to say anything, to go after her and beg her to forgive me. My chin begins to wobble a bit. In the back of the house, I hear a door open and keys jingling—an indication that Mom has left the house.

  I remember when she and Dad would fight, she’d take the car and drive around, sometimes stopping at the Dairy Queen to get an ice cream. She’d sit in a parking lot and stare off into the distance until her nerves had settled, and I wonder if that’s where she’ll go now.

  Welp. She’s definitely telling Dad.

  They almost never punished me when I was growing up; I had enough self-loathing to do the job for them. Disappointing my parents would eat me alive, and not a lot has changed since I was younger.

  I drag myself to my bedroom and flop down on the bed, tears at bay until I’m well and truly alone. The one person I want to call is sound asleep and halfway across the world.

  You should go figure your life out.

  You have a husband somewhere.

  Figure it out.

  I should.

  It’s been months since the wedding, since we packed up our things and said our goodbyes on the steps of Ashley’s house at school.

  Months since we made love and kissed.

  I hardly know him, but it’s like I’ve known him all my life and what am I doing here?

  I cannot allow him to come here. I can’t ask him to give up his job or the role he plays in his family. But I also can’t afford to go there—I have no money for an apartment and clearly no job prospects in England.

  Well, I have none here either.

  Tears continue to flow down my face, pillow getting soaked, my nose beginning to run. I hear both my parents come home a little while later, and then a knock at my door.

  I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my pajama top and sit up as Dad walks in, Mom leaning against the doorframe.

  She doesn’t look mad anymore, just…unreadable.

  “Mom told me your news,” he begins.

  I wait as silence fills the air.<
br />
  “We’re really disappointed, Georgia Margaret.”

  Disappointed? A bold understatement, I’m sure.

  “We’re disappointed by the fact that you didn’t tell us, and we’re disappointed that you were foolish enough to get so drunk in a city where you could have been kidnapped—”

  “Or murdered,” Mom adds from the doorway.

  “Or murdered. We may not have known for who knows how long, not to mention you’ve never mentioned being romantically involved with this boy—excuse me, this man to whom you are married—let alone brought him home to meet us. You’ve had ample opportunity.”

  The list of offenses is humiliating.

  I can’t tell if Dad is done with his spiel or not, so I keep my mouth shut and continue listening as they stew, him pacing in my tiny room, wearing holes in the carpet.

  “Your mother and I talked, and she’s right—you have to figure your shit out. We love you, buttercup, but you’re married.” He seems to choke on the word, voice cracking. “We think thirty days is fair.”

  If I have to be out in thirty days, there’s no way Ashley can come here. Not to this house, not to stay, not even for a night.

  What a mess.

  “We’re doing this because we care, sweetie,” Mom says. “You can’t hide out here. You go to work and come home and don’t leave your room—and I hear you on your phone. I hear you crying.” She pauses. “It’s time.”

  “Shit or get off the pot is what Grandpa Parker told me when I graduated from college. Make a decision. Rip off the Band-Aid.”

  Dad and Grandpa love metaphors.

  I give a feeble nod, thankful that my bottom lip doesn’t tremble when I say, “No, I get it. I understand.”

  When Mom eases her way into my room and comes to sit next to me on the bed, wrapping her arm around me, Dad comes to join, sitting on my other side.

  “You’ll do the right thing,” he says.

  Mom kisses me on the top of the head. “Get the annulment, sweetie, and move on.”

  Tell me how you really feel.

  Epilogue

  Ashley