"Good, because I'm not even sure what you said. Or rather, I know what you said, but I'm not sure what you meant. I know you said you had to work in the morning, but perhaps we could grab a bite to eat at some point tomorrow? Lunch or supper?"
"Why?" I'll never win Miss Congeniality at this point. Speaking of which, I wonder if I should get a glow-up like Sandra Bullock did? Maybe Michael Caine is all I need to become less of, well, me.
Xavier pauses at the door and cocks his head slightly. "We're going to have to live together. Possibly even appear in public with each other. I thought getting to know you better might help."
I let out a sigh. It's so blatantly obvious how much help I need. I'm practically a charity case. "Fine. I mean, good. You're right. How about dinner? I know this great restaurant in the North End."
Xavier nods at me and then walks out. It's only after he leaves that his words sink in.
Live together.
I mean, it's not like I didn't know it, but I can barely string three words together in his presence. I'm going to have to figure out how to be functional and normal.
Because this is a totally functional and normal thing to do.
I pick up my phone to text Marley but stop short. I'm not sure if I'm allowed to tell her. I mean, I'm going to have to, eventually, but I don't know if I can tell her the real story or what.
On the other hand, if I don't say something to someone, I'm going to burst.
Me: I'm getting married.
It's a stupid text to send, but if I don't get it out, Xavier will return tomorrow to find bits of me all over the place because I did actually spontaneously combust.
Then I wait, those three dots waving. After what feels like eons, but is in fact only two minutes, a response dings through.
Xavier: Really? Who's the lucky chap?
Me: Sorry, I just had to tell someone, and since I'm not sure who I can tell, you win by default.
Xavier: I think I win regardless.
My breath hitches in the back of my throat as I read those words. He doesn't mean anything by them, of course. He's winning because he's making the career move he wants and is going to play for a winning team.
Me: Isn't that what this whole thing is about? Making sure you win? What team are you going to be playing for? I feel like a good wife should know this.
Xavier: A good wife should. The Boston Buzzards. And where is the hotel around here? I feel as if I've been walking for hours.
Oh God, now I feel guilty for making him go.
Me: Just turn around. You can stay here. It's silly for you to get a hotel.
Naturally, I regret sending the text as soon as my thumb strikes the button. Story of my life. No, that's not going to be awkward at all.
Xavier: You sure? I don't want to put you out.
Me: It's not like you're a serial killer or anything. Right?
Me: RIGHT?????
Xavier: Not last time I checked. I'd tell you to vet me, but the only person we have in common is Trent the Tosser, and I'm not sure he's a reliable source.
Me: He'd be a reliable source for you, just not for me. But alas, I've deleted his contact information. Please don't kill me and make a suit out of my flesh.
You know, worrying about his serial killer-ness probably would have been better before I invited him to stay. Or better yet, before I went to the train station to meet him and bring him back here. Or still better, BEFORE I ASKED HIM TO MARRY ME.
Quickly, I run over to my desk and scrawl a quick letter to Marley, naming one Xavier Henry as my killer, in the event that I go missing. On the outside of the envelope, I write, "Open in case of emergency" and before I can check myself, I run outside and place it in the corner mailbox.
I'm not sure why that brings me a sense of safety and relief. I'll still be dead, but at least justice will be served.
