“When are you going to do this?” she asked. “With the ex.”
“Noah suggested I tag along for the next Boston farmers market. I have an outfit picked out already. Jeans, red gingham shirt knotted at the waist, strawberry earrings. Not sure about a bandana headband. Might be overkill. I’ll have to test that out.” I ran my index finger around the cap of my water bottle. “Noah suggested I meet the ex at the market.”
“He wants to keep an eye on things,” Jaime said.
“How did you know?”
She scoffed. “Have you met your husband? Really, doll. He’s gonna pelt that son of a bitch with apples and run him right out of the market. Chase that motherfucker down the street.”
I started to disagree but then I realized Noah would do that. He wouldn’t think twice about it. He might enjoy it.
“How about we have a gathering, a get-together, a littlemeet her new manparty? Something easy and low-key here at the apartment. Just a few people from school and the girls.”
The girls were Jaime’s roommates. Layla, Dylan, and Linnie. “I’d love that,” I replied. “Noah will have to be convinced to love that. He can be a little shy.”
“We’ll make sure he feels right at home.”
“By referring to him as Daddy Bread Baker? I don’t think so. He’ll throw me over his shoulder and run right out of there. I’m telling you, he’s done it before.”
“Why hasn’t anyone thrown me over their shoulder?” she asked. “I’m down for that. Pick me up, toss me around, treat me like a rag doll. Yes,sir. Give me some of that.”
“You’re on a sex hiatus,” I said.
“Oh, right.”
“No one is treating you like a rag doll until next month at the earliest.”
“Thankfully, I’m busy planning a party and I won’t notice the shortage of sex in my life,” she said. “Hey, are we all right?”
“Of course,” I replied. “Why?”
“Because I couldn’t give you the sandwich. Because I said your ex wasn’t the one and I knew it from the start. Because I was going to let you marry him, even if it broke my heart.” She made a pained sound. “You know I’m never getting married and I’m the last person in the world to end up in a committed relationship but you’ll stop me if I end up with the wrong person. Right?”
Tears blurred my gaze. “What if you tell me I don’t know that person or your relationship? What if you don’t talk to me for five days—or longer? What should I do if it seems like you’ll choose them over me?”
“I’m gonna need you to slap me,” she said simply. “Just haul off and give me a head-snapping slap.”
I barked out a laugh. “I’m not going to do that.”
“My bad. I forgot. You were never paddled in school. God bless Louisiana.” She chuckled. “You’re going to have to remind me of this conversation. Or get your man to throw apples at my head. I don’t know. I just need you to promise you’ll try.”
“I promise,” I said. “I’ll try.”
* * *
Friendship wasthe kind of town that took Homecoming seriously. It wasn’t a simple matter of a rivalry football game with some bonus pageantry and a dance tacked on at the end. No, this town made aneventof Homecoming weekend, packing it with all manner of barbeques, picnics, and potlucks for students and alumni alike, class reunion parties, tailgating before the game, and a big community dance. They called it Old Home Days and everyone around here always looked forward to that weekend.
Back in high school, I’d regarded the event with a fair amount of derision. It’d all seemed overwhelmingly folksy and familiar, and I couldn’t figure out how to exist around that. It was like a language I didn’t speak and didn’t care to learn—and that was a fine summary of my youthful relationship with the place originally settled as Friendly Township.
Now, with the clarity that came from not being a self-centered teenager who was also paddling hard under the surface to keep from sinking in yet another completely new environment, I could acknowledge the charms of this event. It was all about alumni coming home and the organizers went hard at making it enjoyable for everyone. I loved that it was a community dance rather than a couple hundred high schoolers standing around and staring at each other in a dark gymnasium. And I didn’t even mind dragging myself to a football game in near-freezing weather.
The only part that I didn’t love was that Noah and I couldn’t travel more than a few paces at a time without someone coming up to congratulate us. But my issue wasn’t with all the warm wishes. It was that I felt as though everyone could see straight through me. They had to know this marriage, the one that popped up overnight and didn’t add all the way up, wasn’t real.
Yet they were all smiles, all kind words. Even the ones who teased me about stealing Noah away and snapping him up before anyone else could get him seemed sincere in their congratulations.
“High school sweethearts” was Noah’s explanation to all their questions. It rolled right off his tongue, just the way it had with Christiane. I didn’t know how he did it. “Always known she was the one.” When that wasn’t enough, he was quick to add, “Didn’t waste a minute when she came back to town. I’d already wasted too many waiting for her to come home.”
I smiled, I blushed, I leaned into him. It was exactly what I was supposed to do and I had to admit that I loved playing this part with him. He was sweet and generous, and handsy as all hell. I was lucky that my fake husband was a real beast, and we had many, many places on the farm to sneak away and explore all the filth he kept hidden behind those neat plaid shirts and simple ball caps.
