“No.”
“Put it down some stripper’s pants?”
My fingers squeeze around the steering wheel. “I didn’t lose my money.”
Not that I have much to lose.
She’s quiet for a moment, like she’s considering what other possible horrors I could have found in the City of Sin. My nerves can’t handle it.
“I got married,” I blurt out, and then panic and add, “Sort of.”
How does one sort of get married anyway and is it too late to get the certificate changed?
Silence stretches out for so long that I think we got disconnected. Or that my brain has switched over to filtering only white noise.
“Wren?”
More quiet.
And then…laughter?
“Why are you laughing?”
She answers my question with a question. “Married?You?Who did you marry? Wait, was this some sort of joke with Kinsley? Does Skylar know? Are the three of you together?!”
“No.” It’s the easiest answer and all her questions are making my head spin. “His name is Travis, and you don’t know him.”
Ibarely know him. That thought seems better kept to myself.
“Wow. I did not see this coming. I mean the failed marriage and divorce, yes, but I anticipated a few years of pretending to tolerate some boring jerk and then saying ‘I told you so’ when he got arrested for tax evasion or cheated with your accountant.”
“You’ve really thought this out,” I say dryly.
“Oh yeah. I even planned to throw you one of those divorce parties where we’d burn your wedding dress and talk shit about him all night long.” She sighs like my unplanned marriage has really ruined her life. “I guess we could still do that, but I’ll have to rely on Kinsley for the dirt on him. What’s his last name? Is he on Insta?”
“You are not cyberstalking him.”
“Why not?”
“Because…we’re not getting divorced.” I don’t have the energy or the heart to explain the differences between divorce and annulment.
More silence.
“At least not right away.” Then, I spend the next few minutes explaining the situation, talking so fast that she can’t manage to interrupt me. When I’m done, I suck in as much air as my lungs can hold and finally let the quiet linger for as long as it takes her to speak. Which isn’t very long but feels like an eternity.
“Found him. Ooh. He’s cute. Nice job.”
“Wait, what do you mean you found him? I only gave you his first name.”
“What, like it’s hard?” She laughs. “Nice social pics. Only one shirtless photo and nothing with fishing or hunting. Why do guys think posting with dead animals is sexy?”
“I don’t know,” I say, still in shock that she’s tracked him down so quickly.
“Oh, he has a charity that supports after-school programs for kids. And he’s won a lot of awards for hockey things. Impressive. Almost as impressive as his dating history. Wow. She is?—”
“Okay. Stop. You can’t know more about him than me. That would be weird.” Yes, that’s definitely the weird part of this scenario.
“Fine, but when you do get divorced, can I throw a party?” she asks finally.
