I’m no longer their son’s little Filipina bestie who played goal because what she didn’t have in size, she made up for in reflexes.
I’m no longer a girl at all.
I am the woman who married Dexter Whitby. Fake married, I mean. Knowing I’ll be lying to his family twists the ever-present clench in my stomach.
The cringe-inducing “why didn’t you tell us you were going to elope” confrontation already happened in Buffalo. Therefore, Maxine is cued up for a whole other conversation.
“When are you and my son giving us grandkids? This house is perfect for a family!” She offers a tinkling laugh like she’s kidding. At least, I think she’s kidding.
“Mom was hoping you eloped because you were already knocked up,” Julia whispers in my ear when we hug.
I choke on air.
Julia, Dexter’s younger sister, barely tolerates hockey. Granted, growing up with a superstar brother meant you were subjected to boring hours in countless arenas, watching or waiting for him. Now that she’s moved to New York and works in the fashion industry, the occasional hockey game no longer brings her to tears.
“Would you like drinks and appetizers before a tour?” I ask to shift the topic away from grandkids. “Or maybe you’d prefer to freshen up in the guest bedrooms?”
Thank god for my checklist.
“This place is huge!” Julia gushes while strolling into the living room.
“I told you it’s perfect for a big family,” her mother says while following Julia into the kitchen.
“These stuffed mushrooms look fabulous!” Julia calls out, having found the appetizers I laid out. From the foyer, I hear mother and daughter decide on which wine to open first.
Charles, father and least chatty of the Whitby clan, enters with two rolling suitcases. A gentle giant, he gives me an amiable smile when I peck him on the cheek.
We tour the house while I offer an overview of necessities like Wi-Fi passwords and where Dex stores the hard liquor. Maxine has already chosen the room that will serve as a nursery. It’s the one I’m currently occupying as the fake wife.
Irony is a guilt-inducing son of a joker, am I right?
Before we leave for the arena, I enter Dex’s bedroom to freshen up and gather myself. Three loud knocks make me jump. I open the door to find Julia holding a large box with a sparkly red ribbon on top.
When she gestures for me to take it, I voice my curiosity. “We’re spending Christmas together. Why don’t we open all our presents then?”
Looking mischievous, Julia lets herself in and plops on the bed.
“Trust me, you don’t want to open this in front of our parents.”
“Why?” I ask before remembering a detail about Julia’s job. She’s the fashion merchandiser for Rose Lingerie.
“Just because you didn’t have a bridal shower, it doesn’t mean you don’t need the goodies that come with it.”
Her tone is playful, but there’s a hint of hurt in it, too. Julia would have wanted to participate in a traditional wedding ceremony, I think. If she only knew how untraditional our circumstances are . . .
The impulse to confess makes me antsy, so I revert my attention to the gift.
“Do you want me to open it now or, like, later?”
The thought of pulling out lingerie in front of Dex ticks up my heartbeat.
“Normally, yes, you can open them privately. But one of them will require a bit of a tutorial.”
“Um, why? Also, one of them?”
“Obviously, this is the start of your collection. You need to keep things spicy during a marriage.” She nods her head knowingly.
Is there a widely circulated marriage memo I neglected to read?
