“Mabel,” Ryder says quietly, reaching out to run a thumb over my lower lip. At this moment, it feels like we’re the only two in the room. Like suddenly, I’d be willing to give up everything if it meant he’d lean in and kiss me. “Does this mean you’re going to stop being so mean to me? If so, that’s a bummer. You’re hot when you’re all huffy and bratty.”
I shove him in the chest, knocking him into the boom and making the microphone reverb, but we’re too busy laughing to care.
“You’re a pain in my ass, Rye Bread,” I say between chuckles.
“I’ll be a pain in your ass forever and ever, Marshmallow.” He kisses my knuckles again, and maybe if we were alone, I would have been brave enough to lean in and ask for a kiss on the lips instead.
“So is there anything you want to say to those people who are spending their time speculating about your marriage and dating histories and the state of your uterus?” Whitney asks, and I snort because it’s just so ridiculous.
“Yeah, there is. Get a life, you judgmental creeps. This man right here,” I point to Ryder. “He’s mine, and no amount of gossip rag trashy articles masquerading as real journalism are going to change the way I feel about him. Oh, and stop talking about women’s bodies and speculating if they’re pregnant.It’s gross and predatory and makes me want to scream.”
Ryder snaps his fingers like we’re at a poetry slam, muttering “I know that’s right” under his breath, and before I know it, we’re doubled over in hysterics once again.
“Well, that feels like as good a place as any to stop,” Whitney says once we’ve collected ourselves. We sit through the obligatory thank you’s and once the cameras stop rolling, Whitney thanks us both again, and then we’re shuttled into a car. Trina, of course, scolds me for going off script, but I can tell her heart isn’t in it. She wouldn’t be doing her job if she didn’t remind me that publicly acknowledging my flaws will only give the people trying to take me down more fodder, but I think even she knows that Ryder deserved that apology.
From theHot Girl Walkstudio, we’re brought to the local news station to film a couple dozen bumpers to be broadcast during the Games next week, and then we’re whisked to the radio station to do the same thing for their on-air presentations. By the time we’re finally dropped off in front of my—I mean,our—condo,the sun is gone from the sky andboth Ryder and I are too beat to do anything but flop on the couch.
“Want to order Thai for dinner?” Ryder asks,kicking his feet up on the coffee table while I melt into the cushion.
“The trainers will probably kill us if they find out we’re eating anything but grilled chicken and blanched vegetables three days out from Milan.”
“Good point. Pizza it is.”
“Make sure you get a giant bottle of ranch dressing, too. And?—”
“And the cinnamon sugar dough ball things with extra icing for dipping. I got you, Mabel.”
The silence in the condo is broken only by the sound of our breath and Ryder’s fingers tapping on his phone as he orders our dinner. This is the first time we’ve been alone since this morning, and I can feel the weight of the day pressing down on my chest.
I’ve been captivated by my wife since I was seventeen years old.
How fake could this fake relationship really be if he can pull an admission like that out of his ass? Did he mean it, or was it all for show? Do I even want to know either way?
“So, Rye Bread. We should probably talk.”
“There’s something about this couch, huh, Marshmallow? It’s always where wetalk.” He waggles his eyebrows as he emphasizes that last word. I nod gingerly, licking my lips as I try to gainthe courage to start. But what the hell do I even say?
“Hey Ryder, so I know we’re married and living together and you just told millions of people that you’re obsessed with me, but uh…were you serious? Because I always thought we had a weird, love-hate dynamic going on and that my teenage crush on you was unfounded. You can see how this is a lot of information for me, and my head is spinning out of control and I don’t know how I’m supposed to take my next breath, let alone figure out if these feelings I’m developing for you are real and based in truth or if the last few weeks have been some weird fever dream that I’m going to wake up in pain from.”
Yeah. Sure. That’s chill.
“You’re not ready to talk, Mabel.” It’s not a question. It’s not a judgement. It’s a simple observation from someone who has known me my whole life. I let go of the breath I’ve been holding.
“I’m not. I’m really not, and I know that’s not the right thing to say, and it’s immature and?—”
“Marshmallow,” he interrupts my rambling. “I think it’s time.”
“Time for what?”
Ryder quirks one eyebrow, and then in a move I’ve only seen him perform with a snowboard strapped to his feet, he pulls his knees to his chest and launches himself into the air, landing on two feeton top of my coffee table with his arms outstretched. And then, he starts to sing, horribly off-key.
“It’s time to try defying gravity!”
“Oh my god,” I laugh, tossing a pillow at him when he attempts another high note. And as we settle into a Wicked double feature with pizza and cinnamon bites abound, I can’t stop the lingering thought in the back of my head from nagging me. The one that keeps saying,“I think I could happily hang out with Ryder for the rest of my life.”
I must’ve fallen asleep sometime aroundthe beginning of Act Two, because when I wake up with my bare feet in Ryder’s lap and an awful crick in my neck, he’s humming along with Elphaba and Fieyro as they serenade each other in the woods.
“I was going to send you to bed, but you looked too peaceful to disturb,” he says when I stir, his palm sliding idly along the length of my calf.
