I don’t know what it is about that voice message, but it gets me choked up every time. I think it’s a reminder of my Mom’s resilience. She earned her paralegal degree later in life, through grit, determination and hard work. Every time I hear the message on her answering machine, my chest fills up with pride. I want to be able to make her proud too. Getting my T-shirt business off the ground seems like the ticket.
Since my mother is not available to take my SOS call, I move on to my bestie. I’ve never been able to keep a secret from Alba. But the past few days have been hectic and I haven’t gotten ahold of her since the housewarming party. I have so much to catch her up on.
The phone rings and Alba answers my call. But before I can blurt out I-had-a-freaky-sexcapade-with-your-crotchety-brother-in-law-and-now-I’m-considering-marrying-him-to-get-around-the-fact-that-I’m-being-blackmailed-out-of-my-inheritance-by-my-evil-half-sister”, my bestie starts rambling.
“Hey hun. I’m sort of busy right now. Showing an amazing new property to a new client!” She’s so excited. I can hear it in the barely restrained giddiness in her voice.
“Hell yes! That’s so amazing, Alba,” I say, genuinely happy for her.
My bestie had to take the realtor exam multiple times before finally nailing it, and now that she’s certified to sell properties, she’s killing this realtor thing.
“Can I call you later?”
“Of course, hun.”
“Wish me luck!”
“Good luck. Proud of you, babe.”
“Thank you, Jules!” With a little squeal, the phone clicks in my ear.
I pause for a moment, considering who else I could call to talk me out of this insane decision I’m on the precipice of making. My mind silently scrolls through my tight-knit friend group.
Laney is working a double shift at the hospital again and she won’t be able to take my call.
Tammy is probably available to talk, but she would tell me to drag Lincoln down the aisle by the balls and make an honest man out of him. Not sure that’s the kind of advice I need.
Alba’s mom, Patty, has been a mother figure to me all my life and I’ve turned to her for guidance on more than one occasion, but this isn’t something I feel I could open up to her about.
Then there’s Monica Raines. Even though she and I have become friends over the past few months and I absolutely adore her, talking to the woman about fake-marrying her son? Ha! Definitely not the best idea.
But then I conclude that I don’t need anyone’s validation for this decision I’m about to make. I’m a grown woman, and agrown woman’s got to do what she’s got to do. Even if it’s batshit crazy.
Before my brain shorts out again, I grab my jacket and keys, muttering under my breath the whole time.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.”
I stomp into my boots, tightening the shredded laces into messy knots.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.”
I lock my front door and race down the porch steps two at a time.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.”
I find myself driving toward the nicer part of town. The neighborhood with neatly-manicured cul-de-sacs and driveways with basketball hoops, where kids play tag and hopscotch in the narrow tree-lined streets.
You and I don’t like each other. Maybe we should get married. It might just solve some of our problems.
I’m operating fully on autopilot at this point. Desperation is my only guide untilI find myself standing on Lincoln’s door step. My heart is racing.
Oh my god. What the hell am I doing?
Too late to back out now.
11
LINCOLN
