Page 70 of Bridesmaid By Chance
And that truth causes Stacey to let out a roar of a laugh. “Oh, the irony.”
“Can you not?” I stare out the window, unable to look my sister in the eye. “It’s bad enough I’m realizing it. I don’t need you laughing at me.”
“And there you were, bitching that he’s calling you immature, too young, your hot-button words, and you believe him. Wow, that’s really rich. Are you going to tell him?”
“Have you lost your mind?” I nearly yell at my sister. “No, I’m notgoing to tell him. God, the gloating, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I need some help. I need like a crash course on handling this kind of situation.”
“I don’t think they make a book that gives you a rundown on how to handle a situation like this. I mean, we can go to the bookstore after the bank and see if there is a self-help section, but temporary marriage of convenience isn’t a very popular everyday life choice.”
“I don’t need a book. I just need…I need to talk about it, get in the right frame of mind. Isn’t there some wisdom you can impart on me?”
“This is kind of out of my wheelhouse, but you know”—she taps her chin—“I actually might have someone you can talk to.”
“Who?” I ask.
She smiles. “You’ll see. Let’s sign the papers first, and then I’ll have them meet us at the house. This might be incredibly helpful.”
“Should I be scared?”
“Maybe a little.”
“Is this weird?” I ask.
Stacey stares up at the living room ceiling with me, both of us with champagne in mugs, a pizza between the both of us half-eaten, her crusts waiting to be composted, mine fully consumed.
“Is what weird?” she asks.
“That we are technically lying here, in a house that we somewhat own?”
“Maybe a little,” she says as she rolls over to look at me. “I didn’t think we would ever be in this position.”
“Of buying a house?” I ask.
“Yes, and where Jude actually left us to live his own life. Where he did something for himself, rather than always thinking about us.”
“He still thinks about us.”
“He does, but he also has given us freedom from his protection, notalways keeping track of us. When Gran passed away, he was adamant about making sure we were always taken care of, and now that he’s living with Haisley, it feels weird but wonderful. I’m happy for him, I’m happy for us.”
“Same,” I say as I pick up one of her pieces of crust and take a bite. “Do you think Gran would be proud of all of us?”
Stacey shrugs her shoulders. “I want to say yes, but her feelings about us were always complicated in a way.”
“Like that we were a burden she had to take on when Mom died?” I ask, saying the words out loud that we’ve never really spoken about before.
“Yeah,” she says softly.
“We might have been a burden,” I say. “But I still think there were moments when she was proud of us.”
“Maybe,” Stacey says and then smiles at me. “Remember the first time Jude brought us here and the carpet was maroon and looked like several people had died on it?”
I laugh and nod my head. “He ripped the carpet out immediately, then went to Walmart and bought us all slippers to wear while walking around on the plywood floors. That roll of carpet lived out on the back patio for months because he didn’t want the landlord to know.”
“And the first night, that scratching noise.”
“Mr. Whiskers,” I say, remembering the rat that was rummaging through the walls at night. “And the hole Jude plowed through the wall trying to punch the thing dead. It’s a good thing he was into construction and home repair.” I look around the renovated space that we created ourselves.
It took a while and some growing pains along the way, but we put a lot of love into this home, a home that wasn’t officially ours but one we made our own—one Stacey and I didn’t want to let go.
