“I know you don’t, baby. But sometimes we don’t have a choice. Might as well make the best of it.”
“Yeah.” I nuzzle his neck to let him know I appreciate him. I’m not good at putting those things into words. “You’re right. I’ll try. And I do feel better now.”
“Good.”
“But I’m still not sure I’m up for sex.”
“Do you think I’m looking for that?” There’s a frown in his voice.
“No. You seem kind of tired.”
“I am.”
“So am I. Thanks for making me feel better.”
Now he’s smiling. I know it even though I’m not looking at his face. “What else is a fake husband who provides services with sufficient remuneration for?”
Eight
MY MOTHER IS GETTING married at the church she and Pop attend, and the following day I’m in the dressing room with her, helping her get ready.
She’s wearing a simple pale gray dress with lace sleeves and a straight cut. I’m her only attendant, and she told me I could wear anything I want, so I chose a silvery-blue cocktail dress with sleek lines that flatter my figure. I almost never wear dresses, so I feel a bit strange in the outfit. But my mother assures me I look gorgeous, and every glance in the mirror affirms this claim.
I do look good. Elegant and feminine and discreetly sensual. I wonder what Damian will think when he sees me, but then I quickly push the thought away since it will lead to no good.
“Well, I think we’re ready,” my mom says, peering in a full-length mirror and turning around to check out her back. “A half hour early.”
I laugh. “Story of our life, I think.”
“Very true.” She smiles at me, then reaches out to cup my cheek, a gesture that surprises me since neither of us are particularly touchy people. “I’m really happy for you, sweetheart.”
“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be saying that to you today?”
“Maybe. But I am. I’m excited for you as much as for me. It feels like we’re both... moving forward.”
“I think we’ve done pretty well for ourselves all these years.”
“Yes. We have. But I’ve always felt like you were holding on to me. Like I was a weight of responsibility on you that kept you from—”
“Mom! No way, Mom. Don’t even think that. It was never like that.” I swallow hard, my face twisting slightly. “We’re family. We take care of each other.”
She looks for a moment like she might tear up, but she doesn’t (a good thing for her perfect makeup). “And we always will. But I want you to have other people who take care of you. I was so hoping Damian would be that person.”
Something about the catch in her voice startles me. I’ve been fiddling with my pretty bouquet of white roses, but I jerk my head back to look at her now. “What do you mean, you were hoping?”
“I don’t know. He’s an amazing man. And it’s so obvious he adores you. He’s not who I would have pictured you with, but it really does seem to work. But... I don’t know...”
I wait, motionless, my hands twisted tightly together. They’ve gone cold and damp.
“It still seems like maybe you’re holding back with him. I don’t know why I think that, but I do. And it worries me. Is everything really all right between the two of you?”
“Y-yes. Yes, of course.”
“Don’t hold back with him, Mel. I know it’s hard to trust after we’ve lived so much of our lives with no one but each other to rely on, but it’s worth it. I promise it’s worth it. So don’t hold back with him.”
I hate myself for a moment. Hate myself. Because even now, on this day that’s so important to her, I’m having to lie to my mother’s face. I feel just as guilty as I did as a child when I stole that candy and then lied about it. It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. But I’m trapped in the lie and can’t get out of it.
It’s not like I can tell her the truth right now, a half hour before her wedding. Talk about ruining the whole day.
So I manage to gulp and nod and give her a wobbly smile. Maybe she’ll just think I’m overcome with emotion. “I’m trying.”
She comes over to hug me, evidently unconcerned about potentially wrinkling our dresses. “Good. Then keep trying. He’s worth it. I’m old enough to tell the good ones from the bad ones now, and he’s definitely one of the good