Marital Bitch (Men with Badges) - By Jc Emery Page 0,21

scream and start elbowing them both rapidly. Quickly, they each grab an arm and hold me still while Darla, apparently, takes it upon herself and calls my mom. Darla’s phone is up so loud, I can hear my mother from over here. She’s thrilled. Of course she’ll bake her new son-in-law his favorite chocolate cake. Of course.

Lindsay is seated between Darla and Adam. She peeks her head around as much as she can and starts apologizing at rapid speeds. My arms still bound, I lean forward as much as I can to hear exactly what she’s apologizing for. There’s no telling. Really.

“Colleen,” she squeaks, “I’m so sorry! When Louise called to ask me about giving you guys a surprise party, I just got so swept up in the planning! I mean, Colleen, she called me!” Lindsay’s eyes glaze over and she is absolutely in heaven. She loves to plan parties.

“I mean, really. I just gave her a few little pointers, but then when Emily got on the phone, well…” her voice gets small and I know I’m royally fucked. This is bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. “Things just got away from me.” She slinks back into her seat and I slink back into mine. She yells a quick “I’m sorry!” and I yell back a quick “Shut up, it’s fine!” in response.

The rest of the flight goes pretty smoothly. Well, as smoothly as can be expected. Brad and I explain the situation with everyone, and they all agree that we’re doing the right thing. Everyone loves my Grammy. Well, she is pretty much the shit. They do take bets on how long it takes us to screw up and either sleep together (which won’t happen), or for our little sham to be exposed. Adam has the least faith in us. He’s betting on 5-7 days before everyone figures out what we’re up to-- including Grammy. He claims that it’s not a lack of faith, he’s run the numbers and he doesn’t see any strategic way that we’ll be able to pull it off. Too many factors and too many variables are going to make this impossible. His suggestion? Just fuck and be married and quit pretending. Whatever.

All too soon, we’ve landed at Logan and we make our way to Darla’s minivan. Since my mom has a minivan of her own, we were able to take Darla’s so that we’d all fit in one vehicle. Somehow, Brad and I get shoved in the far back into seats that smell like Goldfish crackers and silly putty. He sniffs the air and finds the putty wedged between the seats and starts playing with it. He’s like a child himself. No wonder we never got together. I avoid touching anything. Again, I love my nephews and my niece, but damn, they’re a bunch of dirty birds.

Lindsay and Adam sit directly in front of us and Darla plays copilot to James as he adjusts the driver’s seat in the van to accommodate his large ass.

“Ah,” he breathes in deeply. I look at Darla and she seems to be doing the same thing. What the heck are they doing? This van stinks. “I miss my brats!” James exclaims. He grins at Darla and she nods, wiping away a stray tear. From way back here, parenthood looks a little lame. I turn around to see Brad grinning at me.

“I can’t wait until we have kids and have a van that smells like old cheese,” he says enthusiastically. I blink at him. I stare at him. I think my mouth is on the floor. I can’t be sure. What the hell did he just say to me?

“Don’t worry pretty girl,” he wraps his large arm around my shoulder and pulls me to him. My body is stiff as a board and I want to shove putty down his throat. “We’ll get you inseminated or something’. But that’s expensive, ya know? It’d be a lot easier if you just let me lay the pipe, ya know?” I push him away, aggravated. I really didn’t think this whole sham marriage thing out.

“Just grow up, already,” I mutter.

We pull up at Brad’s house and see an awful banner, tall as can be, hangs off the front of his little white city cottage, with the words “Welcome Home, Mr. & Mrs. Patrick!” Well, if the whole damn neighborhood didn’t know beforehand, they sure as hell do now. The street is clogged with cars all the way down the block. I recognize a lot