Arranged (18 page)

I feel myself getting mad, and a little jealous, that he wants to keep something from me. Then again, I might have things I want to keep private too. What he’s saying isn’t unreasonable.

“Okay, Jack. I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”

“You’re not an asshole.”

“I’m keeping that one for later.”

“Margaret says that Brian thinks you’re sarcastic and that you intimidate him.”

“Do you think that?”

“No.”

“That’s all that matters.” Jack glances at his watch. “I’m getting hungry. Ready to go?”

I look around me at the sunburned guests sitting in the blue deck chairs. A waitress is weaving among them, carrying a tray full of drinks. It rests heavily on her shoulder. A large woman in one of those faux-slim-girl T-shirts lights a cigarette and waves the smoke away with her hand. Above it all, the sun shines brightly, ruthless.

I turn back to Jack. This man I met a week ago. My lover. My friend. My husband.

“Lead the way.”

Chapter 17

Crickets

O
ur flight gets in after seven. We wait half an hour for a customs official to stamp our passports, then collect our luggage and take a cab to my place. After a quick tour of the apartment—this is where I eat, this is where I write, this is where I watch too much TV—we order in Chinese food and spend the rest of the night in my bed.

I’m awakened the next day by Jack gently shaking my shoulder.

“Wake up, sleepyhead!”

I poke my head out from under the covers. Jack is dressed in grubby jeans and a faded T-shirt.

“What?”

“It’s nine. Time to get up.”

I pull the covers back up. “I thought you said you’re a late riser.”

“I said I write in the afternoons. I reserve my mornings for torturing the woman I’m sleeping with.”

“Nice. I didn’t get much sleep last night, you know.”

“Can I help it if I’m a godlike lover?”

I pull the covers back down, giving him an incredulous look. “Godlike? That’s pushing it.”

“Okay, who’s my competition?”

I make a face.

“Strike that, I don’t want to know.”

“What’s the hurry, anyway?”

“I want to move my stuff in today. We have to pick up the U-Haul in an hour.”

“When the hell did you reserve that?”

He looks sheepish. “I booked it online at the resort after we agreed . . . after you said I could move in here.”

“How much stuff are you bringing?” I look around the bedroom at the furniture I rearranged until it was just right.

“Don’t worry. Most of my furniture’s crap. I’ll only bring my clothes, my typewriter, my leather club chair, my books, and my flat-screen.”

“You write on a typewriter?”

“I highly recommend it. The sound effects alone are worth it.”

Freaky.

“I was saying that very thing recently.”

“So you understand. Anyway, let’s get this show on the road.”

I get up, shower quickly, and get dressed in old jeans and a ratty sweatshirt. The sight of my cell phone sitting on the dresser reminds me that I haven’t checked my voice mail in a week. I dial in for my messages. I have a couple from work and one from Sarah.

“Anne-girl. Where are you? Aren’t you getting back tonight? Hope you had an awesome time in Mexico! I want to hear all about this man you may have met. Thought we might have drinks with Mike tonight at the bar. I’m on my cell. Call me.”

I erase Sarah’s message while chewing my lip. “Jack?”

He pops his head through the door. “What’s up?”

“You up for meeting my best friend tonight?”

“Is this the best friend who’s going to be asking for all the gory details?”

“The very one.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“I’m going to have to face her eventually. I want to get it over with.”

He mulls it over. “Yeah, okay. You ready to go?”

“Let me make a call first.” I dial Sarah’s number and get her voice mail. “Hey, Sarah-girl. I’m back. Sorry I didn’t call you last night; I was tired. Anyway, meeting for drinks sounds great. I have some news about the man. His name’s Jack. Um, anyway, he’s going to come tonight, so you can meet him. Maybe we can meet alone first? How about seven-thirty? Text me to let me know. I’ve got a bunch of shit to get done today. Love ya.”

I hang up and stare at my phone. Sarah’s not going to take this well. Well, there’s not much I can do about that now.

“You ready, babe?”

“Ready.”

W
e spend a large part of the day moving Jack’s possessions out of his apartment and into mine. Thankfully, the nearly-March weather cooperates. The sun shines weakly as we hastily pack his books into boxes and his clothes into garbage bags. He was right about the state of his furniture—it’s left over from someone else’s college days. We leave it for whoever ends up taking over the lease on his apartment.

“Do you think it’s going to take long to sublet this place?”

“I’ve already gotten five offers since I posted it on craigslist.”

I look around the 650-square-foot studio apartment. There are large squares of dust where Jack’s club chair and flat-screen used to reside. The one window gives onto a brick wall and could use a good Windexing. Without Jack’s framed movie posters on the walls, it feels claustrophobic and abandoned.

“Is the real estate market really that tight?”

“Nah, I just write awesome descriptions. ‘Real estate gem, original details, steps from everything you need to live your bachelor existence. Act now!’ ”

“Confident man.”

“You know it.” He kisses my forehead and tapes the last box shut.

We find a parking place for the U-Haul steps from my front door. I clear out a few drawers in my dresser and make some room in the closet, creating piles of clothes to give to charity. Jack reinforces the wall in the living room with a two-by-four so it can hold his flat-screen and speakers. I’m not sure how I feel about having a giant television take up half my living room wall, but I know I can’t keep things exactly the way I like them if this marriage is going to work.

Around four, we face a crisis regarding our respective book collections. Jack neglected to mention that he has about twenty boxes of books, which are definitely not going to fit into my already overloaded bookshelves.

“I don’t see why we need two copies of anything,” I say, holding up his copy of Donna Tartt’s
The Secret History.

“But that’s my copy. It has my notes.”

“Your notes?”

“Thoughts I get when I’m reading something. I like to keep them.”

“For what?”

“I just like knowing they’re around.”

“I guess I could get rid of my copy.”

He frowns. “Is that a book you want to reread at some point?”

“Yes, why?”

“I don’t really like people reading the notes I make.”

“Is this like your notebook/writing thing?”

“Kind of.”

“There goes that solution out the window.”

He stares at the wall behind the quasi-creepy couch. “Why don’t I build shelves to cover this whole wall here, and we’ll have plenty of room.”

“Build shelves?”

“Sure. I took some woodworking classes. I know what I’m doing.”

“What do we do in the meantime?”

“I’ll put them here in the corner. I’ll start on the shelves next week.”

I watch him stack several boxes. “Um, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you only want to keep your books separate in case this doesn’t work out?”

He walks over to me and puts his hands on my shoulders. “Where’s this coming from, Anne?”

“I don’t know. Reality hitting, I guess. I think I’m nervous about telling Sarah.”

“Having second thoughts?”

“Noooo . . .”

“That fills me with confidence.”

“All this just happened so fast, and here you are, moving your stuff in, and the last time I lived with someone, it didn’t go very well.”

“Anne, it’s just stuff. It took me a few hours to move it in, and it would take me a few hours to move it out. Things are good. Let’s not Dr. Szwick this to death, okay?”

I meet his eyes. They’re filled with assurance. “Yeah, okay.”

“Good.” He ruffles my hair. “You’re filthy. Why don’t you hop in the shower and I’ll fix us some drinks.”

“Good idea. You’ll be nice to Sarah, right?”

“Of course.”

“I want her to like you.”

“And I want to like her. C’mon, enough. Shower.”

I
arrive at the bar twenty minutes early, beating Sarah there for once. I sit at a table for four, facing the door so I can see her come in. I made Jack promise to show up no later than eight, which gives me half an hour to spill the beans. I do better with deadlines.

I order a beer from the waitress and sit there sipping it, trying to stifle my nerves. Every few minutes I take off and then put back on the rings Jack gave me.

Sarah walks through the door fifteen minutes later, wearing a belted trench coat over a tight pair of jeans and knee-high boots. She’s holding her BlackBerry to her ear. I can tell by the tense set of her shoulders that she doesn’t like what she’s hearing. I slip my hands under the table and take off my rings, shoving them in my pocket.

She ends her call with a curt “Later” and says to me, “Hey! You look great. You actually got a tan.”

“Miracles do happen. How’re things?”

She drapes her coat over the back of her chair. “Busy, busy, busy. Planning a wedding is a full-time job, but I think I’ve finally gotten everything under control. How was Mexico?”

“Mexico was—”

The waitress comes to our table and takes Sarah’s drink order. When she leaves, Sarah looks at me expectantly. I take a deep breath and start again. “Mexico was great. Beautiful weather, beautiful ocean, beautiful beaches.”

“Who cares about that, silly? Tell me about this man you met. How come you never called me back?”

“I was so busy relaxing, I forgot.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, okay. His name’s Jack. He’s a writer. He’s smart and nice. I don’t know. What else do you want to know?”

“Uh, everything!”

“I told him you’d want to know everything.”

“Of course I would. But why were you talking about what I’d want to know?”

Oops.

“No reason. I was just telling him that my best friend is a very curious person and always wants to know all the details about my life.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“Of course not.”

“So, tell me everything.”

I think back to the story Jack invented on the deck chairs. I can almost taste the salty-sweet tang of margarita on my tongue, the force of the sun on my skin. “We met the night I got there. We got to talking and really hit it off. We sort of started spending all our time together, and um, he’s great, and smart . . . I told you he was smart, right? Right, I did. So, where was I?”

A furrow appears between Sarah’s eyes. “Anne, what’s up? You’re acting funny.”

I gulp. “I’m just really nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because something kind of huge happened, and I’m worried about how you’re going to react.”

“What, did you sleep with him on the first night? I know you think I’m uptight about that kind of stuff, but it’s just for myself, really. It’s okay if you did. I’m not going to judge you.”

“No, that’s not it. I mean, I did sleep with him, but not the first night.”

“What’s the big deal? It’s not like you got married, right?” I remain silent. She stares at me in disbelief. “What? You what? Anne, this isn’t funny.”

I clear my throat. “We did get married.”

The color drains from her face. “You’re joking.”

“No, I’m not. We did.”

“Jesus.” She picks up her martini glass and takes a long drink. She looks unhappy and upset. “What the hell, Anne? What were you thinking?”

“We were, uh, kind of drunk. But not
that
drunk. It’s really romantic, in a way. We stumbled into this other couple’s wedding, and the minister jokingly asked us if we needed his services, and we sort of looked at each other, and next thing we knew, we were getting married.”

“You got married while you were drunk? Well, we can use that. Right, okay. I can put you in touch with a guy I know. He’s handled these kinds of things before. If you were drunk, it’ll be much easier.”

“Much easier to do what?”

“Get the marriage annulled. If it was even legal in the first place. I’m not sure what the law is in Mexico, but I can find out.” Sarah pulls out her BlackBerry and starts scrolling through her contacts.

“Sarah.” She doesn’t look up. “Sarah.”

“What?”

“I’m not getting the marriage annulled. We decided we’re going to make a go of it.”

Her head snaps up. “What? Are you crazy?”

And you don’t even know the half of it.

“No,” I say in a small voice.

“If you don’t get it annulled now, you’ll have to get divorced later. Annulments generally work only if you apply close to the beginning of the marriage.”

“So I’ll get divorced. Or maybe it’ll work out.”

Sarah gives me a hard look. “Be serious, Anne.”

“I
am
being serious. Jack moved his stuff in today.”

“Christ.” She slumps in her seat, looking defeated.

“Look, I know this is a shock. I’m kind of in shock too. But I think I might’ve done a good thing. I think it might work out. But I need your support. I need you to back me up.”