F*ck Marriage(70)

“This is kind of fun, you know.” She cracks the last egg into the bowl and tosses the shells. “Like a sleepover…”

I grin over the top of her head and hand her the bowl of onions she asked me to dice. “Does that mean I get to share the bed with you tonight?”

Her laugh is halfhearted.

“My mother told me she still feels like she’s having a sleepover with my dad after thirty-six years,” I tell her.

My parents largely grossed their children out for much of our adolescence. As adults, we’ve learned to appreciate their love fest, but we all still look away when they make out like two teenagers.

“That’s sweet,” she says, avoiding my eyes. “My parents don’t talk to each other unless it’s to comment on the weather.”

“That’s depressing.” I pop a cherry tomato in my mouth as I try not to let on how closely I’m watching her reactions.

“Yeah. I wanted the opposite of their marriage. And look at me now. Marriageless. An old divorcée with no prospects.”

I snigger. “Oh, please. You’d have plenty of prospects if you were ready.”

She pretends not to hear me as she searches through the silverware drawer. I listen to the clatter of metal and frown.

“Spatula?” I dig it out of a different drawer and hand it to her.

Our fingers brush and she pulls her hand away like I’ve shocked her.

“Were you truly happy with Woods?” I think about her blog post. I’d read it on my parents’ couch—three times, four—wondering if it was the idea of love she’d been in love with rather than Woods.

“I don’t know. I was ignorant, I guess. So in a way ... yeah. He fulfilled my idea of marriage and I enjoyed that.”

“And the person you are now, the woman you’ve become—would she be happy in a marriage with Woods?”

I’m surprised when she laughs.

“No,” she says. “This person is much more complicated.”

“Then why do you still want to be with him?”

Her hands still. She sets everything down and turns around to face me, leaning her back against the counter as she dries her hands on a dish towel.

“Because we made a commitment. We were supposed to fight through it. I was willing.”

“Then why did you leave? Why didn’t you stay and fight?”

Her lips move, but the words stay trapped in her throat.

She withdraws completely after that, her smile disappearing from her face. I should ask why, but I’m partially amused by the way she keeps glancing at me when she thinks I’m not looking. After we eat, she’s frowning down at her empty plate when I finally ask what’s bothering her.

“I have to tell you something,” she says. “I don’t know if I should. But I’m in a tough position and I’ve honestly lost sight of who I’m betraying at this point.”

I lean back in my seat having already pushed my plate away.

“Jules?”

She nods slowly.

“Okay…” I crack my knuckles, surveying the kitchen.

Billie’s tongue is locked in her promise to Jules. I’ll have to guess if I want to find out.

“I need to know where to start,” I say.

She turns her head to look at the counter and I follow her eyes. The present Jules wrapped and left at my house sits next to the knife block. It wasn’t there before so I assume Billie put it where I could see it.

“Do you want me to open it?”

She shrugs casually, though her eyes are wild.

“Billie…?”

She shrugs again, her eyes blinking slowly like she’s trying to convey the importance of Jules’ gift.

“Okay. All right. I’m going to open it. It’s my fault, not yours…”

I retrieve the package, hoping its placement by the knife block isn’t an omen, and turn it over in my hand. Billie stares at it like she’s afraid.

“You’re freaking me out, Billie.”

“I’m freaking out,” she says. “Bad.”

I stare from her to the package in my hand in confusion.

“Give me a clue,” I say.

Without a word, she stands up and walks into the kitchen. I watch as she gets two shot glasses from the cabinet and then retrieves a bottle of tequila from my bar.

“That’s sipping tequila,” I tell her. “Very expensive.”

“Good, then it’ll go down smooth and work fast.”

I don’t argue as she pours us each a shot and slides mine across the counter. I pick it up, never removing my eyes from her face.

“What would Jules give you that she’d want you both to open together?”

“I have no clue.”

She bites her lip and holds up her shot glass, motioning for me to do the same. Our heads tilt back at the same time.

“If you were a happy couple who planned on being together for the rest of your lives…” Her voice breaks.

I watch as she chews on the inside of her cheek, clearly at odds with her loyalty. Her eyebrows are arched over her eyes and she seems to be urging me toward the answer by raising them higher.

I suddenly feel cold all over. “Billie ... no ... are you…? Is she…?”