Marital Bitch(11)
“Will you wear this, Mrs. Patrick?” I laugh at his request, but acquiesce. He tosses me the veil. I do my best to secure it to my head, and crawl into bed. “Beautiful,” he says. I curl into Brad’s side and fall into a blissful sleep.
THE NEXT DAY we wake up tangled around one another. My veil is long-since gone and my hair is a knotted disaster. I am wrapped securely in his arms, my back to his chest. I can tell he’s awake by the way he’s breathing. When he’s sleeping, he snores loudly. He’s not snoring now. I remain very still, pretending that I’m still asleep. He moves slightly against me and groans, muttering to himself. And that’s when I feel it—he’s stiffened behind me—all of him, I mean.
“Seriously, dude?” he says quietly, disbelief in his voice. I’m not really sure who or what he’s talking to. I don’t think I want to know. I want to laugh at the situation, but I’d rather he get up and take care of his not-so-little issue while he thinks I’m asleep. This whole morning after marrying your best childhood friend thing is sort of awkward enough as it is.
“Stop it. She’s Colleen. She’s off limits,” he groans, sounding annoyed. I remain still, keep my breathing even, and shove aside my feelings of inadequacy. I am an idiot. We were drunk, he was being sweet. “The Yankees, The Chief naked, James’s ass…” he speaks slow and steady and in a moment I feel him deflate. I decide that it’s safe for him to know that I’m awake now. I stir in the bed, trying to make it believable. I just want to sprint from the bed and wash away this marriage and Brad’s expertly crafted lies. I am such a fool.
“Good morning, Mrs. Patrick,” Brad says, a smile in his voice. My back is to him, so thankfully, he can’t see me wince. I don’t have deep-seeded feelings for Brad. It’s just that, I’m alone. So very alone, and Brad was saying such kind, gentle things to me. He played his part perfectly, the devoted husband. He was very believable. I’m the one who messed up here. I went beyond playing my part and having fun. I fell into my role and for even the slightest sliver of time, I allowed myself to enjoy the fantasy. The fantasy that someone loved me, even if it was Brad; even if we were drunk; even if it made no sense; and even if it was only for one night.
“Don’t call me that,” I snap and push away from him. This is how it always is with us. One step forward and two steps back.
CHAPTER FOUR
(Brad)
Flashback: Sometime back in the 90s
“BRADLEY! HURRY UP!” I hear my mom calling me from downstairs. We’re late for dinner at the Frasiers’, and she is not pleased. Oh well. I shuffle my weight from foot to foot. I’m not ready for dinner at the Frasiers’ just yet. Or, more correctly, I’m not ready to see Colleen just yet. Last week, I told dad about my plan. He’s pretty fucking excited about it. He says it’s about time for me to step up to the plate and ask Colleen out properly. I agree, but he’s never tried to ask Colleen Frasier out before. It’s just not as easy as it looks.
“Brad!” I hear the sounds of the terrible twosome stampeding down the hallway and moments later they barge into my room. My fifteen year old sisters, Mary and Maggie, stand side by side in my doorway with knowing smiles. The twins are always up to something. God only knows how mom and dad are going to handle them once they start dating. Mom says they’re as beautiful as my older sister, Charlotte, and that it won’t be long before dad is going to have to lock them up and send them to a convent. I guess they’re pretty. I don’t know really, they’re my sisters.
I eye them wearily, “What?” I say with hesitation clear in my voice.
“So,” Mary begins, slyly giving Maggie a devious smile. “We were wondering…” she trails off.
This can’t be good.
“Well,” Maggie picks up, “We heard you were considering asking Colleen to prom.” She returns the sly smile to her twin. I gulp. Does everyone know about this?!?
“And we were curious if you were going to ask her after dinner,” Mary nods and waits for Maggie to continue. I know this routine.
“Or if you were going to, you know, chicken out.” Maggie’s grin is blinding and all I want to do is to shove her in my closet and lock the door. I don’t like this one bit. That conversation was between me and dad. I should have known better… growing up in a house full of women and all. I tell dad and dad tells mom and mom tells Charlotte, because at this point they’re more like girlfriends than mother and daughter, and then Charlotte tells Darla, and sure enough Darla tells Lindsay who lets it spill to the twins. I’m surrounded by nosey women. I don’t know why I thought a conversation between two men could ever be private. Colleen must know at this point—though, she is oblivious to almost everything.