Marital Bitch(17)

THE REST OF the day Brad and I shut ourselves off from the rest of our friends. I just can’t face any of them. Despite the numerous phone calls, text messages, Facebook comments and e-mail messages apologizing, I still don’t get a single admittance of guilt from any one of them. They seem to be banded together as a unit. That’s one thing I’ll say for them-- they’re loyal. They must not have anticipated how upset I would be-- except for Darla. She just doesn’t care.

My phone rings and the Caller I.D. shows it’s Grammy Mary. I dread this phone call, but Grammy hasn’t been in the best health as of late, and I can’t just ignore it. I could for anyone else, but not my Grammy. Grammy is the only one who completely supported me when I made the decision to go to Harvard. My mother has always been more worried about me producing grandchildren for her than what I want for myself.

I look to Brad, who is next to me on the couch, show him my phone and then bite the bullet and just answer the damn thing. “Hey Grammy,” I say in my best cheerful voice.

“Colleen Mary Frasier! Or should I call you Patrick now?” I cringe. I knew she knew the moment I saw her name on my Caller I.D., but I was holding onto a thread of hope that I was wrong. I remain silent and sure enough, she continues. “I can’t believe you got married without me, young lady! And Bradley… did that boy even think about what he was doing? Your father is steamed. He wanted to walk you down the aisle.” I open my mouth to apologize. I don’t have the guts to tell Grammy that it was a sham. I don’t know if I ever will, honestly.

“I’m sorry, Grammy,” I say and look to Brad. He sighs. He and Grammy have always had a special relationship. He was her boy since birth, despite that there is no real relation there. My Grammy is his Grammy, too. He doesn’t like her being upset any more than I do. He won’t be able to tell her the truth either, I just know it.

She sighs. “I’m just glad you finally did it, young lady. Even if it wasn’t in a Catholic church, at least you finally stopped fighting your fate. I always knew the two of you would be perfect together.” She coughs and it doesn’t sound good. It’s not one of those little, delicate coughs. It’s one of those large, throaty coughs that sounds of phlegm and yuckiness.

“Are you okay, Grammy?” I ask, genuinely concerned. Brad’s eyes are fixed on my face and I shake my head. I know that she’s okay, I just have to ask.

“I’ll be fine. I just want you home. You will come see me when you get back, won’t you?” I agree. “And you’ll bring my boy with you, won’t you?” I agree. “Well, I guess he’s your boy now, isn’t he? I guess I can share him with his wife,” she says in a faux snippy voice. I laugh.

“I can share, Grammy. I promise. He’ll always be your boy.” I smile at Brad and his face lights up. Before I can stop him, he grabs the phone out of hand and runs off with it. He’s talking animatedly with Grammy. I can’t help myself, I watch him. He’s happy. He’s pretty much always happy. I don’t quite know what to do with it, so I just sit there and watch him. He and Grammy are making plans to have lunch and he insists on bringing me along.

If I weren’t so used to this, I might be offended that my grandma is trying to get him alone. Knowing her, she’ll try to convince him to knock me up if I’m not there. At least if I’m present, she’ll just strongly suggest we have kids-- and soon. I don’t know how I feel about having lunch with Grammy, but I do know one thing for certain. We can’t let her know that this marriage isn’t real. But the question is-- can we really fake it? Do I even want to fake it? I don’t know the answer to these questions, all I know is that I need to stop staring at Brad. I think I’m starting to drool.

Brad gets off the phone with Grammy and plops down next to me. He is all smiles, I, on the other hand, am deep in thought.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, pretty girl?” he asks. I shrug, not wanting to tell Brad that I think I might want to stay married. For Grammy, I mentally correct myself. I just don’t want to disappoint Grammy. Yeah, that’s it. Brad tickles my sides and I give up in one loud blurt.

“I don’t want to get a divorce!” I shout. Brad’s fingers still at my sides and he slowly lets go. “Grammy is sick. She’s old. She can’t live forever, and… she was so happy to hear that we got married. And I…” I stutter, “I couldn’t tell her the truth.” He nods and then grins. I let out a breath and smile at him as I continue my explanation. “The thing is-- all of Facebook knows we got married now… and our parents… God, Brad… our parents know!” I put my hands on my face in exasperation.