Chapter 3
CHAPTER
THREE
Carter
If you take the direct route from Ms. Vi’s house to my restaurant, it’s a distance of only a few blocks, which you can travel in a handful of minutes. Today, however, I take the long way round—the so-called scenic route that runs alongside the river. In part that’s because it’s a beautiful day and I don’t spend enough time outside anymore. But mostly I do it because I need time to think.
My thoughts are in the past—which is not my favorite thing. I don’t like dwelling on what used to be, because that inevitably leads to thoughts of what might have been. And where’s the use in that? What’s done is done. Regretting anything is pointless.
I know there are people who say that you can learn a lot from your mistakes. But what I’ve mostly learned from mine is not to repeat them. Well, that and the fact that I’ve been an idiot for most of my life.
The me who headed off to college at eighteen, for example, could have given a very good impression of someone who’d been dropped on his head one too many times as a child. In my mother’s defense, I don’t think that’s what happened.
Back then, I seriously believed that I had my whole life mapped out. I was going to major in agriculture, learn about all the latest techniques, things no one in my family had heard of yet. And then, after four years of partying in the big city, I’d return to Heartwood to settle down and help to grow the family farm—amazing everyone with how smart I’d become in the process.
Instead, I found that the learning disabilities I’d struggled with in high school had not magically gone away, after all. I hated my studies. The classes I’d signed up for were boring and dry and totally beyond me. I got lost in the theory and the science was so far above my pay grade I’d’ve needed a helicopter to have even gotten an eye-level glimpse of it.
The only thing that sparked my interest was a random lecture I’d spontaneously attended on the farm to table movement. That was a revelation. I became so enamored with the subject that, eventually, I switched to a culinary program. Which did not go down well with my father. At all.
The funny part was that, by then, I’d thought I’d grown used to disappointing him. I thought it wouldn’t bother me anymore. Turns out I was wrong.
Whenever he’d been angry with me up until then, it was always because I’d legitimately messed up in some way. He’d been right to be angry, and I’d been wrong to do whatever i’d done. So why would I have held his anger against him?
But now, I’d finally found something that I loved and was passionate about—something I honestly felt like I could excel at for once in my life. So, for him to come along and heap scorn on that? Well. All I can say is, it hit different.
I couldn’t forgive him. Worse: I didn’t want to forgive him. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that it was his fault that I was on the brink of flunking out at the end of my third year, but let’s just say I wasn’t as motivated as I could have been, as I needed to be in order to succeed. I mean, what was the point? It wasn’t like he was going to support me in my goal of opening my own restaurant. In fact, he was probably never going to be proud of me for anything anyway. So why bother trying to do anything?
I returned home at the end of that spring term feeling depressed and defeated. I was twenty-one, a fully-fledged adult. I was free to make my own decisions, blaze my own trail, do whatever the hell I wanted to do. Except I had no idea what that was.
And there was Jo. My best friend. The only person who believed in me, the only one I could talk to. She slipped out of her house one night and I picked her up and we drove out to the country—like we used to do when I was teaching her to drive. Only now we went there to talk, to share a six-pack and gaze at the stars. She was eighteen years old, fresh out of high school, and primed for trouble. The stars in her eyes, when she talked about what she wanted to do with her life were bigger and brighter than the ones that shone overhead.
Listening to her talk that night, it was clear to me what the future would look like. She’d head off to school in the fall and never look back. She’d make new friends, develop new interests. And even when she came back to visit, things would be different between us. I would lose our friendship and the comfort of these moments.
I’m not proud of the fact that I wanted to hold onto her—to hold onto this—for just a little bit longer, to be her knight in shining armor one last time. So, when she asked me if I wouldn’t buy her some booze so that she and her friends could party at the river the following night, I went her one better…
“What would you say if I told you that I knew a way to fix it so that you could drink legally—in public, right here in Heartwood, whenever you wanted to—as long as you were with me?”
She slanted a sidewise gaze in my direction. “I’d say quit holding back, my dude. I don’t know what you’ve been smoking, but whatever it is, I want in.”
“I’m serious, Jo. I’m not making shit up. I heard about this from some friends at school.”
“I’m serious, too,” she replied, making gimme motions with her hand. “You and your friends have obviously been spending more time getting baked than taking classes—which explains a lot, by the way. Now, pass it over.”
When I didn’t say anything more—or hand over any of the nonexistent weed she was convinced I’d been smoking—she frowned at me and then said, “Okay, hold up. You’re legit trying to tell me that there’s a way for me to drink legally—right here and now, in Texas, even though I’m not yet twenty-one? How’s that? Did they change the laws when I wasn’t looking?”
“Nope.” I shook my head. “The laws haven’t changed, but there’s a loophole that we can take advantage of now that I’m twenty-one.”
“What kind of loophole? And why does it have anything to do with you? Wait, you’re not talking about some kind of fake ID, are you? ’Cause everyone around here knows who we are. So, you have to know that that’s not gonna work.”
“I’m not talking about fake IDs. I’m talking about a fake marriage.”
“M-marriage?” Jo’s voice rose several octaves. “Jesus fuck.” Her cheeks as she scrambled up onto her knees and gaped at me, open-mouthed, for several seconds. “Y-you’re talking about you and me getting…?”
“Married. Yes. Exactly.”
Abruptly, her eyes narrowed. “Explain. And this better not be a joke.”
What? I frowned at her. “Of course it’s not a joke. How would that even work? There’s nothing funny about it.”
“Carter!”
“Look,” I said, sketching it out for her, “You know that you could drink right now in public—right here in Texas—if your aunt were with you and she gave you her okay. Right?”
“I guess. But she’s never going to do that, so what’s the point?”
“The point is that since I’m twenty-one, if we were married, I’d be considered your legal guardian—not her. So, I’d be the one giving you permission.”
“You?” I lost her then for several minutes while she laughed uproariously. I drank my beer and waited her out. Eventually, she wiped her eyes and said, “Omigod. And you said it wasn’t funny.”
I nod and shrug. “Okay, fine. I guess it’s a little funny, if you think about it like that. But it’s not a joke.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Her eyes were dancing with mirth. “So, you’re saying if you and I drove down to the icehouse right now, and I ordered a beer and they asked to see my ID?—”
“I’d say, ‘it’s okay. She’s my wife,’ and I’d show them mine.”
“And if Cash were there with us and he ordered a beer…?”
“He’d be shit out of luck, unless he were to find an older woman who was willing to marry him.”
“God, can you imagine the look on his face?” Jo smiled blissfully. “It would be worth doing it just for that.”
“If you say so.”
“So, how does it work? What do we have to do?”
“All we really need is to do is apply for a marriage license,” I explained. “Ideally, we’d find someone to sign it—although that might not even be necessary. But if it’s signed, by someone who’s actually ordained, that’d be a lot harder to refute. It’s also possible they might insist we have a ceremony. But, strictly speaking, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“And that’s it?”
“Pretty much. We’d keep the license with us, obviously, in case anyone needed to see it but, like you said; everyone around here knows us already, so we probably wouldn’t even need to pull it out more than once or twice.”
Jo looked at me strangely. “And…when we don’t want to be fake married anymore, what then? Do we have to get fake divorced or something?”
“No. Don’t be silly. That’s not a thing. We just run out the clock.”
“What clock? What are you talking about?”
“Technically, if the license isn’t filed, it expires after a couple of months. But once you turn twenty-one, we wouldn’t need to pretend. So, we just…wouldn’t anymore.”
“Okay, but…if it’s an actual license and an actual official actually signing off on it. Where’s the fake part? How are we not actually married?”
“That’s the beauty of it. None of that matters. If the license never gets filed, the marriage isn’t legally valid.”
“But…”
“I don’t think there’s an easy way to check to see if it was filed. Because most of the time we’d be drinking after office hours, right? So everyone will just assume that it’s valid.”
“Okay. So, for the next three years we go around pretending to be married to each other—but we’re really not. Is that it in a nutshell?”
“Pretty much. I mean, it’s not like we’d be moving in together or announcing it to our folks, or anything. The only difference is when you want to go out and have a drink. Otherwise, we act the same as ever.”
“Which is how…exactly?”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” I told her, knocking back my beer and reaching for another. “We do what we’re doing now. You hit me up when you wanna go out for a drink—like you did tonight. Only we don’t have to sneak around like we’re doing now. Then you go off to college in the fall, same as you’re planning to do, right? I probably won’t be going back myself, but I could maybe drive up there some weekends, if you wanted, and we could hang out.”
“Or I could come home,” she suggested, using her thumbnail to scratch the label off her bottle. “Once a month, or so. If you wanted me to.”
“Sure,” I agreed. “That could work, too.”
“Right. Okay, but what about dating?”
“Dating?” I blinked at her in surprise.
“Don’t you think it’ll be hard to sell other people on the idea that we’re married if we’re both dating other people? Or, conversely, don’t you think some people might object to dating us if they think we’re off the market?”
“I guess? I dunno. I hadn’t thought about it.”
“Really? Not at all?”
“Well, I…”
“So are you telling me you don’t plan on having sex for the next three years? Is that what you’re saying?”
“Okay, I really hadn’t thought about that part,” I admit. “That might kinda suck.”
Jo rolled her eyes. “Ya think?” she grumbled quietly, and then fell silent, staring out through the windshield of my truck. “I guess we could pretend to have an open marriage.”
“Sure,” I agree again. “I still say you’re overthinking this, but if that’s what you want…”
“Yes, because that way you could date whoever you wanted to while I’m away at school.”
“And you could date whoever you wanted to, as well.”
“But only while I’m away,” she insisted. “Because if we’re both in town—and dating other people—that could get awkward.”
“We’ll make it work,” I promised, as I lifted my bottle in a toast. “To us.”
“To us,” Jo repeated as she clinked her bottle against mine and once again began to laugh.
Even now, as I remember the sound of her laughter, the warmth that expanded in my chest as I watched her giggle, I can’t completely regret making that decision. And my motives were mostly pure. I was giving my best friend something she wanted. I’d be keeping an eye on her, keeping her safe. And the fact that we’d be keeping people guessing—are they really married, are they not? – while simultaneously annoying the shit out of them? Yeah, that sounded like a good time, to me.
And yes, I hadn’t thought the dating thing through, which was dumb. But that’s not what eventually fucked me up. That was something else. Something I should have seen coming and absolutely did not. I caught real feelings for my fake wife—with predictable results.
Jocelyn
Shortly after breakfast, Vi announces her intention to go back to bed for a nap. This strikes me as weird and alarming, but according to Evelyn it’s extremely common and nothing to worry about. Since she has medical training and I don’t, I decide to take her word for it. But it’s disappointing, all the same. I’ve been looking forward to visiting with my aunt, spending time with her, catching up on all the things I’ve missed. But clearly that’s not going to happen today. I guess it’s a good thing after all that I’m between jobs at the moment. This way I can stay for as long as I’m needed.
Evelyn sets an alarm on her watch to wake Vi when it’s time for lunch, then she settles down to watch TV, leaving me with nothing to do and no one to talk to, so I retreat to my bedroom—which is a little like entering a time-capsule.
I was exhausted when I got in last night, so I didn’t really notice it. But now, everywhere I look, I see memories, pieces of my past. But, because I’ve changed so much in the time I’ve been gone, what should feel comfortable and familiar, seems anything but.
I’d already set up my laptop on my old desk. Now, I power it up and go online, check for messages and job offers, but there’s nothing new. On a whim, I type in Heartwood and restaurants and locate the website for Carter’s restaurant without too much trouble.
The website is simple, a little basic. He could use some better photos, for sure. But the restaurant looks just like I’d imagined it would—which leaves me feeling unexpectedly melancholy. I wish I could have been here when he was building it out, I wish I’d have kept in touch. We’d talked so much about our dreams and goals when we were together that they felt like they belonged to both of us. And I would have liked to have seen it all come together.
I’ve missed out on so much and it doesn’t help to know it was mostly my own fault.
I close the computer and wander around the room some more. I stare out the front window—the window seat seems smaller, and less comfortable than I remember. But the view is mostly the same.
I remember sitting here and watching for Carter’s truck. If he was coming here for tutoring, he’d park in the driveway. But if I was sneaking out to meet him, he’d park up the block and flash his brights so I’d know to come out.
It irritates me that so many of my thoughts seem to include him. It’s enough to make anyone think that I must be obsessed; that I must have spent the entire past decade thinking of nothing but him. I assure you; that’s not the case.
It’s just that I wasn’t expecting to see him today—I’m sure that’s all it is. And I especially wasn’t expecting Vi to refer to him as my husband. And now I can’t get him out of my head.
Hoping to exorcise his ghost a little, I open my closet and pull out the first of three moving boxes that are stacked in there—just like I’d left them. I’d packed these boxes when Carter and I were still together, back when I still believed our futures were entwined. They’re filled with mementoes from our time together—things I’d always planned on returning for once we’d finally found a place to settle down. Of course, that time is never going to come. So, I’m not sure why they’re even still here.
If I’d been thinking clearly, I’d have dumped them in a landfill on my way out of town. But then again, if I’d really been thinking clearly, I probably wouldn’t have left town back then, at all.
Amid the bar coasters and motel key cards (seriously, why did I save any of those?) beneath the jokey anniversary cards that Carter and I used to send each other, I find a tiny, desiccated bouquet and a matching boutonniere. White roses and baby’s breath tied up with blue ribbons—the flowers from our fake wedding.
I think that ceremony (even short and unexceptional as it was) was where we went wrong. The judge was old and critical—and lectured us on the perils of getting married too young. The clerks who served as witnesses were bored and disinterested. But Carter’s hands were clasping mine, his eyes were agleam with mischief, and I’d spent five years imagining scenes just like this. Of course, my heart refused to believe it was all just pretend—no matter what my head kept telling it.
And of course, we should have known that our marriage would not have gone unnoticed or unremarked upon. We’d done too good a job of hiding our friendship up until then. We couldn’t just show up at a bar in the town where we lived and not have everyone question the validity of our marriage. Of course they’d want more proof than a simple piece of paper.
Which led to drunken, public make-out sessions; me straddling Carter’s lap, his hands clutching my hips, the bar noises receding as our kisses grew more heated. Which led to voices prompting us to get a room. And then to the two of us stumbling into Carter’s trailer, late at night, stripping out of our clothes as fast as we could, tumbling naked onto Carter’s bed, fumbling with the condom, asking each other some of the stupidest questions in the history of stupid questions:
“Are we doing this then—really doing it?”
“I mean, yes? Aren’t we?”
“I…guess? Is that what you want?”
“What? Yes! Of course, I do. Don’t you?”
“Yes! Obviously! I wouldn’t be here right now if I didn’t—right?”
“You live here, Carter. Where else would you be?”
But you know what they say: Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. We played at being married and ended up getting caught in our own lies.