Chapter 19
JONAH
A few days after my wedding, two things happen that completely change my life.
One: Winnie shows up with her things and moves in.
Two: The money from her trust clears and I pay off my mother’s medical debt in full.
The first one has me on edge. Currently, Winnie is organizing her clothing in the closet of the larger bedroom, because it has, and I quote, “the best lighting for trying on outfits.” I’ve resigned myself to sleeping on the twin bed in the spare room.
I’d be ashamed to have my wife—real or fake—sleep in such a tiny shoebox of a room.
Besides, my guitars and desk are in there, so I’ll make it work.
But I’m used to living alone, and I’m a man who likes my space.
The second thing makes me feel like a thousand-pound weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I didn’t realize it was there most days, but now that it’s gone, now that the account balance online reads $0.00, I feel lighter than I have in months.
I’m going to tell my parents about the wedding first, and then once they’ve accepted it, let them know about the medical bills being paid off. I’m sure they’ll be suspicious but what’s done is done. I probably need to bring Winnie over there for dinner soon, too.
I walk into the bedroom to ask her about it, and find Winnie grabbing an armful of dresses and shoving them into the closet.
“How do you manage to wear all of those, anyway?” I ask.
Winnie whirls around, clearly startled by me. “It’s rude not to announce yourself,” she sniffs.
“And it’s also rude to take up three-quarters of the closet space without asking.”
“You weren’t using it, though!” she protests. A lock of dark hair escapes her ponytail and falls across her face. She blows it out of the way and glares at me. “Besides, I left some of it at Candice’s. I knew better than to expect it all to fit.”
She looks around, surveying the mess she’s made. There are piles of clothes on the bed, and shoes scattered on the carpet. A heap of lingerie is sitting on one of the pillows, and I have to force myself to look away.
What does my wife look like, wrapped in black lace? What about in red?
“I’ll make sure it’s neat, I promise,” she says, smiling at me.
“Why do you have all of this anyways?”
Winnie sighs, and perches on the edge of the bed, facing me.
“As I mentioned before, brands send me things. But also, I love clothes. Like really, really love them. I can sew too, you know, and I’m decent at designing my own things.
I didn’t have much freedom with my parents, so shopping became sort of like therapy.
I’d spend my nights hunting down pieces online, and sorting through auction listings.
That’s how I found my fur coats.” She pulls one off the bed next to her and holds it up.
It’s sable brown and short, like something an old Hollywood starlet would have worn.
It dawns on me that Winnie is a collector. Not of garden gnomes or ceramic plates or stamps, but of clothing.
“How come you were so excited to wear jeans?” I ask, because this part still confuses me.
She gives me a confused expression.
“It’s something you said the second time we met. You told Candice and Beau that you were excited to wear a t-shirt and jeans. Which confused me because, well, you know.” I gesture at my basic outfit composed of just that.
Understanding dawns on Winnie’s face, and then her smile falls, just a bit. “My mom dictated what I wore. For social media and pageants, but also in my everyday life. She didn’t think jeans were appropriate for me to wear.”
“Why the hell not?” I bark. Winnie winces a bit, and I realize that I spoke too loudly. “Sorry,” I add in a gentler tone. “It’s just that jeans are appropriate for just about everything.”
“Come here,” she says, patting the space next to her and taking out her phone. When I sit down next to her, she shows me a photo. “This is what I used to look like.”
The woman in the photo is blonde, with hair that falls in soft curls, and tanned skin. She’s wearing pearls and a light blue dress, and has a Miss Alabama sash across her chest. Her thousand watt smile shows each pearly white tooth, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
“This barely looks like you,” I say, glancing between Winnie and the photo.
“I know,” she says. “Orange fake tan, bleach, and dressing like you have a stick up your ass will do that.”
“It’s not just that, though. It’s this.” I reach up and rest my thumb near her eye. “Your eyes are so much more alive and expressive in real life than they are in this photo.”
I might be imagining things, but Winnie seems to lean almost imperceptibly into my touch.
“Jonah,” she says, her voice hoarse, her eyes soft.
“Yeah, Win?” I say, using the nickname I’ve heard Candice call her for the very first time.
“Thank you.” And then she’s pulling away, her gaze shuttering, the moment closed. She turns back to the photo and points to it. “As you can see, this woman doesn’t wear jeans. She’s too polished for jeans. That’s who my parents wanted me to be.”
“And who are you? Who do you want to be?”
“Honestly,” she says, glancing around the room, at the mess of clothing. “I have no idea. Now that I’m not a pageant queen or a social media star, I don’t know what to do with myself.”
“We can figure it out together, if you want,” I find myself saying. “I’m happy to listen to you and talk about the stuff you enjoy doing, is all.” I feel myself blushing, and can only hope my beard is hiding the worst of it.
“Thanks, Jonah,” Winnie says, gracing me with that sunny smile of hers.
It’s so bright, I have to look away. Staring directly into the sun is tempting, but always leads to heartache.
I change the subject. “I came in here to ask if you wanted to meet my parents soon. Tomorrow night?”
“Sure!” Winnie chirps. “I’d love to meet them. Have you told them about us yet?”
“That’s next on my list.”
My parents take the news that their only son has gotten married without them knowing about as well as you might expect. My mom looks at me in shocked silence and my dad’s mouth drops open and he gapes at me like a fish.
“Jonah,” my mom finally says. “What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking that I’m in love. I was thinking that I’d finally met a woman worth committing to,” I say, crossing my arms and making my expression bullish. I’m stubborn, which my parents are well aware of, and this is the type of reaction they’ll expect from me.
“It doesn’t sound like you really know her well enough to love her.” My mom’s voice is sharp, like it used to be when I was a teenager and acted out.
“I know enough. Winnie is kind. And quick-witted. She’s got layers, and is whip smart.
She’s funny, too. We have a good time together.
” I realize that I’m telling the truth as soon as the words leave my mouth.
Despite our initial rocky start, somewhere along the way, Winnie and I have become friendlier with one another.
I no longer think she’s just a frivolous pageant queen, that’s for sure.
“Having a good time together is not a foundation for a marriage!” My mom throws her hands up and looks to my father for support.
But my dad is the easier to please of the two, and he likes it when we all get along. So he says, “Well Meg, maybe he doesn’t know this Winnie as well as we knew one another, but enjoying time together isn’t nothing.”
“Exactly,” I say, leaping at the chance to win my dad over completely. “We may not know everything about each other but the feelings we have are real.” The lie rolls off my tongue too easily—I’m not usually a very good liar, and can count the number of times I’ve lied to my parents on one hand.
“Maybe we should give her a chance,” my dad says. “If she makes Jonah happy…” He trails off and gives my mom an encouraging smile.
“I asked Winnie to come to dinner tomorrow and meet you. She said she was looking forward to it.”
“Are you sure about this, Jonah?” My mom places her hand on my arm and squeezes.
“I am.”
“Then bring her over. But don’t expect my best cooking. Or dessert.”