Chapter 19 Nola
NOLA
“Isaw the two of you splashed all over TMZ and Page Six online,” Belle tells me. “Looks like you two had a cozy little first lovebird Christmas together.”
“Oh yeah, sure,” I laugh.
“Have you seen the pic I sent?”
I pull my phone from my ear and swipe on the new text.
There’s a screen shot of Max and me standing outside the Idaho Central Arena.
I’m in a long green coat, jeans, and ballet flats.
He’s got on a vest and flannel shirt. Max is in a beanie, my hair is set in loose waves.
He has his arm protectively around my waist, holding me close and our foreheads are touching.
We’re laughing and for all intents and purposes, we look in love.
There’s no denying the fact that we look good together.
“Did you know it’s an actual thing to tip off the paparazzi and tell them where you’ll be wandering around, so they’ll know where to get a picture of you?
That way you can look good and be ready for it?
Like, celebrities do this on purpose,” I whisper into the phone while hiding in my small walk-in closet.
I’d been in here putting away laundry when Belle called and I know Emma’s close by—One Direction is blasting from her room.
I’m afraid if she overhears any part of this conversation, she’ll decide this really is more real than it is.
At ten years old, I recognize it’s hard to differentiate between reality and pretend and, heck, the lines are blurring for me too at times.
But I try not to talk about it in front of her if I can help it.
End-of-the-year round ups in sports and the celebrity sphere are happening all over the internet and as our wedding is only a month old, we’re making lots of top-ten lists.
Yes, I’m keeping track of our digital footprint, reminiscent of crazed teen Nola from the 00s, who cut out magazine and newspaper spreads of favorite actors or boy bands.
Only these include me and it’s insane. I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
When Max told me a few days before Christmas he had a plan to get us both out there more, in front of the masses, to sell our relationship, I didn’t know that he had a scheduled pap walk in mind.
Next thing I know, it was all set in motion.
We dressed up for a night out on the town, a newly married couple celebrating their first Christmas season.
Our holiday date night included an abundance of hand-holding and snuggling close as we walked along 8th Street.
There was the bite to eat at Bittercreek Alehouse in the outdoor seating area, warmed by heat lamps, before an after-dinner stroll to the Capitol to see the big tree.
We finished off the night by going to the Steelhead hockey game.
I hardly saw the cameras, but they were around, because we have been splashed all over local and national news.
It worked for Max, though, and the comments I’ve seen cheer on his return to baseball.
Fans are happy to see him settled down, and one of the tabloid roundups even called us a perfect couple.
It’s not hard to see how we fooled them.
Max had been all smiles that night. I knew in my gut he was hamming it up for the photographers, so I played along.
Despite my own face being ridiculously sore at the end of the night, my smiles weren’t for show.
I really had the best time with him and would be more than happy to have sore cheeks again if it meant another evening together.
During our date, instead of talking about what was coming up for both of us—what we hoped our futures looked like thanks to our arrangement—we talked about our childhoods.
He learned about my nerdy high school life.
I found out he won prom king and was so popular Stella had to disconnect the house’s landline more than a few times to get peace and quiet.
We talked about traveling and got to know real details about each other you’d share on a date.
Max prefers mustard—never ketchup. He’s never been skiing because he won’t risk breaking a leg before the season.
Animals make him nervous—he’ll never have a dog or cat.
A life without pets; I didn’t know people like him existed.
Emma has begged for years for anything other than a fish or hamster.
I keep putting it off, but not because they make me anxious.
My favorite part of the night, though, was the stolen kisses. It wasn’t just me initiating them, either. For as many times as I went for his cheek or planted one on his lips, he got me too. Pretend or not, they were delicious.
“Yes, that’s how any respectable actors, musicians, or athletes do it.
How do you not know this?” Belle brings me back to the present.
“It helps shape the narrative and gets the photographed in good with the photographer. A relationship is built when the photographed gets good press and the photographer gets the shots. I swear you don’t know anything other than whatever is happening in your little art world and with my sweet niece. ”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Sure, sure. I’m boring and old. Tell me something new.”
“And now you’re living pop culture amazingness!” she squeals. “My sister is literal pop culture. Who would’ve ever thought? I liked the way you wore your hair on that date. It looked good on you.”
“Callie found me a stylist who was able to come over before we went out. They brought options for me to pick out my outfit and did my makeup and hair. There was nothing authentic about that night,” I admit.
“I beg to differ, sister. You two looked stupid into each other,” Belle croons. “I mean, geez. I barely got hitched and you’re making us look like we’ve been married a decade already. It’s time you spill.”
“Spill what?”
“How’d you get him to look at you like that?
This is all still a sham, isn’t it?” Belle has known from the get-go our marriage is what it is, and my parents don’t understand how I’ve worked my way into such a ruse when rule-following is my drug in life, but they’ve met Max on more than one occasion since coming home from their trip and they love him.
He makes everybody love him, which will make everything hard.
“Of course it is.”
“Sure, sure,” she mocks me.
“What are you talking about?” I try to sound inquiring, but if Belle, who knows this is all fake, is seeing something more than meets the eye, I’m all ears.
It’s fun talking about the possibility of Max liking me.
It gives me the same butterflies I used to get in high school .
. . a feeling that’s been missing in my life for way too long.
“Take that picture I sent you, for example,” she starts. “He’s got his arm around you but his eyes are closed while you’re leaning on one another. He’s comfortable with you.”
This proves nothing. “So?”
“I thought you told me he was grumpy.”
“He is. Well, mostly.” I think about the times it is just Max and me, or Max with Emma and me and he lets down his walls. The moments when he smiles more and is softer spoken.
“Take it with a grain of salt but I think he’s not completely faking his feelings for you—at least he wasn’t in that moment.”
“Mom?” My ears perk up. The music has stopped down the hall. Something about the stress in her voice makes me miss whatever Belle continues to say as I stick my head out of the closet.
“I’m right here, Em.” My smile quickly drops as I take her in. Somewhere in the course of this morning, she’s gone from happy-go-lucky to sweaty and tinged green. “Oh, monkey.”
“I don’t feel so good,” she says, running into my bathroom and emptying the contents of her stomach.
“Belle, I gotta go.”
A couple of hours later, Max’s familiar footsteps make their way from the garage into the kitchen.
He’s whistling. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him so much as hum along with a song but it sounds like he’s got a pep in his step and a tune for the world.
I hear him stop at the fridge and pull out a drink, drop his keys on the counter, and put his bags down.
He’s been out of town, looking at properties with a realtor between the holidays.
“Who’s ready to ring in the new year?” he sings before skidding to a stop halfway into the living room.
“Oh, Nola,” he says with concern. “What’s going on here?
” He assesses us from a safe distance. Emma’s lying on the couch, trapped under half the household’s blankets, unable to warm herself in spite of the various layers and the roaring fire.
I’m draped across an air mattress on the floor in front of Emma, the largest mixing bowl I could find tucked under my arm.
“Welcome back,” I sigh. My throat is raw after the afternoon I’ve had. “You might want to go home for a few days.”
He kicks off his shoes and goes to Emma first. With the back of his hand on her forehead, he shakes his head. “How long has she had a fever?”
“A few hours. It came out of nowhere and took her down before it got me. I’ve got this, Maxford. You can go.”
He gives me side-eye. “I’m choosing to think you’re saying crazy things because you feel awful, but there’s no way I’m leaving my girls.” With that, he bends down and brushes the mop of sweaty hair out of my face. “This is my home. Got it, Adler?”
My nod is weak but enough of an answer for him, and he straightens up, whipping out his phone like he means business and goes down the hall to his room.
“Why’d he call us his girls?” Emma’s little voice asks.
I’ve been dozing off and on between needing the bowl, and my eyelids feel heavy again. I’m too tired to give an explanation beyond, “I don’t know, Em.”
“I like it,” she admits quietly.
I can’t help but smile in agreement as I fall asleep.