8. Rosie
8
ROSIE
Almost all my belongings are packed up and ready to be loaded onto the moving truck. Daire and I haven’t spoken much in the past two weeks. The conversations we have had revolved around coordinating our schedules so we could sign the contracts for the townhouse and get our things moved.
Bertie watches me from my open bedroom door. She refused to help me pack. The day after the wedding, after my shower, after Daire left, I broke down and told her the truth. She’d already put a lot of it together, thanks to the video. Not to mention the girl is a hopeless romantic, so she thought it was weird that I’d never mentioned him before she witnessed the proposal.
She thinks I should have the marriage annulled and stay here. Thus, she refuses to help me move out.
She doesn’t understand that even though he drives me insane now, I still hold so many good memories of him close to my heart. The Daire who used to be my best friend is the Daire I’m helping. Not this version of him.
“If you’re not going to help me, you could at least go away.” I stuff a sweater that fell behind my bed into a box with other miscellaneous things.
Getting down on the floor, I peer under the bed to make sure there aren’t any other rogue articles of clothing hiding.
“Nah.” She holds out her right hand, admiring her fresh pink manicure. “I like the view from here.”
I turn to glare at her from my position on the floor.
“What?” She blinks innocently. “This is more entertaining than reality TV.”
I dig my phone out of my pocket and turn the flashlight on to help my search. “I just need you to be supportive,” I say with my head shove beneath my bed.
“I am,” she defends. “I can support you and still think you’re being dumb.”
Finding nothing left beneath my bed, I rise from the floor and click the flashlight off. “I don’t think those two things go hand in hand.”
She shrugs. “For me they do.”
I spin in a circle, surveying my progress. Daire is supposed to be here any minute with the moving truck, and I haven’t even started on my bathroom stuff.
As if my thoughts have conjured him, there’s a knock on our door.
“Shall I let Cujo in?” Bertie asks with a fake smile.
With a groan, I dump my cup of pens into the last open box in my room and reach for the tape. “I think you have to.”
He knocks again, and this time, she disappears from my doorway.
When I’m alone, I inhale a deep breath, fortifying my strength so I can deal with Daire.
An instant later, he’s standing in the doorway, his broad shoulders taking up the entire space and his eyes wide. “You’re done already?”
“Yeah?” I reply, but it comes out as a question. “I haven’t done my makeup and toiletries yet, though.”
He scratches the back of his head, something he tends to do when he’s uncomfortable. “I haven’t packed yet.”
I blink at him as annoyance builds in my veins. “You can’t be serious.”
He looks away, swallowing thickly. “It won’t take me long. We’ll go straight there after we get your stuff loaded.”
Fists clenched at my sides, I spin and get back to work. I’m going to throttle him.
I’ve never wanted to wrap my hands around someone’s throat and squeeze the way I do right now.
“By the way,” he clears his throat, “I told Cree your dad bought us the house. So if he says something about it, just go along with it.”
I spin and study him. His disheveled hair, the shadows under his eyes. “Why?”
“Fuck, I don’t know,” he snaps. Whether he’s annoyed with me or himself is anyone’s guess. “I guess I’m a compulsive liar.” He holds his hands out and flexes his fingers. His attention lingers for a couple of heartbeats on the band around his left ring finger.
“Surely you must’ve put some thought into it.”
Daire angles his head to the side, glowering at me. “I haven’t put a single thought into anything for months. I’ve been living on rage and alcohol.”
I press my lips together. “Noted.”
I’m starting to think Bertie has a point—an annulment is sounding better and better.
Sighing, he steps into my room and sits on the stripped bed. “He kept asking if our parents knew yet, and I was already in the middle of telling him about moving out and the townhouse, and it just all kind of spiraled from there.”
I tape up the last box in here, then pick up another to assemble for my bathroom things.
“You do realize you sound absolutely unhinged, don’t you?”
He frowns, muttering, “I’m aware.”
“As long as you know,” I singsong, “then we’ll be just fine.”
I take the newly assembled box to the bathroom while my husband trails behind me. I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that word.
“Is all this yours?” he asks in an accusatory way, eyeing the makeup and hair tools scattered on the small counter around the sink.
“Some is Bertie’s.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes. I need to put my game face on if I’m going to make it through this day.
Forget this day—this whole marriage, however long it turns out to be.
At this point, I’m just tossing things into the box so I can get packing over with and get out of here. Not all of our new furniture has been delivered yet, but enough that we can move in and start getting settled.
So far, I’ve successfully avoided thinking about what it’ll be like once it’s just the two of us.
As I stick my acrylic organizer in the box, the makeup inside slides around, making an obnoxious sound.
“Why do you have so many of the same thing?” Lip curled, Daire points to the drawer with my liquid lip shades.
“Because they’re all different colors,” I answer, digging deep for patience.
“If it’s okay with you, I’ll head down to the truck with some of these boxes.”
“That’s fine.”
When he’s gone with the first load, Bertie appears again and watches me from the doorway. When she said she wasn’t going to help, she meant it.
“I can feel your judgment from here,” I mutter, head stuck inside the cabinet under the sink as I pull out my stash of shampoos and conditioners. What can I say? My hair is high maintenance and I have to swap out what I’m using often.
“Good. I’m glad.”
I turn to glare at her, bumping my head in the process. I wince and rub at the now throbbing spot.
She presses a hand against her mouth, trying to hold in her laughter, but fails.
“I hate you.”
Her laughter only grows. “No, you don’t.”
With a sigh, I drop several bottles of shampoo into the box. “You’re right, I don’t, but I should.”
“And you should get an annulment.” She shuffles closer, snags her lip balm from the counter, and swipes it onto her lips. “Helping him like this is beyond just being nice.”
“I know.” I double check that I have all my toiletries, then carry the box back to my room where I left the tape.
“But you’re not going to do anything about it?”
My shoulders droop. “Bertie, there’s a child involved in this. I… I can’t back out now.”
Her lips turn down in a frown. “You’re a better person than me.”
I laugh. “I don’t think so. I’m just helping an old friend.”
“But you’re not friends now,” she reminds me.
My heart lurches at the reminder. “I know.” I pull my hair back into a ponytail and secure it with an elastic I always keep on my wrist. “I’m sure it makes no sense to you. It barely makes sense to me. But I know in my gut I have to do this.”
Shaking her head, she opens her arms to me. “I’m going to miss having you as a roomie.”
I step into her embrace and give her a squeeze. “You have no idea.”
She picks up a box and balances it on her hip. “I’ll carry this one box.” Then she holds up her index finger and wiggles it. “But that’s all I’m doing since I don’t condone this.”
I laugh, picking up a clear bin I filled with clothes. “Jesus.” I grunt under the weight.
Bertie shakes her head. “Get a light one. Leave the heavy stuff for Daire.”
“That’s an excellent plan.” I set the bin down, then test the weight of a nearby box and find it manageable enough for me to carry.
Just as we’re about to head out, Daire returns for more stuff. “Where did you get that?” I ask, pointing to the dolly he has now.
“Swiped it from the janitor’s closet.” He grins, clearly very proud of himself.
He wheels it into my room and loads a box onto it.
“Where’s the truck? We’ll head down with these.”
“You’ll have to wait for me.” His biceps flex in a far too distracting way when he picks up a particularly heavy bin. “I locked it up before I came back in.”
“Paranoid?” I question him with an arched brow.
“Absolutely.” He stacks another bin on top of the first.
Bertie sets her box on the dresser while we wait for Daire to finish loading the dolly. He leads the way out the door and down the hall. While we’re waiting for the elevator, he taps his fingers against the top box, drawing my attention to the band on his finger. He’s not mine, but man does seeing that claim of possession fill me with a weird sort of satisfaction.
I look away before he can catch me staring.
Outside, Daire unlocks the back of the truck. Then he takes the boxes from Bertie and me, stacks them just inside the truck, and gets to work unloading the dolly and arranging my things near the front of the truck.
“You can wait down here if you want.” He hops out of the back. “There are only a couple left, so I can get them on my own. Unless there’s something else you need.”
“Can you grab my purse and backpack? They’re still in the closet.”
With a nod, he heads back to the entrance, leaving Bertie and me on the sidewalk. A gust of wind blows past us, making me wish I’d put a hoodie on. My short-sleeve shirt isn’t doing much to protect against the cold that’s beginning to leach into the air. It’s my own fault for desperately trying to cling to the last dredges of summer.
“Well.” Bertie turns to me, eyes downcast in an effort to hide her sad face. “This is it.”
As I take her in, I’m hit with an overwhelming wave of sadness. Girls typically don’t like me, but Bertie and I clicked from the instant we met.
“Stop making it sound like we’re never going to see each other.” I wipe away a lone tear. “You better come over for movie nights. I’ll come here too. And don’t forget our lunch dates.”
We’ve always met at the dining hall for lunch on Wednesdays. Even when she was dating Tommy.
She rolls her eyes. “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”
I throw my arms around her and squeeze her tight. Being thrown together with Bertie at the beginning of our freshman year was such a blessing. I couldn’t have made it these last three years without her. She’s been my only true friend all this time.
“I love you, Bertie.”
She laughs against me. “Stop getting sappy. You’re going to make me cry, and then my mascara is going to run. But I love you too.”
She waits with me on the sidewalk until Daire comes down with the last load of my stuff. He has my purse slung over his shoulder. I wish I could say he looks ridiculous, but with his confidence, he pulls off the look like it’s the latest trend. His wide shoulders stretch the fabric of his school hockey hoodie taut. I hate that my mind immediately wanders to thoughts of what it would feel like to have him over me, caging me in with that big body of his.
My core clenches—the fucking traitor. I can’t deny Daire is insanely good-looking, but my vagina is going to have to get on board with celibacy and quick, because I won’t be having sex anytime soon, and definitely not with my husband.
Once Daire loads the last of my items—refusing the help we offer, of course—he heads in to return the dolly. While we wait, Bertie hugs me one last time. Then she hurries back inside, but not before I catch the tears in her eyes. I hate that I’m leaving her like this. Especially only a few weeks after she and Tommy have called it quits—for real this time, it seems.
Daire comes out, head ducked low like he’s trying to avoid eye contact with people milling around us. It’s a strange sight. Usually, he’s the big man on campus, commanding every space he enters and eating up his popularity. This new version of him is interesting, to say the least.
He climbs into the driver’s seat of the U-Haul while I get settled in my SUV.
Then, we’re pulling away from campus, my shoulders growing heavier with each passing mile.