Chapter 9
TANNER
Telling your kids you're fake-married to your best friend isn't something they cover in parenting books.
There’s no section that says, “If your buddy from high school ends up in a sham marriage with you to get around America’s broken health care system and keep your four kids insured, and now he’s moving in with you to keep up the ruse, here's how to break the news to your children without sounding like a lunatic.” So I improvise.
We're all gathered in the living room, the air heavy with anticipation. With Russ and now Des’s entire company aware of our marital status, we had to get serious about keeping up appearances.
The kids sit like a half-interested audience—Lulu in my lap, Davy cross-legged on the rug, Dean balancing a pencil behind his ear like he’s taking notes for a future roast, and Lena perched on the armrest, arms folded, chin raised in skeptical judgment.
Des stands in front of the TV like he’s about to give a corporate keynote.
“So,” he begins, clapping once. “I have an announcement, team.”
I give him a look. “Don’t start with ‘announcement.’ You sound like you’re launching a new product. And we’re not a team. We’re a family.”
He frowns slightly, recalibrates. “Right. Okay. So…you guys remember when we said your dad and I got married?”
“It was like a magic trick,” I remind Dean and Lulu. While Davy and Lena are old enough to get the gist of what’s happening, I’m terrified of how my two youngest will process this. Rule number one of parenting: don’t teach your kids to lie. Though, all kids learn how to anyway, so maybe I’m fine.
Some lies are good lies, right?
All four kids nod—Dean with a mischievous smirk, Davy with a confused blink, Lena with one raised eyebrow that says, This better be good, and Lulu with a happy little gasp like she just remembered cake exists.
Des continues, brave man. “Well, technically, we told the truth. Just…not the whole truth.”
Dean leans forward. “So you're not married?”
Lulu gasps. “Lies?”
“We’re sort of…pretend married,” I explain. “Just for a little bit. It's so Des can keep his job and you guys can see a doctor in case you get hurt.”
“Why does Des need a job so we can see a doctor?” Lena asks.
There aren’t enough civics classes to explain that one. If we lived in Finland, this wouldn’t be an issue.
“That’s just how it is,” I say, using my firm dad voice to put an end to her questions. “And now his boss wants to meet his…family. So Des is going to live here for a little while.”
I hold my breath.
There’s a moment of silence, which is rare in this house. Then Davy squints.
“So it’s like...a spy mission?”
Des perks up. “Yes. Exactly.”
Dean beams. “Awesome. Do I get a code name?”
“You can have five,” Des says.
“Can I be Agent Thunder?”
“Sure.”
Lulu pats my face. “Are you still my real daddy?”
I pull her close. “Always, bug.”
“And Des is like…my pretend daddy?”
Des squats down in front of her. “If that’s okay with you.”
She beams and wraps her arms around his neck, a moment of sweetness amid this chaos that squeezes at my heart.
I blink, a little stunned by how easily that just happened.
“Are we gonna have pretend holidays?” Dean asks, bouncing now. “Because I’ve got some ideas. I think we should have a pretend Christmas once a month.”
“Keep dreaming,” Lena says.
“It’s hard to dream when your perfume is choking us,” Davy shoots back.
Lena squirms on the couch arm. I didn’t want to say anything.
She’s been wearing a lot lately. She’s fourteen.
New to high school. Trying new things. Makeup, perfume, new hairstyles.
It’s all new terrain for me that makes me wish her mom were still here.
Katie was effortlessly gorgeous, and she’d know the right shade and style and scent for our daughter.
I feel so out of my depth with Lena, and this fake marriage will only magnify that.
“What do you think?” I ask her. “Honestly.”
“I think it’s kinda weird, Dad. Uncle Des is now my dad. He’s going to be living here? How long is this going to be for?”
“Only a few weeks—”
“At least through the end of the year.” Des cuts me off. His eyes meet me, letting me know there’s a reason here. I don’t question it.
”Do I have to tell all my teachers that I have a new stepdad?” Lena asks.
“No.” I truly hope this lie does not spread that far.
“Only if anyone asks, which they shouldn’t.
And Uncle Des won’t be here for long. A few months.
” I rub her shoulder. Lena is wise beyond her years.
I’m grateful that my first born turned out so mature.
She’s been through so much, and she’s handled it all with grace.
“You’re asking us to lie.” A gotcha smirk comes on her lips.
“It’s for a good cause?” I offer a weak smile. It’s the best I got. “One day, when you get older, you’ll value having good health insurance.”
“I’ll try to keep the others in line,” she says, always looking out for her siblings.
Des points at her, something he’d do on the ice when I scored a goal. “Thank you. I’m buying you a car when you get your license.”
“Des!” I turn back to Lena. “No, he’s not.”
He mouths yes I am to Lena. She nods once, not exactly approving but not storming out either. Which, from a fourteen-year-old, is high praise.
“You’re all cool with this?” I ask, checking in with each of them. “Really?”
Davy gives two thumbs up. “Des can help me prepare for the hockey traveling team tryouts. I’ll have two coaches at home.”
“You’re so delusional,” Lulu says with an eyeroll. I assume that’s a yes.
“Dean?” I glance at my son.
“It’s Agent Thunder,” he says with a wink.
I glance at Des, who looks as dazed as I feel.
“Outstanding!” Des plops onto the kitchen chair brought into the living room. He lets out a rip-roaring fart.
Dean kicks his legs as he howls with laughter.
“That was not me,” Des says, leaping out of his seat. He pulls out a whoopee cushion from under him.
My kids crack up. Dean doubles over with laughter. “I thought you were going to look before you sat, but you didn’t, and you—” He blows a massive raspberry.
Des stares at us blankly. I imagine he’s questioning every decision he’s made over the past week.
“Dean’s into pranks. Whoopee cushions are a new fave,” I explain.
“Noted,” he says, shaking it off. “Well, if we’re gonna make this look real, we need evidence.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Evidence?”
“I need a family photo for my desk.” Des rummages through his work bag. He pulls out his phone and a sleek little stand like he’s about to do a cooking demonstration on Instagram live. (Not like I watch those in bed religiously…)
“Because nothing says ‘we’re a totally normal family’ like a last-minute picture taken under duress.” A bemused laugh rumbles on my lips.
“Exactly.”
“Should we pose in front of the bookshelf of chaos or the laundry mountain?” I ask, deadpan. Des’s apartment is sleek and could qualify for Architectural Digest. My house is a mess of clutter a few steps removed from a Hoarders episode.
Des glances around, trying to find a photogenic background in the living room. Slim pickings there. “Let’s keep it simple and all gather on the couch. Should be quick.”
We’ll see about that. Parent makes a plan. Children laugh.
He sets up the phone on the fireplace mantle, accidentally knocking over a few picture frames in domino fashion.
He herds us like unruly cats onto the couch.
Lulu climbs directly into his lap. Lena stays put on the couch arm.
Davy and Dean jockey to sit next to Des.
As a perpetual peacemaker, I sit on the other couch arm, so both boys can flank their new fake stepdad.
“Where are you going?” Lulu asks helplessly when Des stands up. It’s been a long day; she’s still adjusting to school.
“I need to set the camera timer. I’ll be right back.” Des gets his phone ready and double-checks the positioning. “This is going to look perfect. Alright, we go in ten.”
“Minutes?” Davy asks.
“Seconds.” Des pulls Lulu back onto his lap.
“Starting from when?” Dean asks. “Are we in the ten second countdown from when you pressed the button on your phone or from when you sat back down? How many seconds are left?”
“I don’t know. Just look at the camera,” Des pleads with desperation.
“Dad, can I switch sides with you?” Lena asks me.
Des shushes her.
“Dad, I’m hungry,” Davy says. Kid appetites are like natural disasters: they happen anytime, anyplace, without warning.
“We’ll eat after this,” Des grits through his teeth.
Dean begins poking his cheek for reasons only known to him.
“Dean, stop that,” Des hisses.
Click.
Des puts Lulu down to check out the picture. She begins crying. I stroke a hand through her hair to calm her down.
“Lulu, what’s wrong?” I ask.
“Uncle Des doesn’t want to sit with me.”
“He does. He’ll be right back,” I tell her. Little kids are detonated bombs in the evening. If you don’t get them to bed on time, they will explode, as my daughter is demonstrating.
“I’ll be right there, Lu.” Des checks out the picture. “Lena, you were blinking. Davy, you were looking way off camera. Dean…I still don’t know what you were doing. We have to do this again,” Des says. “Okay, the ten second countdown starts…now.”
Des races to the couch and swoops Lulu into his arms, which only partially quells her crying. Lena and I race to switch sides.
“Dean, you’re making a stupid face.” Davy leans over Des to mock his brother, who’s winking and pointing at the camera.
“Your face is stupid all the time,” Dean shoots back. He throws a pillow at Davy just as the flash goes off.
“Dammit,” Des mutters. He plops Lulu off his lap and races back to the mantle, immediately sending her into a sobbing fit. I take Des’s spot on the couch and hug her tight.
“We can sit together,” I coo.
“I want to sit with Uncle Des!” Tears stream down her face. The bright side of a tantrum is that Lulu will probably go to sleep very easily. But first, we must get through this picture.
“Des, can’t we use one of the previous ones?” I ask.
“They weren’t right. We can get a great shot.”
“Take three!” Des zooms back to the couch. He puts Lulu on his lap. I move to the couch arm. All quick, barely coordinated chaos. “Eight seconds! Lulu, it’s okay. I’m here.”
But the Lulu bomb has already gone off. Best any of us can do is take cover. Des rocks her on his lap, but she continues to cry. Davy throws the pillow back at Dean.
“Hey! Stop!” Des says, trying out his stern dad voice. It makes me sit up straight. Pretty good for a newbie. Six out of ten.
Unfortunately, he couldn’t see Dean giving him rabbit ears behind his head as he reprimanded Davy. I try to swat Dean’s hand away, but I’m too late. The flash goes off.
Des looks down at a crying Lulu, and a quieted, shamed Davy. He sighs, totally defeated. “Let’s call it a night.”
I grin. “Welcome to parenthood.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lulu is calm, the boys’ détente is back up, and I’m putting the finishing touches on reheating leftovers. The kids haphazardly set the table for dinner.
Des emerges from my room in an old South Rock Hockey tee and jeans that are about an inch too short on him. He’s barefoot, and his hair is sticking up in a very un-Des-like way.
He catches me staring, his full lips curving into a lazy grin. “What?”
“You look normal.”
“I think I got Lulu snot on my slacks. It’s probably smart not to wear designer labels around kids.”
I nod, heartily agreeing. I like Des in a T-shirt and jeans over a fancy suit any day of the week. He immediately looks more relaxed, more like the Des I know.
Lena scrolls through the photos and snorts. “You guys need a couple pic, too. It’s gonna look weird if there’re no photos of just the two of you.”
Des looks at me. “I guess she’s right.”
I nod, heart skipping for no good reason. “Alright.”
“Let’s get our rings back on, just in case they’re in frame.” To my surprise, Des pulls his from his pocket. Does he carry it around everywhere with him? Or is he just prepared in case we need to put on a show?
Mine is also in my pocket, though not for preparedness. I slide it onto my finger, sending another wave of conflicting feelings through me.
We stand in front of the fireplace shoulder-to-shoulder as Lena holds the phone. “Closer,” she says.
“How close?” I ask.
“Married close.” She puts a hand on her hip.
Des wraps his arm around my waist. His hand rests on my side, firm and casual and way too familiar. I can smell his cologne—clean, woodsy, expensive.
I look up at him.
He’s already looking at me.
And not in that smirky, smug way he usually does. It’s soft. Studying. Like he’s trying to see something that isn’t quite visible yet.
It hits me like a sucker punch: we’ve been pretending so hard, I forgot what it feels like to be really looked at.
I swallow.
Dean’s voice cuts through the tension. “You guys gonna kiss or what?”
Des huffs a laugh, not taking his eyes off me. “Sorry, Agent Thunder. This one’s PG.”
The shutter clicks.
We step apart. The room suddenly feels too warm.
Des heads to the kitchen like nothing happened. He claps his hands twice. “Dinnertime! Let’s eat!”
He stands with the kids hovering over the leftovers and begins spooning food onto their plates. I watch for a second longer, rubbing my arms against the goosebumps.
And wondering how many more pictures like that I can take before this whole fake marriage starts to feel a little too real.