Chapter 11 #2
“I’m in charge of coordinating the next girls night with Lyra, Tania, and Carlo’s sisters.
We go and tear up the 80’s club a little north of here, full colorful 80’s regalia is required.
The drinks are in ginormous fish bowls. You have to come with us, I’m going to send out potential dates soon,” Gina says excitedly. Celeste looks bemused and happy.
“That sounds fun, count me in,” she says a little shyly.
When we get into the car, she’s quiet and subdued again.
Her chin is set in that stubborn way, sunglasses sitting on her head since it’s just after 8:30 with the sun already switched out for a sliver of moonlight, her jaw tense, eyes faraway while she’s clearly deep in thought.
After a few minutes of driving I can’t take the silence anymore.
“I thought that went really well, they all loved you,” I tell her.
“They were all so nice and welcoming, the kids are adorable,” she says softly, eyes out the window.
“You weren’t overwhelmed? They can be a lot, especially my beloved hurricane Gina,” I say lightly, trying to coax her back to her normal self. She finally turns away from the window to look at me.
“Nah, your family is great. It’s just not something I’ve ever experienced before. I remember Tania talking about what it felt like to go to family dinner at Carlo’s parents’ house for the first time, and what a weird, new experience it was. Now it’s my turn, I guess,” she says.
“None of your foster families had big family dinners? What were they like?” Fuck, the questions come out way more bluntly than they should have considering I’m sure it’s a delicate subject. My curiosity about her seems to always override my good sense. She lets out a sardonic laugh.
“Trust when I say you don’t want to hear about the foster families I grew up in, except maybe the last one before I aged out.”
“I won’t badger you to talk about it, but if you want to, I really do want to hear about it. I’d like to know you, Celeste.” The quiet is a living thing between us, and I don’t think she’s going to say anything. Surprise shoots through me when I hear her start to talk.
“Well, let’s see. In my first three families, I was always separate from the bio kids.
Two out of those three families basically threw me scraps of whatever they had leftover like I was a dog.
The third didn’t feed me at all, I had to steal food from the counter and run back to my room or wherever before they could see me.
The next few homes fed me well enough, but I never stayed at the table because I’d be too close to wandering male hands or screaming foster parents.
When I finally got to the home where I met Tania when I was twelve, their bio son hated us both so much that he tried to beat the crap out of us.
I took the brunt of it and fought him back, and we were removed from that home quickly and together, thank fuck.
In our last home Jack and Bev were not so bad, but there were never big family dinners at the table.
It was just the four of us in front of the TV usually, without much conversation. ”
My hands are white knuckled on the wheel with anger and grief for her, my molars just might break from clenching my jaw so hard, and she notices.
“Sorry, you asked and ended up getting a trauma dump. I shouldn’t have said anything, you have this bizarre way of getting me to talk about stuff I hate talking about,” she mumbles self-consciously.
“Don’t you dare feel sorry for sharing that with me, I’m glad you did.
Honored, actually. I just hate that you went through all of that, and I’m sure it’s just the tip of the iceberg,” I tell her, automatically reaching for her hand across the console and running my thumb across her knuckles to comfort her.
“Oh sweet Gage, there is an entire glacier underneath this surface,” she says wryly, trying to bring some playfulness back, which makes my lips twitch. I give her hand another quick squeeze before reluctantly returning it to the wheel.
“Anyway, my point is, it was a great family dinner, and it feels shitty to lie to them about what we’re actually doing.
When we talked about it in the abstract it didn’t seem so bad, but looking at your sweet niece in the face while deceiving her was awful.
I’m trying to be a better person after getting out of prison, and lying to your wonderful family is not sitting well with me. ”
My own guilt hits me like a wave. How will I explain to the family that we are getting divorced when the time comes?
What if they all get super attached to her under false pretenses?
We technically didn’t lie, we are getting married, just not for the reasons they’ve been presented with. Maybe this is all a huge mistake.
“We don’t have to go through with the marriage. I’ll find another way to keep the bar, and we’ll figure out how to get you the treatment you need. Maybe this wasn’t thought through enough, especially what the potential fall out might be,” I say. She blows out a heavy sigh.
“I don’t see how we’ll accomplish those things without going through with the marriage.
You won’t get your bar, and I won’t be able to afford enough healthcare coverage to get through treatment, let alone pay for whatever would be left out of pocket.
” She rubs her eyes in irritation. “I think we just need to figure out how to handle the fallout when we decide it’s over.
I don’t want anyone to get hurt, because I really like your family. ”
“They’ll never have to know it’s fake. Marriages fail all the time, and we’ll still be friends when it’s over. My family will still want to keep in touch with you, and you can keep seeing them since the divorce will be amicable,” I reason.
“How long do you think we should stay married?”
Her question is a good one, because I have no idea.
“I think it might depend on how things go. My dad wants to step aside fairly soon, but we don’t want to divorce as soon as I get the bar. Who knows what kind of treatment you’ll need, or surgery, and how long that will all take to happen until you get on your feet and have health insurance.”
“We’ll play it by ear then, I guess, and see what feels right,” she murmurs. We stop at a red light close to her apartment.
“Hey,” I say softly, getting her to look at me.
“This will all work out, and we’ll make sure no one gets hurt, ok?
” She nods slowly. Her face is shadowed in the dimly lit car, the only lights from other passing vehicles and the nearby businesses playing off of her bright eyes and glossy lips.
So I can’t make out the minutiae of her expression.
I hear her take a fortifying breath before her low voice reaches me.
“That’s my only condition. We make sure that no one gets hurt in this,” she asserts.
“Absolutely. I don’t want anyone getting hurt either, we’ll be incredibly careful with each other and my family,” I reassure her.
“Well then, I guess we’re really getting married in a couple of weeks, Casanova.”