Chapter 28
twenty-eight
JAY
The morning light filters through the blinds and casts striped shadows across Calla's bare skin. I trace a finger along her curves, half expecting her to swat me away and pull the covers over her head. Instead, she stretches like a contented cat, then turns to face me, her hazel eyes soft and sleepy.
"Morning," I whisper.
She yawns, then smiles. "Morning."
I lean in and kiss her, slowly at first, testing the waters. Her lips are warm and pliant. The kiss deepens, and I feel that familiar spark ignite in my chest. One thing leads to another, as it always seems to with us.
That’s a little bit of a lie. I knew that when we woke up, there was a good chance that we’d fuck again.
Soon we're tangled in the sheets. Calla throws her head back and moans. I grasp my cock and sink deep into her pussy. Our bodies move in a rhythm that's become almost second nature.
God damn , I love this. Imagine if every morning were just like this one .
After, we lie in a sweaty, satisfied heap. I play with a strand of her hair, twirling it around my finger.
Moments like this make me wonder if I’m in over my head. They make me think I might have actually fallen in love with her. The thought terrifies me, but holding it in is starting to feel unbearable.
Before I can decide, she speaks. "Can we have a No Photo Day today?"
I blink, pulled from my internal tug-of-war. "A what now?"
"A day without pictures. Without posting. Just us."
She’s looking at me with something like hope. My traitorous heart does a stupid little flip at her expression.
I need to give her what she is expecting from me.
"Sure. Today we’re just hanging out in Greater, anyway. Some down time sounds nice."
Her smile could power a small city. "Thank you. I just need a break from… everything."
I get it. The last few weeks—with the wedding, keeping my sponsors happy, and our not-so-simple arrangement— have been intense. A day to breathe sounds perfect.
She slides out of bed and starts gathering her clothes. I admire the way her body moves. When we first started this, she was so guarded, so unsure. Now… well, now she’s Calla.
"I need to take care of some business," she says, getting dressed in last night’s clothes. "I've been neglecting it."
"Neglecting?" I tease. "You mean prioritizing your husband?"
She rolls her eyes but laughs. "Something like that. I'll be back by lunch."
She comes over and kisses me on the forehead. It's such a tender, wifely gesture that I almost tell her right then .
Hey, you know how I blurted out that I love you? Well, I still love you.
With Calla gone, I try to tackle my inbox. Sponsorship proposals, collaboration offers and fan mail pile up like a digital avalanche. I start a pot of coffee and settle in at the kitchen table, opening my laptop with a sense of dread.
The first email is from a protein shake company. They want me to be the face of their new campaign. I flag it for later. The next is from an outdoor gear brand offering a proposed trip to Patagonia to sweeten the deal. I should be excited, but the thought of traveling without Calla makes my stomach sink.
I flag it and move on.
Halfway through my first cup of coffee, I give up. I’m too distracted. I close the laptop and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling. I miss her. She has only been gone a couple of hours, but I miss her.
That realization hits me harder than I expect. Have I ever missed someone like this before? With Blake, it was different. When she was away, I valued the space, the time to do my own thing. But with Calla away… the silence is boring .
Calla is so different than Blake. She’s actually different from anyone I’ve ever been with. Where Blake was sleek and sophisticated, Calla is warm and real. Blake fit neatly into my life and into my brand. Calla doesn’t. Or maybe she didn’t fit into what I thought my brand would be.
Then something changed .
Calla is my opposite in so many ways, yet she makes my life more enjoyable. More genuine.
But this isn’t genuine, is it? We have a little over a month left of our three-month agreement. That’s all.
What happens when our time is up ?
I run a hand through my hair. The weight of it all makes my shoulders tense with the uncertainty, the fear of losing something I didn’t even know I wanted.
Someone I’m not sure I can have .
The front door opens. Calla walks in, her cheeks flushed from the morning chill.
"How’d it go?" I ask, standing.
She shrugs. "Caught up. Mostly."
I pull her into a warm hug, holding her for a second longer than normal. "What would you say to hanging out with my friends?”
“Uhh. Sure.” She smiles. “We can do whatever you want. Just no phones.”
Calla and I arrive at the Tin Shed Pub just as the afternoon sun peaks over the town square. The glass-fronted windows are dark. A "Closed" sign hangs crookedly on the door. Calla hesitates. I just push the door open with a flourish.
The interior is all wood and kitsch, with mismatched tables and chairs giving the place a homey, disheveled feel. A large, U-shaped bar dominates the right side of the room, and the smell of fried food and stale beer lingers in the air. It’s empty, save for a small crowd in the back.
It strikes me that Calla and I haven’t really been in here since the night of our wedding. Aww, how romantic .
"Jaybird!" Bennett calls out. He’s my old college roommate and owns this place. He waves a pint glass. “Amber?” he asks, referring to the beer, not a person.
I wave and shout, “Give me a few,” then take Calla’s hand and lead her to the table where my friends are sitting.
"These are the guys," I say, though she already knows. I’ve introduced her to parts of my crew before at the Couch Potato Parade. Today is just going to be a chill, more intimate gathering.
Ryan, Bennett, Gabe, and Zach are all crammed around a table. Reece Carson, the only woman to join our friends group, is perched on Gabe’s lap. Even Ellie, Ryan’s younger sister, is here. She’s stretched out on a bench, poking at her phone with the disinterest of someone who’s just in it for the free food.
"Thought you bailed," Ryan says, standing to give me a bro hug. He’s tall and blond, the very picture of confident masculinity. Calla once described him as "ridiculously handsome," which I pretended not to hear.
"Had to finish something up," I say, leaving out the part where Calla and I were just lying in bed, talking about nothing and everything. Or the part where I was busy answering emails while Calla baked. "Y’all remember Calla."
There’s a chorus of hellos and welcomes. Calla waves, looking a bit overwhelmed but pleased.
"Make yourselves at home," Bennett calls from across the room. "I’ve got a spread coming out."
We squeeze into the tight seating arrangement. Calla ends up next to Reece, with me on her other side. I like this setup. It means I can keep an eye on her and make sure she’s comfortable.
"So, Calla," Reece says. "How’s married life treating you?"
"It’s… an adventure," Calla says, smiling. "Jay is full of surprises. Did you guys know he cooks?"
“Let me guess.” Ryan grins. “He made you turkey meatloaf. He must really think you’re special.”
“I would hope so,” she replies. “He did put a ring on it. ”
"Very true. Well, if you’re looking for embarrassing dirt on the guy,” Zach says, waggling his eyebrows, “he’s got a whole catalog of excruciatingly awkward college stories."
Calla’s eyes light up. "Oh, do tell."
"Let’s just say he had his moments," Bennett says, appearing with my pint. He sets it down on the table in front of me. "Some more tragic than others."
Ryan chuckles. "You wouldn’t believe some of the things this guy got up to."
Zach stretches. “He once painted his body blue and gold during spirit week. Only he didn’t remember to use washable paint. He was bright blue for a week.”
“Ooh!” Reece laughs. “Remember when Jay had Professor Franz? Franz hated everyone, but he especially hated Jay. Made his life hell. Jay meant to send an email totally blasting him to “Friends Group” but sent it to him by mistake. Franz blew a gasket and made Jay spend a whole Saturday volunteering for a Shakespeare fest.”
The table erupts in laughter. I just grin and bear it. These are my people. This is what we do. Besides, it’s kind of nice to see Calla enjoying herself, even if it’s at my expense.
“Franz was a pain in the ass.” I sigh dramatically. “But he actually gave me an A.”
"I need to hear more of these stories," Calla says, mock-seriously.
"There are no more stories," I lie. "All evidence has been destroyed. Anyone who tries to convince you otherwise can’t be trusted."
“Hah!” Ellie laughs without looking up from her phone. "He’s just lucky you didn’t take more pictures."
Calla beams. "I’ll have to hear all about this later."
Ellie shrugs. "Come find me."
Bennett returns, carrying a tray laden with various English pub foods: fish and chips, bangers and mash, meat pies. He sets it down with a flourish. The table dives in with the enthusiasm of a starving pack of wolves.
As we eat, the stories continue. Calla asks questions about me, and my friends are all too happy to provide answers. She learns about the time we road-tripped to New Orleans, my brief obsession with Ultimate Frisbee, and the ill-fated attempt to start a college radio show. Through it all, she looks genuinely delighted.
I start to see myself through her eyes. It’s a strange, humbling experience.
I notice Wren flitting around the bar. I knew she was going to be here because we texted back and forth a little earlier. My little sister is not in her usual baggy attire. Instead, she wears a fitted blouse and apron, her hair tied back in a neat ponytail. She looks out of place, like a shy mouse playing dress-up.
"Since when does Wren waitress?" I ask Ryan, who’s seated across from me.
He shrugs. "She picks up shifts here and there. You know, for extra cash."
“What, am I not paying her well enough?”
Ryan looks at me pointedly. “Do I look like Wren’s keeper to you?”
“You’re so witty.” I pull a face. “Did someone force her to wear that outfit?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Doesn’t she normally dress like that?”
He looks Wren up and down, his nose wrinkling slightly. He thinks he’s doing a great job at hiding his disdain for my little sister, but he’s not a very good actor .
“Where’s Bennett? I want to find out more about the dress code here.”
Wren approaches our table. She notices me, then looks at Ryan and hesitates. She still hates him for some inexplicable reason. Then again, he is kind of a dick to her. So I guess it’s not totally out of the blue.
"Can I get anyone another drink?" she asks, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.
Ryan leans back in his chair, stretching. "I could go for another pint. How about the rest of you?"
There’s a chorus of agreements. Several people shout out orders and Wren starts scribbling notes. When she gets to Ryan, he grins. “Don’t you already know my drink order by heart, you stalker?”
She blushes and stammers something unintelligible. He ruffles her hair and she jumps back as if burned and scurries off to the bar.
I scowl. What does he mean by calling her a stalker?
Calla nudges me with her elbow. "What’s that look for?"
"Nothing," I say, too quickly.
She raises an eyebrow but lets it go. For now.
Wren comes back with the drinks, and the table grows louder and more boisterous. Zach proposes a toast. To what? I’m not sure. We all clink glasses. Calla sips her cider, then leans into me. "Are you mad?" she asks softly.
I’m confused. "Why would I be mad?"
"Because you’re awfully quiet." She pauses. "I liked hearing about your embarrassing moments, by the way."
I laugh despite myself. "They were glorious."
She studies me for a moment, as if deciding whether to press further. "You were scowling at Ryan. Did he do something?"
I sigh. There’s no point in hiding it from her. "I love Ryan. He’s my best friend. But he’s a jerk to Wren. He torments her."
“Ah.” Calla looks over at Ryan, who’s deep in conversation with Reece. "And you don’t think Wren can handle it?"
"I don’t know. I just hope he keeps his eyes off her. I love him, but he’s a total player. He dated Reece for a few months and was such a jackass that he almost drove her out of our friend group. It took them years of awkwardness just to be able to talk to each other again."
"Considering that they seem fine now, maybe it’s not as bad as you think," Calla says. "And Ryan isn’t dating Wren. They’re just friends, right?"
"I don’t know if I would say that Ryan and Wren are friendly . I’m more worried that Wren needs me to stand up for her. You know what? I’m going to say something to Ryan. He can’t put his hands on her like that.”
"Jay." She waits until I fully meet her eyes. "I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. Wren is a big girl. She can handle herself."
Calla has this special ability to challenge me and make it seem like she’s still on my side. I’m not sure how that’s possible, but it is. I like that about her.
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yeah. You’re right."
I look back at Wren, who’s pretending to polish a glass while eavesdropping on the group. Calla would approve of her nosiness, I think.
The afternoon wears on, and the food diminishes to a collection of greasy platters. Just like at the parade, she fits in well. I don’t know why I keep expecting she won’t. Maybe I’m just really invested in the most important people in my life getting along. I try to relax, but I can’t seem to let the Wren situation go. I would be a bad big brother if I didn’t check in on my little sister.
"Excuse me," I say to Calla, standing. "I’ll be right back."
I find Wren in the kitchen, stacking dirty dishes. "Hey," I say.
She jumps. “Jesus, Jay. We’re going to have to put a bell on you.”
“Very funny. Always with the jokes.” I soften my tone. "Can we talk?"
“What’s up?” She crosses her arms, waiting.
I rub the back of my neck, unsure how to start. "Is Ryan bullying you?”
“Yes.” Wren’s response is so quick that I’m taken aback by it. She holds her hand up to forestall my questions. “It’s fine. It’s more of the same. He’s just being a dick. Nothing that crosses a line, though. Nothing inappropriate.”
“Okay, because I saw him put his hands on you out there. That is extremely not cool.”
“I told you, it’s fine. We’ve always had this combative relationship.” Wren shrugs. “I don’t want you to stick your nose into it and make things weird for me. Just watch. Ryan will get a girlfriend again and be on his best behavior for a while.”
“Yeah, until he dumps Ms. Perfect for having nail beds that are too short or not liking Faulkner enough. I would call him shallow, but I think he just gets bored easily.”
“As much as I would love to chat about that douchebag some more….” My sister stacks a bus tub full of dishes and lifts it. “Some of us have to work for a living.”
“Love you!” I call as she breezes through the swinging doors.
She merely says, “Yeah. You too,” without looking back.
I rejoin the table, and Calla looks at me expectantly. I just shrug. "We should get going," I tell her. "It’s getting late."
She nods, and we make our goodbyes. Ryan pulls me into a hug. I pat his back, wondering if he has any idea about the storm I’ve just tried to quell.
Do I need to worry about my best friend bullying my little sister?
Outside, the air has cooled. Calla wraps her arms around herself. I put an arm over her shoulder, pulling her close. "You okay?" she asks.
"Yeah," I lie. "Just tired."
The sounds of the town on a weeknight absorb me as we cross the square. Calla stops and turns to me. "Are you going to feel bad when you have to tell them?"
"Tell them what?"
"That your marriage is fake."
I look back at the silhouettes of my friends through the distant window. The question makes my blood run cold. Not only do I not want my friends to think that I’m a liar… but I don’t want Calla to leave.
I want her to be in my life. I want her to be my wife, for real this time.
"I don’t know," I say, turning back to her. "We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it."
She studies me. I wonder what she sees. A man torn between his friends and his wife? Between what’s real and what’s pretend?
"Come on," I say, gently steering her down the sidewalk. "Let’s go home."