Chapter 11
“ T hink about it.”
Those were Dexter’s parting words to Lainey, after he covered her with an afghan and poked her on the shoulder through one of the holes. He let himself out, leaving her alone with her grief. And now she’d added another layer of humiliation.
Someone had asked her to be his wife, but in name only. As far as proposals went, it sort of stunk. And yet, try as she might, she couldn’t seem to feel the insult in his words. Maybe because she was already maxed out on rejection. She wanted to call someone, to talk about the bombshell development, but who? Ian was the closest thing she had to a friend these days, and there was no way she was going to lay this train wreck at his feet. He would probably think she was making it up. Sure, Lainey, a stranger proposed to you for the sake of his job. She could almost feel the air quotes. But after her performance this morning, could she blame him for doubting her sanity? No she could not.
She reached for her phone and scrolled her contacts. She had a lot of acquaintances and former friends she’d drifted away from. Their precarious childhood, never in one place, made it difficult to establish lasting connections with anyone. Lainey had always found people to sit with at lunch, but that was usually as deep as the relationship went with anyone. She had hoped, rather desperately, that life would be different after school. She would find her tribe and have an active social life, filled with soul connections. The closest she came was occasionally being invited to go out with the after work crowd. None of them could help her now, nor would they want to. She couldn’t imagine the reaction if she called one of her surface friends and dumped her current troubles in their lap. I told my brother’s best friend I want to have his babies and then the neighbor proposed. Yikes, no thanks. They already thought she was crazy for quitting her job and starting a candy business. No need to add fuel to that fire.
That left only her brother. With a bracing breath, she pushed the button and called Murphy. And, as usual, got his voicemail. Knowing he was likely right beside his phone and simply trying to dodge her, she called four more times until he finally answered, annoyed. “Lainey, what?”
“Hi.”
He sighed. “Hi. Why are you phone bombing me?”
“Phone bombing, is that a thing? Never heard of it.”
“Lainey,” he said, the intonation moving past annoyed big brother and into I’m about to hang up on you territory.
“I wanted to check in, see what was going on. It’s this thing families do when they haven’t talked in months,” she said. Not that she’d know. No one in her family ever checked on her. Any contact was always one-sided, hers. “So what’s new? How are you?”
“Nothing is new, everything is fine.”
Chirp, chirp, chirp.
Lainey sighed. “Murphy, I just want to be involved in your life. I want to feel like we have a relationship. You’re my only sibling. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
“Lainey, why do you always have to make everything such a big deal? I swear it’s like you suck up all the emotion in a twenty mile radius and save it to spew all over everything at inopportune times.”
Lainey’s eyes stung. As she reviewed her morning, she thought it was probably true. She was a ruiner; she ruined everything by feeling too much, being too much.
“All I want, all I have ever wanted was to be loved,” she whispered, wiping her cheeks.
“And you are. Why can’t you accept that it doesn’t always happen on your terms? Just because we don’t gush doesn’t mean we don’t care,” Murphy said.
“If you never contact me, don’t want to hear from me, couldn’t care less what’s going on with me, how exactly am I supposed to know you care?”
“Assume I do, unless I say otherwise,” Murphy replied.
Lainey closed her eyes. Maybe he was right and she was expecting too much. Did that mean she had to accept painful silence and continued rejection as love? Who was right and who was wrong in this scenario? She had no idea. All she knew was that it hurt, and it took her back to her childhood, to being the unloved, ignored kid who couldn’t count on anyone.
“Look, I gotta go,” Murphy said.
“Okay,” Lainey whispered, wiping her nose so she wouldn’t sniff and annoy him further.
“I’ll talk to you…soon.”
“Okay,” she said and hung up without her usual series of “I love yous.” They were never returned. Usually she could laugh that off. Not today. Should she keen more? It hadn’t actually helped, but she was no longer crying. What made her stop?
She rolled over and became tangled in the blanket Dexter threw over her. Her head tipped to the side, spying the tissue he’d used to wipe her face. She may not love him, but it was something, some connection in the world, some person who would find her body within a week if she tripped and died getting out of the bathtub.
Really, when she thought about it, it was probably the best offer she’d had in a while. Maybe ever.
M eanwhile Dexter went home and crashed. Sleep came hard and fast. After the energy he’d expended the last few hours, it was pure bliss to turn off his brain and go into a coma. He was lucky to be one of those people who could do that, could compartmentalize enough to shut off his thoughts and conk out. He pitied people with insomnia, he really did. It must be miserable to have to deal in the nighttime with what you tried to avoid during the day.
He woke at his normal time feeling refreshed, showered, and reached for the box of cereal when someone knocked at his door. Setting aside the cereal, he answered the door and found Lainey on the other side, looking subdued. She had also recently showered, allowing him to get a glimpse of her hair sans bun for the first time. It rested damp and curly on her shoulders. Her face was pale, eyes puffy and red. She did not look rested or refreshed. In fact she looked anything but. He was certain she’d come to reject his offer, so it came as something of a surprise when she spoke.
“I think we should do it. Let’s get married.”
He blinked at her. It had been his idea, but it was still a bit shocking to hear the words spoken out loud. “Do you want a bowl of cereal?”
Her eyes narrowed. “What kind?”
“Crack puffs. What does it matter? Are you really going to say no, based on what it is?”
“No, but I plan to judge you for your cereal choices,” she said, closing the door as she followed him inside.
“Let’s be fair: you’re going to judge me no matter what,” he said. He reached for the raisin bran, poured two bowls, retrieved two spoons, and motioned to the milk, indicating she should pour her own.
She did so and followed him to the table. They sat in companionable silence, chewing a few minutes, until he spoke again.
“What does raisin bran say about me?”
“Boring, steady, and predictable. All in all, not bad. I was afraid it would be something with marshmallows, then I’d have to run away and change my identity.”
He laughed. “Why? What’s wrong with marshmallows?”
“Nothing, if you’re a marshmallow guy. If you pay more for your car than you did for your education, if you call everyone including your mom ‘dude’ or ‘bro,’ you can get away with eating marshmallows for breakfast and remain consistent. But if you’re a guy like you—serious and responsible—who secretly eats marshmallows for breakfast, well...” She shook her head.
“What?” he asked, preemptively amused and exasperated.
“It would tell me you’re hiding something, something bad. Because which one of you is the real guy? Mr. Responsible or Mr. Marshmallow? Way too uncertain to risk my future on.”
“Why can’t my name actually be Mr. Marshmallow? So cool,” Dexter said. He finished his cereal and set aside his bowl. “So, what changed your mind? Yesterday you wanted to call the town elders and run me out of the village.”
She scraped her bowl, staring at it, and gave a little shrug. “It seems like the best option to solve both our dilemmas.”
He didn’t disagree, but he wasn’t comfortable with her tone. It was so…lifeless. Even in the short time he’d known her, he’d come to associate Lainey with passion. This colorless version left him feeling ill at ease.
“What’s wrong, though? Seriously.” He tapped her hand, drawing her eyes to him. They were swimming with tears. He handed her a napkin. She dabbed and took a shaky breath.
“There’s this guy.”
“Uh-oh,” Dexter murmured.
She nodded her agreement. “I’ve known him forever and loved him as long. And yesterday I sort of…blurted. And he…”
“Didn’t blurt back?” he guessed.
She shook her head and dabbed at her eyes again.
“What if we do this thing, get married for a few months, and a few weeks in he changes his mind and wants to be with you? Because I’m okay with not being in love, but I’m not great with my wife dating the love of her life,” Dexter said.
“You should see a counselor for your possessiveness,” she said and he smiled, relieved to hear a little of her old tone eek through. She took another breath. “I can promise you it’s not going to be an issue. I know him and he doesn’t feel the same. I knew before I blurted, but that’s what I do. I blurt things. I spew my emotions on others like a fire hose, according to my brother.”
Dexter gave her a sympathetic smile and handed her another napkin because she had soaked through and shredded the first one. “That’s not so bad. Some people are blurters and some people aren’t. It takes all kinds to make the world go round.”
She gave him a watery smile. “Thank you, but this is me trying to be pragmatic. You have a job situation, and so do I. I need money, kind of desperately. As much as it makes me feel like a mercenary mail order bride, I have to admit that this is the best solution. But, listen to me being ever so rational, I think we should draw up an actual contract, so there’s no misunderstanding.”
“I think that sounds like a fine idea,” Dexter agreed. He checked his watch. “But I also have to go to work right now. If I’m late again, I think The Russians might crack my ribs in some sort of punishment hug.” He smiled when she snorted a laugh. “How about I’ll pick up food tonight and we’ll hash it out over supper. Do you have any allergies?”
“I’m apparently allergic to rejection,” she said, giving her eyes a final swipe.
“Then I’ll avoid the fried chicken place. They’re pretty judgy and condescending,” he said, smiling wider when she laughed again.