Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
JADA
If Ash and I went to my grad program friend Maribel’s party months ago when we first got married, I’d be stressed out beyond belief. Every event or party since graduation has been an elaborate one-up session, and I’m never sure if I’m measuring up.
But now I actually feel confident for once. We’re planning the opening night of the bar and the hotel is doing well. I don’t care if other people are working at fancier hotels or consulting with major chains. I love what I’m doing, and I’m absolutely going to brag a little bit.
Plus, Ash is with me. Every time we’re together, I’m at ease in a way I can’t clearly articulate. I know I’m not worried about us being found out anymore, so that helps. But it goes beyond that, like I’ve found a secret well of peace in my brain.
I’ve finally managed to compartmentalize our relationship right now from the reality that we’re married, too. I don’t have to think about making an immediate decision on what we are, because things are good. It doesn’t have to be all that complicated.
Maribel still lives in Crescent Hill in a house a few miles from campus, in an old neighborhood where several professors live. Her husband inherited it from his parents, who both worked for the university. Her front door is open, music and chatter streaming from the house.
Ash takes my hand as we walk up the front steps, and I thread my fingers in his.
Maribel is just inside the front door. She’s one of those people who’s always dressed to impress, even when it seems like she should be too tired to be put together.
I once saw her at the library in a matching athleisure set and makeup during finals a few years back and now I’m convinced she’s superhuman.
She beams at me, pulling me into a hug. Her perfume is elegant but just a touch too much.
“Jada! It’s so good to see you! I didn’t think you’d show!” She pauses, her smile tight for a second. “Sorry, that sounded so terrible. It’s just that you’ve been a bit of a stranger. But I’m guessing that’s because you met your husband. Hello, I’m Maribel!”
“I’m Ash.” Ash shakes her hand. “Thanks for having us.”
“Of course.” Her eyes scan over Ash for a moment, before she gestures to the kitchen. “Make yourself at home. We have drinks and refreshments in the kitchen. The restroom is down the hall past the library.”
Another guest, someone I vaguely recognize, steps in behind us and Maribel’s attention shifts to them. We step farther into the house before I stop dead in my tracks after spotting a familiar head of dark hair. Fuck.
“Ah, shit.” I clutch Ash’s arm. “Be cool, my ex is here. Troy.”
“Troy? The one who lied to your grandparents about you two being together?” He looks at me, a confused frown on his face. “You didn’t warn me about him.”
“Because I assumed he was still in Europe for work,” I say under my breath, slowly taking a step back as if fast movements would alert him to our presence.
I genuinely haven’t thought about Troy since a little after the wedding, not even to curse him for getting me into this situation.
He wasn’t even a blip on my mental radar, which is new for me.
Usually something reminds me of him—mostly seeing other couples, then remembering how single I am. Or was. Or sort of am, now.
I reamed him out over the phone for lying to my grandmother, so I assumed that I’d still carry over that rage seeing him in person. But mostly, I feel almost nothing besides annoyance that I have to at least say hello.
Of course, Troy spots us and nods in my direction. He always has a smile in his eyes, but I catch an almost imperceptible frown between his dark brows.
“Jada!” Troy calls, waving. Some people between us move and I see he’s with another woman.
A rush of relief is quickly followed by anxiety. I’m glad he’s seeing someone else, but who is she?
I take in more of her details as the couple approaches us.
She’s also Black, but doesn’t look anything like me, thank god.
If he’d upgraded to a woman who looked like me, but better, I’d be a little annoyed.
When we finally broke up for good, I got the sense that he wanted me, but all the bad parts tweaked—a bit quieter in how I interacted with people, body a bit tighter but still just as curvy, more “on top of it.”
“How are you?” Troy asks, going for a hug. He catches Ash’s gaze and quickly shifts it to a side hug. “It’s been a long time. This is my fiancée, Ally.”
“Oh, fiancée?” I blurt, as if I’m not technically married. “Uh, congrats.”
“Yes, he asked me a week ago!” Ally puts her hand out, revealing a modest but beautiful diamond.
“You know how it is.” Troy smiles at her, love written all over his face. I’ve long lost my feelings for him, but it still sucks to see. No one has ever looked at me like that, especially not him. “It just clicked.”
“Same with us,” Ash says, his deep voice cutting in. “I’m Jada’s husband, Ash.”
Troy blinks and extends his hand to Ash, which he shakes as he gives Ash the sizing up I’ve noticed people give him regularly—a scan of the tattoos on his arms before going up to his face. It’s not a judgmental look, but it bothers me nonetheless.
“Husband?” Troy puts on his regular smile again, even though his eyes are tinged with confusion. “Since when? I was working in Europe for a year and you get married?”
“Yep, it’s recent,” I say.
“Married. Wow.” Troy shakes his head. Not in disappointment, but more in shock.
I get it—the last time we spoke and I cussed him out for lying to my grandmother was what, last year around when my grandparents passed? And I hadn’t mentioned dating. But an insecure part of me wonders if he’s shocked because he never thought I’d find anyone else.
“Usually people say congrats when it comes to this kind of thing.” Ash puts his arm around my waist.
“Ash…” I lightly squeeze his hand that rests on my hip.
“It’s fine. It’s fine.” Troy laughs and puts his arm around Ally. “I understand the protective urge. Congratulations.”
He understands fucking everything. A rush of faded but still irritating memories come back. Whenever I brought up a concern about our relationship, he always brushed me off with “I understand,” even when he absolutely did not. He just said it to placate me.
“So you’ve gotten married and you’re still running the hotel?” Troy asks, leaning into his fiancée. “I assume the bar renovation is done?”
I know he’s well intentioned, probably, but his tone nags at me. The bar renovation was a point of contention, and he had very strong opinions on it. He hated my timeline. He hated my ideas. Finally, he threw his hands up and said I could handle it—but judged me in his annoying, subtle way.
“It’s almost done. We hit a few snags,” I say. “We’re planning the launch. It’ll be in late September.”
“Good, good,” he says. “It’ll be great. I know you’ll manage to hit those deadlines.”
Again, there’s that friendly look on his face that makes me feel like I’m hearing the wrong thing and seeing the right thing.
Is he being condescending, or am I too sensitive?
I’m an adult and I made it this far. Just because I didn’t follow his exact plan doesn’t mean that I’m not getting anywhere.
“I will,” I say. Why is he up my ass? “How was Europe? What countries were you working in?”
“I’m sure it was fine,” Ash says, cutting Troy off before he can even speak. “Don’t you have other people to talk to, Troy?”
“Ash,” I say, looking up at him. I want to give him a little pinch.
“It’s alright.” Troy’s smile has gone tight. “We just got here and need to make the rounds. Congratulations again.”
He and Ally move on, and the tension leaves my shoulders.
“You didn’t have to do all that,” I say as Ash steers us to an open spot in the living room. “We were cordial.”
“Is that what you’re calling that?” Ash scoffs. “That’s not what I saw.”
Before I can grill him about it, one of my friends from undergrad waves to us.
We flit from conversation to conversation, dealing with the inevitable confusion and sometimes excitement that we’re married.
Troy fades into the background of the evening, and thankfully, the rest of the night goes smoothly.
Everyone else is excited for my professional accomplishments, too.
At some point, I start yawning, and Ash suggests we go home. We’ve been here long enough, so I say a few goodbyes and we head out.
We hold hands on the way back to the car, even though we don’t really have to. It’s comforting in the slightly cool night, like he’s guiding me along and I don’t even need my eyes open.
The knot that’s been in my chest, worrying about tonight, is finally gone.
Aside from the blip with my ex, the conversations were pleasant and surface level.
People didn’t dig too much into Ash’s past or what he was doing—he just said he was working for the family company while transitioning away from being a touring musician.
“What was that about?” I ask once we’re in the car, off campus and onto the highway back toward Jepsen. “With Troy.”
“He gave me a bad vibe.” Ash shrugs. “Why the fuck was he like that? And he had that stupid smile on his face the whole time.”
“Oh my god, the smile. He smiled about everything all the time.”
“Like a serial killer.”
“Okay, maybe not that far.” I snort. “But yeah, he’s friendly so I always feel a bit crazy about being bothered by his tone.”
“He’s a tool, Jada,” he says with a laugh. “You’re not crazy. He was condescending as fuck.”
“I feel so fucking vindicated right now. You have no idea.” I laugh, too, almost hysterically.
“He made me feel so crazy. Everyone thought he was this great guy but he made me feel like a fucking idiot all the time with his ‘advice.’ He’s smart and all, but he knows it and thinks everyone else isn’t as smart as he is. Especially me with my ADHD.”
As usual, I don’t mean to be that honest, but it’s too late. Ash doesn’t flinch or put on the whole over the top, nooo, you’re not stupid! act. But I can sense that he doesn’t think I’m dumb at all. It’s nice—the topic doesn’t shift onto me in a way that makes me feel too scrutinized.
“Because, like I said—he seems like a passive-aggressive asshole. Or just an asshole in general.” He glances in the rearview mirror for a moment. “He your usual type?”
Okay, never mind about the scrutiny. I shift in my seat. We’ve talked about Troy and how he got me into this mess, but not much about the rest of my dating history.
“Kinda?” I shrug. “I mean, I’ve mostly dated kind of nerdy dudes. So nerdy guys who know they’re smart come with the territory.”
“But there’s a big difference between a nerd who knows he’s smart and a nerd who knows he’s smart and wields it like a big hammer.” He changes lanes. “Like, Waylon’s a big-ass nerd and knows he’s smart, but he’s not going to try to make you feel like you’re a moron in comparison.”
“That’s why he’s my best friend.”
“You two never…” He glances in the rearview mirror yet again and I glance in the side mirror. There’s a car behind us, but it’s not like the road is deserted at this time of evening.
“Ew, no,” I say. “Gross.”
“Just curious.” He shrugs and pauses. “I’m glad you aren’t with a guy like Troy anymore.”
“Why, because that means I was available to marry you?”
“No, because you don’t deserve bullshit like that.” He says it in a straightforward tone that’s sincere without being saccharine.
And he’s right. I don’t deserve a relationship where I’m second-guessing every conversation. I deserve a man who’ll have my back and not make me feel insane for being myself.
Like Ash.