Chapter 26 Lucy
Lucy
I’m in the middle of packing for Palm Springs when Jonah texts me a link to Marsh’s story.
Jonah:
Okay!!! She’s officially on The Journal!
A text from Marsh also comes in sharing the same sentiment, and I click on the link.
While Marsh also cited a professor from UCLA and a women’s rights activist, having my name in The Journal is something important to me.
Being seen as an expert in my field validates my career.
I read through the first paragraph intrigued, and then my heart skips a beat.
Sex writer Lucy Reid. The hairs on the back of my neck stand and nothing feels real.
To be able to see my name printed in black and white in one of the most prestigious publications in the world is one of my greatest achievements.
I want to show this article to every single person who told me it was a pipe dream to write for a living or who sneered at my topic of choice.
I’m proud—really proud—of myself.
Marsh is waiting outside in his car the same way he’s done many times before. He has a pair of sunglasses on, his arm leaning out the open window, and my chest clenches tight. I already miss this view.
This weekend is what everything has been leading up to.
I’ve completed more than enough articles to make a case for my column’s impact, and this weekend is the last time Marsh will ever have to see Julia.
But I keep thinking about the after. What will work look like?
Do Marsh and I shake hands once he drops me off and call it a day?
Do we not text anymore? Do we not hang out?
Do I not get to spend my time with him, touch him, kiss him?
All these logistics I knew would have to be dealt with eventually, but now it doesn’t seem so simple.
I don’t want to go a day not being with Marsh.
Marsh takes my luggage, placing it in the trunk of his car, then gives me a kiss. “You look beautiful,” he says against my lips, and I let out a laugh. “What?”
“You’re saying that like I’m not wearing an oversize dress shirt and jeans.”
“Your point?” He walks around the car to the driver’s side, and I get in the passenger seat.
“You better stop because I’m going to get used to hearing it.”
His eyes linger on mine for a moment longer than necessary, and I can tell he’s thinking about something. Before I can ask him what, he just leans in and kisses me again.
“Did you read the story?” he asks.
“I did.” I try to control the stupid smile on my face.
“I hope you’re happy with how it turned out.”
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Thank you, Marsh. Really. Being a part of this story means a lot to me.”
“It means a lot to me too,” he says, and I lean in to give him another kiss. When I pull away, he reaches for the start button and turns on the car. “You ready?”
“Let’s do this.” I put on my sunglasses and we head east, toward Palm Springs.
“Any updates from Eman?” Marsh asks once we hit the 60.
“The column is doing really well. It worked.”
“Yeah?” Marsh looks at me. “That’s great news. So you can write about other topics now?”
“That’s the thing.” I admire the peaks of the San Bernardino Mountains in the distance. “There’s momentum with the column that I haven’t gotten before. It almost feels too soon to start writing about the downfall of the relationship.”
“Oh,” Marsh says.
“But that doesn’t mean we have to keep doing this.” I whip my head to him hoping that I’m not putting him in a weird position. “I know we said we would stop after this weekend, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep up this charade.”
“Well, we never really discussed what happens after this weekend.” Our eyes tentatively meet, then he looks back at the road. “What happens on Monday?”
My stomach feels like the beginning of a thunderstorm when I think of Monday.
“I don’t know,” I say slowly. “Do we just…stop talking to each other?”
The silence is deafening as I anxiously wait for Marsh’s response.
“I mean, if you asked me a month ago, I would say yes.” Marsh looks at me. “But I don’t know how to do that now.”
“I don’t know how to do that either,” I admit. There’s a heavy pause between us, and I just say what I want to say. “What if we don’t stop?”
“We don’t stop,” he repeats like a statement more than a question.
“Yeah.” I nod. I’m not really sure what I mean by it. I just know I’m not ready to stop doing whatever we’re doing. “Do we really need to stop after this weekend?”
“You mean so you can keep writing for your column?”
“Right,” I say almost too quickly. Of course this is for the column, I tell myself. Why would it be about anything else? “For the column. Plus, I’m sure it would only legitimize everything on your end the longer we stay together.”
He peels his eyes off the road for a moment and looks at me. “In what way?”
“I mean, if you think about it…it might look a little suspicious if you and I broke up right after Julia’s wedding. You may as well have had no date at all,” I say, and Marsh contemplates this.
“So, we just keep doing what we’re doing until…”
“Until…it makes sense to stop?” I offer, feeling good about that answer. “How does that sound to you?” I ask Marsh slowly. “You can absolutely say no because I get if it feels—”
“Lucy,” Marsh interrupts me. “That sounds good to me.”
“Yeah?” I can practically feel my insides light up.
Marsh takes my hand in my lap and brings it to his lips. “Yeah.”
We pull into Parker, one of the most iconic properties in Palm Springs.
It’s posh, kitschy, whimsical, and lush.
I’ve been here once before for a bachelorette dinner, but we couldn’t afford to stay at the hotel.
The valet takes the key from Marsh while the bellhop collects our bags in the trunk.
We walk past a dramatic white brick wall and enter the lobby that feels like we’re dropped directly into the fifties.
There are colorful glass sculptures, shag pile rugs, and leather and velvet furniture everywhere.
After checking in, Marsh taps the key card to our room, and we enter a stunning space that is quintessentially Palm Springs glamour. There are gold trimmings everywhere, a beautiful bright orange door, a blue velvet couch, and a garden patio with a hammock sitting under a tree.
“Wow.” I walk around and peek my head into the bathroom. “This room is beautiful.”
“It really is,” Marsh agrees. “I’ve never been here before.”
I look at the sleeping arrangement and I feel a tiny pang of disappointment. “Cute,” I say, looking at the two double beds.
“I booked the room a month ago,” Marsh says.
“Well, in that case I hope you like cuddling.” I wrap my arms around his waist.
“I like cuddling you.” Marsh then wraps his arms around my body, and I feel more protected than ever. Like nothing in the world matters if he’s holding me. I let out an uncontrollable hmmm as I bury myself into his chest.
We stay like this for another moment, and I just take everything in. Being here and knowing that whatever is happening between us isn’t over just yet. I step out to the garden patio and walk toward a gorgeous tree full of pink bougainvilleas—a flower staple in Palm Springs gardens.
Marsh steps outside and meets me underneath the tree. “Lucy…”
“Yeah?” I tip my head back to get a better look at him.
“It was one thing to talk about all of this for the past month, and now that we’re here…it’s real.” He takes a step closer. “I don’t give a fuck about the wedding or any of this anymore. I’m just happy to be with you.”
My heart swells because I agree wholeheartedly with what he’s saying. What started off as something that was transactional, a quid pro quo, has turned into something much more. It’s not something I was expecting. Never did I expect to care.
“I feel the same way,” I confess. Admitting how I feel is what I’m doing a lot lately, and while the feeling is unfamiliar, it feels good being honest with Marsh.
“Can we just forget the wedding?” Marsh says.
“Forget the wedding?!” I let out a laugh, my eyes widening. “Marsh…”
“I’m serious,” he says. “Fuck, I never wanted to go to this.”
“You’re not thinking straight,” I say to him.
As fun as it would be to ditch this whole plan and have an entire Lucy and Marsh weekend in Palm Springs, I want Marsh to go to the wedding.
I want him to show everyone that he’s okay.
I want him to spend time with his mom, Oliver, and Quinn.
“I want to go to the wedding, Marshall.”
“Oh, now I’m Marshall?” He raises an eyebrow and I smile. “This isn’t going to be like Sadie’s birthday,” he says. “There are more people here. Her family…my old friends…”
“And me.” I reach down for his hands and loop my fingers through his.
This Marsh is the opposite of how he’s perceived at work and to the world.
That Marsh is a man who’s assertive, confident, and not afraid of a single thing.
The Marsh in front of me is vulnerable, anxious…
human. Getting to know this Marsh feels like the greatest privilege.
“I’ll be right beside you through all of it. ”
Marsh closes his eyes and pulls me into him. Gently, he places a kiss on the top of my head.
The wedding will take place in the outside courtyard tomorrow, but tonight’s dinner is at the Den, Parker’s private dining room. The space is dark, decadent, and dramatic with a classy jazz soundtrack playing over the speakers.
As we enter, I see just enough table space for less than thirty people. “I didn’t know how intimate this would be,” I whisper to Marsh.
“Yeah…” he says. “I didn’t either.”
Upon entering, I instantly make eye contact with Dani, who then turns away and acts as if we’ve never met each other. She says something to the person she’s talking to, and that woman now looks at Marsh and me. I’ve never been so certain that people were talking about me.
We clock Oliver and Quinn, who are already at a table and wave us over. The fact that the Oakleys were invited to the rehearsal dinner only further confirms just how close Julia is to Marsh’s family.