Chapter 10
JULES
The afternoon passes by, and I pace my tiny hallway. Back and forth. Back and forth.
I quit my job. I quit my damn job.
Why am I so impulsive? Why didn’t I consider the damn consequences—homelessness and hunger, specifically—before storming out of that restaurant? Now that I’m unemployed, what the hell am I supposed to do?!
I try to figure out my next move. I keep waiting for the jigsaw pieces of some brilliant masterplan to pop into my brain. Instead, all I hear are Lincoln’s words from earlier.
You and I don’t like each other. Maybe we should get married. It might just solve some of our problems.
What a horrible idea. A horrible, horrible idea. Still I just can’t seem to shake it away.
Great-Grandma wants me to have a husband, and Lincoln would fit the bill. With his button-up shirts and his corporate vibes, he’d definitely meet Josephine the Terror’s criteria for releasing my trust fund.
And can I help him pull off his business deal? I think so. I could totally be a married woman. I could be a wife…Right?
Growing up, I didn’t exactly have any role models of marital stability. I’ve certainly never been the relationship type. I don’t even know what that entails. But I’m sure I could just Google it.
Being married can’t be all that hard.
The setting sun pierces through my living room window, casting long shadows along the walls. The more I think about the situation at hand, the more it seems like the most viable option. For me and for Lincoln.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.” I chew on my fingernail.
I need someone to talk me off this ledge before I jump.
Grabbing my phone off the kitchen counter, I tap my mom’s name.
The call goes straight to her voicemail.
“Hello. You’ve reached Mei Sasaki. I’m at the office but unable to take your call at the moment.
Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you. ”
I don’t know what it is about that voice message, but it gets me choked up every time.
I think it’s a reminder of my Mom’s resilience.
She earned her paralegal degree later in life, through grit, determination and hard work.
Every time I hear the message on her answering machine, my chest fills up with pride.
I want to be able to make her proud too.
Getting my T-shirt business off the ground seems like the ticket.
Since my mother is not available to take my SOS call, I move on to my bestie. I’ve never been able to keep a secret from Alba. But the past few days have been hectic and I haven’t gotten ahold of her since the housewarming party. I have so much to catch her up on.
The phone rings and Alba answers my call. But before I can blurt out I-had-a-freaky-sexcapade-with-your-crotchety-brother-in-law-and-now-I’m-considering-marrying-him-to-get-around-the-fact-that-I’m-being-blackmailed-out-of-my-inheritance-by-my-evil-half-sister”, my bestie starts rambling.
“Hey hun. I’m sort of busy right now. Showing an amazing new property to a new client!” She’s so excited. I can hear it in the barely restrained giddiness in her voice.
“Hell yes! That’s so amazing, Alba,” I say, genuinely happy for her.
My bestie had to take the realtor exam multiple times before finally nailing it, and now that she’s certified to sell properties, she’s killing this realtor thing.
“Can I call you later?”
“Of course, hun.”
“Wish me luck!”
“Good luck. Proud of you, babe.”
“Thank you, Jules!” With a little squeal, the phone clicks in my ear.
I pause for a moment, considering who else I could call to talk me out of this insane decision I’m on the precipice of making. My mind silently scrolls through my tight-knit friend group.
Laney is working a double shift at the hospital again and she won’t be able to take my call.
Tammy is probably available to talk, but she would tell me to drag Lincoln down the aisle by the balls and make an honest man out of him. Not sure that’s the kind of advice I need.
Alba’s mom, Patty, has been a mother figure to me all my life and I’ve turned to her for guidance on more than one occasion, but this isn’t something I feel I could open up to her about.
Then there’s Monica Raines. Even though she and I have become friends over the past few months and I absolutely adore her, talking to the woman about fake-marrying her son? Ha! Definitely not the best idea.
But then I conclude that I don’t need anyone’s validation for this decision I’m about to make. I’m a grown woman, and a grown woman’s got to do what she’s got to do. Even if it’s batshit crazy.
Before my brain shorts out again, I grab my jacket and keys, muttering under my breath the whole time.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.”
I stomp into my boots, tightening the shredded laces into messy knots.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.”
I lock my front door and race down the porch steps two at a time.
“This is crazy. This is crazy. This is crazy.”
I find myself driving toward the nicer part of town. The neighborhood with neatly-manicured cul-de-sacs and driveways with basketball hoops, where kids play tag and hopscotch in the narrow tree-lined streets.
You and I don’t like each other. Maybe we should get married. It might just solve some of our problems.
I’m operating fully on autopilot at this point. Desperation is my only guide until I find myself standing on Lincoln’s door step. My heart is racing.
Oh my god. What the hell am I doing?
Too late to back out now.