CHAPTER 36
Declan
Finn barges in, followed by Special K. I really need to put a lock on this cabin door.
I try to think of an excuse for why I might be buck naked in Summer’s living room, but all I can come up with is: “Allergies.”
I stand with my hands on my hips. “This is what I do to air out my psoriasis. Standing in front of the fire helps clear it up. It’s a known cure. I read it on the Mayo Clinic website.”
“All… er… gies,” Special K repeats, rolling the syllables around in his mouth like he’s tasting them. “Is that what the young people are calling it these days?”
“Since when do you have psoriasis?” Finn asks. “Since when do you read the Mayo Clinic website? Since when do you read anything? And since fucking when are you just hanging around, casually airing out your inflamed junk in Summer’s house?”
“My junk is not inflamed.”
“I think we’re missing the point,” K says, smiling at me. “We’re not acknowledging the elephant in the room.”
He gestures toward my half-flaccid dick and I go scrambling. Their laughter echoes through the cabin as I search around for my boxer briefs, relieved to find them under the couch. I put them on.
Finn shakes his head. “K said he hadn’t seen Summer since yesterday, so we came to make sure all is well.”
“Looks like Declan’s been taking care of business around here.
” Special K wanders over to the coffee table and picks up one of the grilled cheese plates to inspect the crumbs.
He sets it down again and nonchalantly strolls into Summer’s tiny galley kitchen and opens her fridge, looking for food. The man’s always looking for food.
Bro’s outta luck today.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I insist.
Hey, it’s the truth. It probably looks like I’m banging Summer. They have no clue that I’m banging my wife. And those are two very different things. But I’m not sure I’m allowed to say anything about having a wife.
“I want to sit somewhere, but I don’t know where it’s safe to sit,” Finn says. He scans the front room. “The couch? The armchair?”
“I’d stick to a dinette chair if I were you,” I say in a sheepish voice.
Finn looks disgusted but sits, and I watch as his face takes on a shell-shocked expression. He looks as disturbed as he did the day Jasmine asked him where babies come from.
Special K is just fine, however. He appears the same as he does on any given day. He’s totally unperturbed. He sits on the couch and puts his feet up on the coffee table. It seems he’s found an old chicken leg in the fridge, and he’s salting it generously, then takes a bite.
“I have no idea how old that chicken is,” I warn him.
“Smells fine,” he says, snarfing it down.
“Is Summer here?” Finn asks.
“Yep,” I say.
He nods, processing this information. “Is she hiding?”
“Duh,” Special K says. “I’d hide too if I found myself in the same house as this naked, itchy motherfucker.”
“I don’t really have allergies,” I say, thinking it’s time for them to stop speaking ill of my junk.
“No shit,” K says, shaking his head.
“So, is this going to be a thing from now on? Or is it just a one-time thing?”
Finn looks nervous when he asks me this. I think he’s worried about Summer. I’m glad he’s got her back, but I’m pissed that he thinks I’m some no-good dirty dawg.
Fine. Maybe I deserve that label. It’s all my brothers have seen from me, isn’t it? I’m going to have to rehabilitate my reputation around here.
“Well?” Finn asks again. “Is this a thing-thing, or a thing we ignore and pretend never happened?”
“Oh, it’s definitely a thing-thing.”
At least I really hope it still is. And I hope I sounded convincing.
But it’s a trial marriage—that’s what Summer is calling it, right?
Yet, at the same time, we’ve been talking a lot since we got back from Vegas, covering topics like family, kids, babysitters, and other non-temporary kinds of things.
That said, we’ve done more banging than talking, so a lot of our conversations haven’t reached the conclusion phase.
“That’s the sound of a man who has no fucking clue what’s going on,” Special K says. “Yo, Summer!” His voice booms through the house. “Is this a thing-thing or something we’re supposed to ignore?”
Summer’s bedroom door creeks open, and she stomps out in her work jeans and a flannel shirt. “Pipe down, K! They can hear you over the state line!” She props her hands on her hips and glares at the bone in his greasy fingers. “That better not be my last chicken leg, you big dufus.”
“She seems like herself,” Finn says.
“Who else would I be?” Summer snarls at him like she always does. I love her self-confidence and grit. “And yes, it’s a thing-thing. At least for now. And get your jaw off the floor, Finn, or I’ll stomp on it.”
Special K has frozen. Finn’s jaw is, in fact, close to the floor.
Summer sighs. “Declan and I are in a trial marriage, all right?” She points to K. “And if you laugh about it, Kevin MacLaine, I will hogtie you and drag you behind the manure truck, so help me sweet baby Cletus. You get what I’m saying?”
“Think so,” he says, licking his fingers. At least he’s moving again.
Special K stands and wanders over to the kitchenette, where he tosses the chicken bone in the trash can and then starts looking through Summer’s cabinets for more food as he mumbles to himself. I think I hear him say, “Trial marriage? How’s that shit work?”
Then he holds a box of crackers over his head. “Can I eat these?”
Summer has come to stand next to me. I grab her hand. That’s when I spy Finn’s fingers flying over his phone’s keyboard. “What the hell are you doing?” I yell.
He holds up his phone. “I just finished texting Emma. Now, I’m texting Phyllis, who said Cal and Victoria followed us up here, so it shouldn’t be long before—”
He’s cut off by a loud bang on the front door. Before Summer or I have a chance to answer, Cal and Victoria stroll in. She’s holding up her phone, her eyes wide with shock.
“I just got a text from Phyllis. She says you two are in a trial marriage?”
“My sphincter is about to pucker,” Special K says as he walks around Cal and Victoria to the door, clutching the box of crackers. “Summer, I could use help repairing the north pasture shelter. You know, whenever you can take a break from your trial honeymoon.”
He slams the door. I glance down at Summer, who’s shaking her head.
Cal crosses his arms in front of him, and eyes me up and down. He stops at my boxer briefs and pulls his mouth into a knot of disapproval. “Let me get this straight, dumbass. You went to Vegas to stop an elopement, and you… eloped?”
“It wasn’t like that. Not exactly, anyw—”
“I can’t even imagine what Dad’s going to do to your sorry ass!” Cal adds.
Victoria hurries over to us and puts an arm around Summer. “The first thing Dad will do is officially welcome Summer to the family in her new capacity as one of his daughters-in-law.”
Summer whimpers. I think it’s the first time she’s thought about her new title. Honestly, it didn’t occur to me, either.
“And after that,” Victoria continues, “Emma, Phyllis, Phoebe, and I will plan a huge party in honor of the happy couple!”
Summer manages a weak smile for Victoria, then says, “Thank you, but no.” Her voice is serious. “Parties will have to wait. We’re in a kind of probationary period.”
Probationary? That’s a new term. It sounds like I’ll be expected to wear an ankle bracelet or some shit.
“But after that, we’ll let you know if we want a party. And if we do, it will be casual. No dresses and no decorations and no expensive food, maybe just a barbecue.”
Cal walks over to us and shoves me out of the way so he can wrap an arm around Summer from the other side. Now the couple has her locked in and I’ve been pushed to the sidelines.
Cal looks deep into Summer’s eyes. “If you need help, call day or night. Just say the code words ‘horrible mistake’ and I’ll get rid of Declan for you.”
“Cal!” Victoria says, shocked.
“I’m a total catch,” I bark in my defense.
“True,” Finn says. “You’ve been caught a lot. But Cal’s right, sis. If you need help, I’m on my way.”
“‘Sis’? Hell no. I’m still Summer.” Then she looks around Cal and smiles at me. “But I think they’ve got your number, Declan.”
My heart twists as I look at her. I know she’s joking. I know she believes me when I tell her I’m in this for real. But nobody else does. So I’ll tell them.
“Listen up,” I announce. “That number of mine is now officially disconnected. Out of service. New phone, new life.”