Page 105 of F*ck Marriage

She presses her lips together and I think she might cry.

“Ever, ever.”

I step aside. Relief floods her face. She grabs onto me, wrapping her arms around my torso and pressing her face into my chest. I kiss the top of her head. Billie cries against me for a long time, her tears soaking through my shirt. I figure she has years of tears to let out and she’s allowed to take her time. Tears for a lost marriage, tears for fear, and sadness, and relief. When she’s exhausted her saltwater supply, I lift her chin with my thumbs and study her face.

“I’ve loved you for a very long time, Billie.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I tried.”

“I guess I’ve never really been good at listening,” she says.

“Well, I love you.”

“What have you been doing with all those girls then?”

The corner of my mouth pinches up in a smile, but Billie is frowning at me. I put on a serious face and clear my throat.

“Looking for you. In every one of them.”

Her bottom lip disappears under her teeth as she blinks at me, and I can tell she has something she needs to say.

“I don’t think I ever want to get married again, Satcher,” she says seriously.

“Fuck marriage, Billie. I only want you. I don’t care what form that comes in.”

“Okay,” she says.

She hugs me again and I breathe her in. It’s hard to describe what I’m feeling. I’m scared. She has hurt me, and she has the power to hurt me more. To keep hurting me. But apparently that is the nature of love, a big fucking risk. I hold my risk close, stroking her back.

“I have tamales,” I tell her when we finally separate.

“Real ones?”

“We’re in Mexico, of course they’re real ones.” I lead her over to the little wicker table and chairs and open the container, handing her a fork.

Billie eats like she hasn’t eaten in a month. I open a beer and sit back and watch her.

“How did you find me?”

“Your mom.”

“No, she would never…”

“Fine, it was your dad. And he got in a lot of trouble for telling me where you were.”

She wipes her palms on the leg of her jeans and looks at me squarely.

“Satch, I never slept with Woods the time I told you I did. I was trying to make you hate me.”

“Good job.”

Her smile is pained. “I’m sorry.”

I study her face, her posture. She looks like a woman who desperately needs to be believed.

“I broke up with Willa the night you walked me to the bar.”

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