Page 66 of Beyond the Stroke

“My mom texted me. She thinks we’re lying.”

“Because we are. We’ve known each other for a week. Who gets married that fast?”

“They don’t know that.” He shifts to his side to face me. “And people in love do crazy things.”

“People in love.” I laugh sardonically. I hadn’t hesitated to tell Daphne that Rory and I were in love but that had been out of spite. But what is romantic love? An ambiguous measure of feelings you have for someone that ultimately leads to resentment and disappointment? Or a feeling that at first is so intoxicating, that one day you look up to see you’ve completely lost yourself in someone else?

“Have you ever been in love, Summer?” Rory asks.

My parents’ relationship was constant fighting, hurtful barbs lobbed like grenades, all in the name of love. If that was love, I wanted no part of it. Then, I’d met Tripp, and for a while he made me think I was wrong about the whole love thing. Turns out, he made me think I was wrong about a lot of things.

My relationship with Tripp isn’t one that I like to claim. It wasn’t simply a young love that didn’t work out. A relationship I can look back on and see all the ways the relationship helped me grow and discover who I was. It’s the opposite. In my relationship with Tripp, I shrank into a version of myself I didn’t recognize and instead of learning who I was, he dictated it.

“No.” And then because Rory makes me so damn curious about everything, I ask, “Have you?”

His eyes lift to mine. He searches my face for a moment, as if the answer to his past love life is written there, then rolls onto his back, resting his hand next to mine.

“Yeah.”

He must be talking about Daphne. I don’t confirm because I don’t want to talk about their relationship. I know Rory has a good heart and if he loved her, she must have redeeming qualities. Tonight, I didn’t see any but they’ve got to be there.

I roll to my back, both of us now staring up at my Flaming Lips poster while the rustle of Edgar settling into his bed beneath us fills the dead air.

“I don’t even know what a healthy relationship looks like.”

Awareness creeps in as Rory’s pinky finger edges closer to mine.

“But you know what you want. And what you don’t. Isn’t that what matters?”

It’s quiet between us as I chew on my bottom lip and consider Rory’s questions.

I know I don’t want to be like my parents. Be complacent in my relationship. Unhappy and unwilling to change something that isn’t working. Life is too short to be miserable.

And I know I’ll never allow another man to treat me like Tripp did. Feeling small and unwanted in my relationship with him are still wounds I carry. Therapy at the university free clinic helped me see that, but I haven’t challenged those beliefs in a new relationship, I’ve simply avoided them.

Now Rory wants me to make the marriage I fabricated tonight legit.

Because if his parents and Daphne were to find out our marriage isn’t real, he’ll be miserable dealing with the fall out of my false declaration. And distracted from his training.

Ugh. This is such a mess.

Could I really marry Rory?

I never planned to get married. I’m not waiting on Prince Charming, and it’s not like marrying him would be wasted. It would be practical. Responsible. For my health, and to help Rory.

“If we did get married, your parents would leave you alone, right?” I ask. As soon as the question leaves my lips, an erratic pounding beneath my rib cage begins. It’s my body’s unmistakable response to the idea of marriage. I focus on taking measured, even breaths, willing my heart rate to slow.

“If there’s a ring on your finger, and a valid marriage certificate, there’d be no room for discussion.”

“Then you could focus on swimming? And be the GOAT?” That’s what one of the articles I read about Rory had called him. That with twenty-five medals, he’s the most decorated swimmer of all time. And another run in Los Angeles would cement his status. As long as he stays focused and healthy to make it there.

He chuckles. “Yeah.”

“What about logistics?” I ask. “If we did get married? Hypothetically speaking.”

“You and Edgar would move into my house. You can park your van in the garage. It’d be safe there. And you’d have health insurance.”

“Swoon.” I roll my eyes playfully even though he can’t see me.

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