Page 78 of Married to Number 22
A gentle smile. “I can promise you that the Black men are simple when it comes to the women they love.”
My heart squeezes again and then the words just…slip out. “But it’s not like you think, Kathy.”
A long pause before she asks, “What do you mean, sweetheart?”
Shit.
Yet, I can’t stop myself from admitting, “We didn’t just get married because we’re in love and reconnected after all these years.”
Her mouth curves and it’s so much like Aiden’s smile that my lungs hitch, but the movement, my words, don’t have her releasing me. Instead, she holds me a little tighter, brushes back the hair from my face. “I figured as much.”
My mouth drops open. “You did?”
She nods. “Like I said, Aiden goes his own way. But eloping is out there, even for him.” A beat. “Especially in the middle of the season.”
I wince. “Right,” I whisper.
Because he would have timed it better.
Of course he would have.
“So,” I whisper, “you shouldn’t spend money or time on the party, on Grams’s back yard. Aiden’s doing me a favor—didme a favor by marrying me—but we don’t need a party and you definitely shouldn’t put yourself out to celebrate our marriage.”
She’s quiet again for a long moment. Then, “He did you a favor?”
I hesitate, shame eating at my insides, but I know I owe her an explanation, owe her the truth. “When Grams died…” I put my pride aside and tell her all about Grams’s will, about the shares, about wanting to do something better with all that Smythe is, watching her face carefully as I speak, worry knotting my insides as I search for any sign of disappointment, of disgust, of despair.
Because her son deserves more.
“It’s really wonderful he’s doing this for me,” I whisper. “But I should have stopped things from going this far, should have known that the curse would have struck—” My throat stoppers up, words caught so tightly they can’t keep escaping.
“Um, honey,” she murmurs after several seconds. “I don’t want to interject when you’re being so open, but you’ve given me a lot of information here—information that all makes sense…all of it except whatever this is about a curse.”
Dammit.
I’m an idiot.
And one look at her face tells me that she’s not going to let this go.
And maybe…I just need to finally tell someone.
Exhaling, I stare into green eyes that are similar to Aiden’s, except with more gold flecks. “You’re going to think I’m ridiculous,” I hedge.
“There’s nothing ridiculous about any of this.” She takes my hand. “Now, sweetheart, tell me about the curse.”
My gaze slides to the side, still delaying, but the part of me that needs to tell someone has grown, taking over, and I release another breath, the truth slipping free. “I remember hearing about it for the first time when my mom was telling her best friend that Maybelle women are cursed with one of three fates—to choose their partners poorly, to die young, or to be left behind pining for the men they love but who don’t love them back.”
“Honey—”
“Orworseto be cursed to live all three.” I shake my head. “I know it sounds stupid, and I remember being old enough, having read enough books, having seen enough Disney movies to think that happy endings were guaranteed, that curses didn’t really exist—or at the very least, that curses were meant to be broken by heroes with hearts of gold and really great hair and smiles that never fail to make the fair maidens melt.” Her hand tightens around mine, as though she instinctively knows that something bad is going to happen.
And she’s right.
“Then my mom died in the car accident and my sister spent all those months in the hospital before she eventually passed away too, and I started to believe in the curse. Two Maybelles, two victims of the curse.” I press my lips together. “And eventually I realized Grams was a victim too—she chose poorly, picking my grandfather, who only spent long enough with her to make my dad before going right back to his mistress. She waited for almost forty years wishing for him to come home, pining away and living a life that wasn’t fully for herself. And that pattern has continued back for generations—my aunt was left at the altar, my great grandmother died in childbirth, taking her youngest daughter with her, my cousin’s husband took her for every bit of her worth, leaving her homeless until Grams stepped in, and…” I sigh. “The list goes on and on andon. Every woman in my family has the same story—we’re cursed when it comes to love.”
“But not you.”
I rub at my forehead. “Because I had absolutely no intention of putting myself in the curse’s crosshairs.” I glance at my lap, admit, “It’s why I pushed Aiden away when we were teenagers. Why I couldn’t so much step foot in the rink after he left to play juniors—too many memories, too much temptation to reach out again, too high of a risk if I did.”
