Page 87 of The Fake Husband Play
“Yeah.” My shoulders inch closer to my ears. “And I also just…didn’t know what to say. I don’t want to lie to my listeners, either, and I knew they would smell a rat if I stopped talking about Grammercy all of a sudden, so…”
Makena hums beneath her breath. “Youdidtalk about him a lot.”
I wince. “Yeah. I did. An embarrassing amount, looking back, but at the time…” I drain the last of my toddy, needing the liquid courage. “When I first started the podcast, I was spending so much time at home on my own while Mimi was napping or already in bed for the night. It got lonely sometimes. But hockey was always there to keep my mind off the hard parts of being a single mom, to keep me company. And then…so was Grammercy.”
I exhale a whiskey-fueled sigh. “From the first time I saw him play, I was hooked, Mack. And yeah, part of it was that he’s an amazing player, but mostly it was just…him. His smile, his story, the way he seemed like this kind, old-fashioned, stand-up guy in a world full of immature assholes. He became my secret crush, and then, when I started the podcast, mynot-so-secret-crush…” I shake my head. “And his forearms really did it for me. Imighthave done an entire twenty-minute episode about them at one point.”
Makena stares at me for a long moment.
Then she starts laughing.
Hard.
“What?” I demand, not understanding what she’s finding so funny. “It’s mortifying, Mack. And awful. When Grammercy finds out, he’s going to think I’m a creep.”
“Sorry, I know you’re stressed,” she wheezes, still giggling. “It’s just so funny to me for some reason. The only thing I’ve ever fangirled myself into was getting blocked by that chef I stalk on Instagram. Meanwhile, you fangirled your way intomarryingyour crush.”
“Fake marrying,” I correct, even though nothing about what Grammercy and I are building together right now feels fake. Not the way he leaves me notes on the bathroom mirror in dry erase marker, not the growing collection of Mimi drawings adorning his fridge, and certainly not the way he kissed me goodbye yesterday.
Like he didn’t want to leave.
Like he couldn’t wait to get back.
Like he wants to drop the “fake” part of this and go all-in as much as I do.
“Okay, I’m pulling myself together. Sorry,” Makenasays, her voice gentling. “I can see how this feels big and scary from your POV. But really, in the greater scheme of things?—”
Before she can finish, a small, pained voice cuts in from the hallway by the kitchen. “Mama? Are you awake in here?”
My nervous system instantly recalibrates, stress and hot-toddy buzz vanishing as I go on Mama High Alert.
“Yeah, I’m right over here, baby,” I call out, surging to my feet as Mimi emerges into the main room, her expression cramped and one hand pressed to her hip. “What’s wrong?”
“My hips are angry again.” Her bottom lip trembles, and I’m already moving, the urge to sweep my baby into my arms when she’s sad as strong as it was the day I brought her home from the hospital. “The new doctor made them worse, not better.”
“Oh, honey, I’m sorry.” I scoop my much bigger baby up, wishing for the thousandth time that I could take her pain into my own body and suffer it for her. “How angry are they, bug? One to ten?”
“Seven,” she whispers as she wraps her arms around my neck, which means probably an eight.
Mimi learned early to downplay her suffering, this brave little girl who hates to cause anyone pain, even by being honest about her own.
“I’m so sorry. That’s pretty angry,” I agree, rocking her slowly back and forth. “But remember what the new doctor said.”
“It might get worse, but then it probably gets better,” Mimi parrots, the weariness in her voice sending a fresh pang through my chest. No kid should ever have tosound this tired, this “over” the struggle of trying to exist in her body.
I know this is for the best, and the new PT program has a reputation for doing incredible things for kids with JA, long-term. But watching Mimi fight through the adjustment period isn’t going to be easy. For any of us.
“What do you think would help?” I ask. “Hot pack? Medicine? Or I could run you a bath and get your toys from the pool. No school tomorrow, so it’s not a big deal if you’re tired and need to sleep late in the morning.”
“Can we call Gee?” she murmurs, surprising me. “He told me I could if the exercises hurt. He says his exercises hurt sometimes, too. Sometimes he has to get into a tub filled all the way up with ice to make the hurting stop.”
“Of course, baby,” I say. “His game is over, and he’s probably still awake. Let’s see if we can get him on the phone.”
Mimi still in my arms, I cross back to the couch, easing us both down into the cozy cushions.
“Hey, Makena,” Mimi says, blinking pained eyes her way.
“Hey, sweet pea,” Makena says, reaching out to give Mimi’s bare foot a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, buddy. That’s so rough. Especially at night. It’s so hard to sleep when things hurt.”
