Page 79 of Play Fake
It’s drizzling, not uncommon for the unpredictable Chicago weather, and the car carries Dex, Jack, myself, and Ford. We head to the church where the funeral is being held, and it’s already standing room only when we arrive a full twenty minutes early.
Apparently Coach Murph, or Kenneth Murphy, was a beloved member of his community.
We listen as different people speak to his kind spirit and how much he’ll be missed, and the officiant invites guests for a final viewing at the end of the service.
The rows file out with family first to say their goodbyes, and when it’s finally our turn to walk up, Dex glances over at me. He looks almost nervous, and then he grabs my hand in his.
It’s a small gesture, but it’s one of comfort as he prepares to say his final goodbye to a man who meant a lot to him. And that small gesture speaks loudly to me. I’m here to comfort him. To be by his side in this difficult moment. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?
It’s starting to feel more and more real all the time.
We head to a luncheon at a nearby restaurant, and that’s when we finally run into Mr. and Mrs. Bradley.
They don’t hug their sons, who have stayed close by each other for the duration of the funeral so far, and they both glance at me.
“Ainsley,” Mrs. Bradley says formally to me by way of greeting.
“Mrs. Bradley, it’s lovely to see you.”
“I hear you married my son,” she says.
Well, that’s awkward.
“Yes, I did.” I offer a smile.
“Welcome to the family, I suppose. Is this my grandchild?” She nods to the carrier in my hands, and we both look down at the sleeping Jack.
I nod. “Yes.” I offer a smile. “Would you like to hold him later when he wakes?” I ask softly.
Her eyes meet mine, and I think I almost see them soften for just a second. “I’d like that.”
Dex mingles, and I follow him around as he introduces me to everyone here as his wife. It’s strange meeting important people from his past and essentially lying to them. Sure, I’m his wife—but he doesn’t specify that our marriage came with a contract and an end date. He doesn’t tell anyone that I’m really just his nanny. But maybe I’m more than that to him now—now that we slept together. Now that I’m here for him at this funeral. Now that I’ve made arrangements to show him that I care about him and believe in him and will push him to step up and make the kinds of decisions he won’t regret later.
I’m not trying to change him, yet I think he’s starting to change anyway.
And I am, too. The old me never would’ve hopped on a flight with a baby to meet my best friend’s older brother in Chicago. I guess I’m becoming a new version of myself who likes to feel the rush of butterflies when my husband’s eyes meet mine.
Maybe I’m not the nerdy little girl who liked to play volleyball and didn’t mind a good crossword puzzle. Truth be told, I still like a good crossword puzzle.
I’m still wholesome, sweet, sunshiny Ainsley, but now I’ve got a little of the Bradley bad boy in me. Quite literally since he was inside me two weeks ago tonight.
When Jack starts to stir in his carrier, I find Mrs. Bradley before he fully wakes. She’s talking to a woman who possiblyuses the same Botox person she uses given the sheer amount in both of their faces, and she turns toward me with a look like I’m a bit of a nuisance.
“What is it?” she asks.
“The baby is waking if you’d like to hold him.” I offer a shy smile.
“Oh, yes, of course. Excuse me, Karen,” she says to the woman. “This is my first grandchild and my first time holding him.”
“You can feed him if you’d like,” I say. “It’s time for his bottle.”
“That’s okay,” she says.
She twists her lips, and I wonder for the briefest of moments how many times she bottle fed her seven children. From what Ivy has indicated, her nanny was around more often than her own mother was.
My parents might’ve put me up to babysitting when I didn’t always want to, but they still always made us feel loved and cared for. I guess nobody’s life is perfect, but if I had to pick between having all the money and advantages the Bradleys have but being raised by a nanny or scraping together and working hard to earn my own money to pay for gas but having loving, caring parents…I think I’d still pick my own history.
And lucky Jack here will hopefully get to have both.
