Page 94 of That Reilly Boy
“Where have you been hiding?” Mel asks, hauling Cara in for a big hug.
“You’re, uh, not supposed to ask newlyweds that,” her husband says, and they all laugh as I shake his hand.
Lucas was a couple of years ahead of me in school. We knew each other, of course, but we were neither friends nor foes. We just happened to be two guys who went to the same school. I know he’s been good to Cara, though, helping keep her and Gin’s cars on the road.
There’s a lot of mingling and small talk while Bob puts the burgers and dogs on the grill. He refuses help, claiming the grill and the basement are the only parts of the house that are his domain, so mostly I listen to the others chatter and keep an eye on Penny, who’s staked out her place in the shade under Cara’s chair.
“I’m convinced Mel’s been waiting for you to get married so you can have babies at the same time and raise them to be best friends like you are,” I hear Emily say, and that certainly gets my attention.
“Mom is starting to get anxious for grandchildren,” Mel explains, rolling her eyes. “And I’m going to get cheese for those burgers so Dad doesn’t forget again.”
I watch Cara’s best friend walk away, finding it oddly telling that she didn’t show any excitement at all about the prospect of her and Cara maybe getting pregnant at the same time.
It reinforces my suspicion that Mel knows the truth of our marriage. She hasn’t said anything or given me dirty looks—not since the night I found them drunk and she accused me of stealing poop bags before she stole Penny’s snacks—but that in itself is suspicious. She knew us in high school, so me sweeping into town and marrying Cara before buying the Gamble house should have at least earned me sideways glances at the wedding. Maybe even a few threats about what she’d do to me if I hurt her best friend again.
Getting nothing but smiles? Mel’s not worried about Cara because she knows the truth.
It’s a little annoying because my own brother doesn’t know. I don’t know if Cara told her outright or if she guessed, but it doesn’t seem as if anybody else has found out, so there’s no point in me confronting Cara about it.
Penny—who heard the c-h-e-e-s-e word and has abandoned her hiding spot—makes a break for the house. Me scrambling after her to keep her from charming their hosts out of giving my spoiled princess every single piece of cheese they own distracts everybody from talk of babies.
But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about what it would be like to have children with Cara. It’s a strain on my meager acting skills to sit with these lovely people who don’t know a divorce is in our future, and pretend my heart’s not breaking.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Cara
Today’s my four-month wedding anniversary—not that we’re celebrating those milestones—and this limbo we’re stuck in is quickly becoming more stressful than worrying about heating costs and a shabby roof had ever been.
We never really defined how long we’d continue the charade after the closing. We thought we’d both know when the time was right. But our lives have become routine and my nerves can’t take much more.
It’s almost impossible to spend long weekends with Hayden, sleeping across the hall from him, and not… I don’t know. Throw myself at him? I lie awake at night, remembering the night I spent in his bed in Boston, aching to do it again. I think about what it would be like to have children with him, and raise them with Mel’s as little besties. And, more than anything, I wish our marriage was real.
It gets harder to maintain the façade every time he walks through the door on Thursday nights. And it’s hard for him, too, I think. We obviously have sexual chemistry, and attraction isn’t the problem. But wanting to sleep with me doesn’t mean he wants to spend the rest of his life married to me.
So I’m determined to start moving this process along so I can maybe get some peace back in my life. Sure, my heart will be broken, but he won’t know that. And everybody else in my life will accept it because divorce is usually heartbreaking.
Even though I’m expecting Hayden home any time, I’m making one last run to my mother’s house with a few boxes of things I know she wants to keep. The last time I brought things over, she grumbled about not wanting to fill up her new home with old stuff, but I told her I’d stack them neatly along the garage wall to keep them out of the way. And then, after the renovations are done, we can figure out where it goes. Just one more lie on top of the ones I’ve already told her.
“I can’t believe you brought more stuff here, Carolina,” Gin says, watching me add the boxes to the top of the stack with her hands on her hips.
“We can’t renovate anything until we’ve cleaned out most of the house,” I remind her.
“Where is he going to start?” she wants to know. “And when?”
“I’m not sure, but it can’t be until I’ve made space for them to work.”
She sighs. “He should be helping you with this.”
She should be helping me, actually, but I keep my mouth shut about that. “He’s not even back from Boston yet. My late afternoon client rescheduled because the dog may or may not have swallowed an AirPod and they’re taking him to the vet, so I thought I’d get a little done. You should come over and see how it’s looking.”
“I might, when I get a chance.”
“There are four days every week Hayden is not there, if you’re avoiding him.”
“I’m not avoiding him,” she snaps, but then her shoulders drop. “Maybe a little bit. I thought the day your father threw him off our porch would be the last time I ever saw that boy.”
Wait…what? “What are you talking about, Mom? When was Hayden on our porch?”
