Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 606(@200wpm)___ 485(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
A few tears slip from my lids, and Clay reaches out to squeeze my thigh.
Everyone at the table continues the tradition. Pete. Reverend Bob and his wife. My boss Harold Metcalf. Camille and Todd. They state what they’re grateful for, and every single person includes Summer in their list.
I can’t blame them. That little girl lights up the room like no one else.
“I guess it’s my turn, huh?” Clay asks with a smile and stands up from his chair. “I’m definitely thankful for our little Summer.”
“Uncie Cay! Lovoo!”
“Love you too, sweetheart.” Clay grins. “But the one person I’m most thankful for is this woman right here.” He reaches out to grab my hand. “Josie, I love you more than anything. And I’m ready for everyone to know just how much.”
I quirk a brow, but he continues.
“Right here, right now, on this Thanksgiving filled with our dearest friends, I’d like to share our good news with you,” he announces, and it feels like his words are coming out faster than my brain can comprehend them. “This beautiful woman right here is my wife. And I’m the lucky son of a bitch who gets to be her husband.”
A collective confusion washes over the room, but I’m reading things loud and clear. Patient Clay has officially left the building, whether I was ready or not.
“What?” Melba is the first one to exclaim. “You got married?”
“We did.” Clay nods proudly, but my ears feel hot and heavy on the sides of my head.
All the guests shout and croon with congratulations, but I feel like I’m drowning in quickly rising water. The questions are coming—I can feel them—and the truth will be unavoidable.
On the day Grandma Rose died, I was off saying I do.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
43
Josie
Thursday, November 24th
“That was really great,” Clay says as I head down Bennett’s gravel driveway.
I grip the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles are white as I turn onto the now snow-covered main road. At some point while we were inside Bennett’s house, it must’ve started snowing.
“And we definitely need to let Melba make our wedding cake. Otherwise, Grandma Rose might start haunting us, you know?” He continues happily chatting, even releasing a little chuckle from his lungs. “It’s only right that our cake comes from Melba’s bakery. That’s the way Rose would want it.”
His head is in the fucking clouds, a smile permanently etched on his lips, but I’m still locked in a tailspin of monster proportions. The poignant, brain-altering silence that followed the news of the specific day we wed festers like a parasite in my mind.
Everyone at that dinner knew in an instant the selfish reason why I wasn’t there when it happened. Everyone at that dinner knew she was alone. Everyone at that dinner now knows about something that’ll haunt me for life.
Clay’s currently one-sided conversation about cakes and DJs and whether we should have our reception at The Country Club or set up something temporary in the square carries on without me, and I swallow the vomit-filled saliva back down.
I feel absolutely torn to shreds all over again, and I can’t even find all the pieces. I blink rapidly against tears, tightening my grip on the wheel again, and try to focus on the road. Big, fat flakes of snow come down and coat the windshield, and my Civic’s wipers work furiously to keep up.
“So…what do you think?” Clay asks, trying once again to include me in the conversation. “I think a spring wedding would be nice. I mean, I’d sure as shit love to have our wedding sooner than that, but I guess I can find it in me to be patient to marry you again since you’re already my wife technically.”
I can feel his eyes on me as silence stretches between us, and I can even sense the moment that the big smile on his face disappears.
“You okay, Jose?”
At any other time, it would be a simple, thoughtful question. But right now, it feels tone-deaf and patronizing. It feels like more of a suggestion than a question—a further push to get the hell over it already. “I can’t believe you told everyone that we’re married.”
My nerves are shot, and my tone is grating, and for once, I’m thankful for the excuse to keep my eyes on the road. I don’t like fighting with Clay—I love him. But his lack of consideration for me in this instance stings too much to ignore.
“Wait…you’re mad at me?”
“You didn’t ask me before blurting it out. I didn’t even have time to prepare.”
This is not the vibe I wanted to have on our way home from Thanksgiving dinner, not the vibe I want between us at all, but getting everything out in the open feels too important. If I don’t, I know it’ll grow into the kind of resentment that breaks people apart.