“So,” she said, setting her bag down, “tell me about the ex-wife.”
“What is her full name?” she asked.
“I think I’ve heard that name before.”
“Monica.”
Her pen stopped.
She looked up.
“Monica? Is this her last name?”
“Yeah. Why?”
She tapped the pen once against the page.
He froze when he saw her.
“I think I’ve heard that name before.”
Then Liam came in.
He froze when he saw her.
Susan stood and held out her hand.
“I’m Susan.”
He looked at her hand, then at me.
Susan did not blink.
“Is she the fake wife?”
Susan did not blink.
“Temporary role,” she said. “Low budget. Emotionally demanding.”
Liam stared at her another second, then shook her hand.
“Okay.”
Susan sat back down.
Ten years ago, Monica told me I could not fix being me.
“You want to ask me anything?” she said.
He shrugged.
“Can you act like you like my dad?”
She smiled.
“I don’t think that part will be hard.”
Ten years ago, Monica told me I could not fix being me.
“He’s protective of you.”
Susan had just made it sound like being me was not something broken.
Susan watched him go.
“He’s protective of you.”
“He shouldn’t have to be.”
“But he is,” she said quietly.
The wedding was at a country club outside the city, the kind of place with white stone columns, trimmed hedges, and people who smiled at you while deciding your value in under five seconds.
“If you leave now, you’ll think about it for years.”
I almost turned the truck around in the parking lot.
Susan touched my arm.
“If you leave now, you’ll think about it for years.”
Liam leaned between the front seats.
“Let’s just get it over with.”
So we went in.
She was standing near the entrance with her fiancé. Then she saw Susan.
Monica saw us before we reached the main hall.
She was standing near the entrance with her fiancé and a few relatives, already in her dress, already wearing that polished smile she used whenever she wanted something. Then she saw Susan.
Her smile changed.
