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TWENTY-NINE

MARA

NOVEMBER

Our high of telling the kids about us getting married didn’t last long.

I was finishing the breakfast dishes when the doorbell rang. Jack was upstairs helping his kids get ready to go to Sydney’s for the week. He was out of town until Wednesday night, then Sydney got the rest of Thanksgiving weekend with the kids too.

“I’ll get it,” I called, opening the door to find an infuriated-looking Sydney. “Hi!”

“What are you doing here.” It was a statement, not a question. “And why does my code not work.”

“Hey, um, well, I don’t know about the code.” Heat flashed over my body, then I yelled up the stairs. “Jack?”

“Down in a sec!”

I gestured to Sydney. “Come in, come in.”

Maybe being friendly would help. We briefly discussed that we should probably tell Sydney we were getting married before she heard it from the kids, as a courtesy.

She stood just inside the door with her arms crossed.

“Can I get you some coffee? Tea? Anything?” I offered.

Her eyes did a scathing survey of me: my pajama pants and bare feet, my oversized Green Day t-shirt. “Do you live here?”

My lips popped open, but I wasn’t sure how to answer her.

“Hey.” Jack’s flat voice came from the top of the stairs. He looked deflated, but held Hazel on his hip. “They’re coming down in a minute.”

“When were you going to tell me you had a whore sleeping in the same house as our children?”

I knew it was meant to hurt. To hurt me. To hurt Jack. That made it less effective.

But it still stung.

Jack’s eyes were lifeless again, his voice robotic as he descended the stairs. “Sydney, we wanted to tell you before you heard it somewhere else.”

“Heard what?” Sydney snapped.

Jack reached my side and put a hand on my hip, rubbing gently. “Mara and I are getting married. We’re eloping this Friday.”

Sydney’s face went bright red, her eyes watering. “Married?”

Jack nodded, seeming to embolden himself in her presence. “Yes. Married.”

The ensuing shouting made me grab Hazel and head to the backyard. I was shaking. “Let’s look at the birds, Hazel.”

I caught bits and pieces of what she said. That we were just trying to steal the kids from her. Comments about my weight. Comments about my clothes, my assumed sexual proclivities. How could he do this to her?

Jack’s voice cut in. He didn’t expect her to understand. He didn’t plan on changing the custody arrangement. He wouldn’t tolerate her talking about my appearance, or about me at all. How Harper and Jace are brighter with us around, and that it’s a positive change for our family. He warned her to keep her voice down while the kids were upstairs.

Harper and Jace popped outside for hugs goodbye after things quieted down. Harper was visibly upset.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” I asked.

“I don’t get to come to your wedding. I wanted to be your flower girl.”

I had to smile at that. “Come here.” I pulled her into a hug, then held her back by her shoulders so she could see my face. “Your daddy and I are just doing this mini wedding first. We’ll have a bigger wedding as soon as we get the chance, and you’ll get to be there. We’ll save all the fun parts for you guys.”

Her little brow wrinkled and for a second, she looked like her dad in her grumpiness. “Are you going to eat cake?”

“Not a single bite without you.” I booped her nose.

Her lips turned down in a pout. “Do I have to call you Mommy?”

I rubbed my thumb over her shoulder where I held her. “You can call me whatever you want to call me. Your mommy’s still your mommy. I’m just an extra mom. I don’t replace your mom.”

She got tearful. “I don’t want to go with Mommy. I want to stay with you.”

That broke my heart. I tried to see the best in everyone, but Sydney didn’t make it easy. Still, I didn’t want to say anything negative about her to her kids.

“You know what? I bet you guys will do something super fun for Thanksgiving. Maybe make some yummy pie or watch the parade or the doggies on TV. You think you can promise me you’ll have a little fun?” Harper nodded, and I gave them each another hug and kiss on the head and sent them on.

With a pit in my stomach. Even though everything I knew about Sydney was bad and that helped discredit her, I was still signing up to subject myself to her intermittent wrath for life.

Was I strong enough for that? Did I even want to be?

“You look like a princess, Mommy.”

Aspen sat next to Gabi in the fancy bridal salon, and Hazel sat on Gabi’s lap.

Gabi’s eyes rounded and she shook her head with a hand over her mouth. “Mara, you’re beautiful.”

She had the week off school for Thanksgiving and was acting as my wedding planner.

I fluffed the skirt, which flared out at my hips in a simple satin. “You think?”

She gave me a look. “Mar. Please. Put your leg forward again. Look in the mirror while you do it.”

I turned and did as she requested and holy shit. When I walked, my thigh tattoo popped out from the dress. “Is it too much? I’m a mom on her second wedding.”

She came to stand behind me. “Too much? Absolutely not. It’s fucking hot. You’re a hot mom.” She leaned closer to my ear. “And your hips and tits look incredible. He’s going to die.”

The shop’s bridal consultant cleared her throat at Gabi’s coarse language and we met eyes in the mirror with a giggle. I took a longer look. A gentle sweetheart neckline led to some boning across my waist, then flared out into that skirt that did indeed make my hips look amazing.

This was really happening. I was getting married. Again. Only weeks after my divorce finalized. Days after getting fired.

To a man who was simultaneously sweet and dangerous.

Nerves coursed through me as I smoothed my hands over the skirt, my chest going splotchy. But this was definitely the dress. “And can you make any alterations tonight?” I asked.

“We can make it work,” the consultant said. “It doesn’t need much. It’s made for you.”

For the prices in this place, I would have been shocked if they couldn’t make it work. I balked at the numbers and ran it past Jack when I was looking for an appointment. It was the only place with Tuesday availability during Thanksgiving week. When I showed him their website, he just shrugged, dropped a credit card on the kitchen counter, and kissed my cheek. “Spend whatever. Get something that makes you feel pretty.”

I got a chill every time I thought about Jack’s foul mouth saying a nice little word like “pretty.”

Did I feel a little bit like Cinderella actually getting to go to the ball? Yes.

Did I also feel a whole other swirl of emotions heading into a marriage of convenience with a man who had a chance of being just as bad as my ex-husband? Fear? Terror? Hope?

I did.

But I was willing to take the risk if it gave my kids a chance at an easier life than what we faced without Jack. I’d do anything to give them stability, security, and a chance to thrive.