Marriage of Unconvenience

“Yeah,” she said, opening the door.

“If you want to tell everyone, I support you. It just seems like things were going fine and you suddenly changed your mind.” I had missed any signs that she was uncomfortable with everything.

She stood back to let me in her room and then flopped on her bed.

“I just don’t know. I feel like I never know if I’m doing the right thing. Do you ever feel that way?” She squinted at me as I sat down beside her, leaning against her mountain of pillows.

“Uh, all the fucking time. You’re not the only one that feels that way. I’m pretty sure everyone does, Care.” She huffed.

“Well, I don’t like it. I want to know what the right thing is and then do that thing. Preferably plan out the next five things in a row and then do those things as well.” I smiled. Cara and her planning.

“I mean, you could do that, but life tends to ignore plans. And sometimes your plans no longer work, so you have to make new plans. Like fake marrying your best friend so you don’t end up on the street.” She laughed at that one.

“I guess you’re right. We can stick with the plan, but I do get moments of intense guilt. Sometimes I wish I didn’t care about things as much. If I didn’t care, this would be so much easier.”

Story of my life. I cared far too much about all the wrong things, and didn’t care about the right things. Well, except for Cara. Caring about her was the most right thing I had ever done or would ever do.

“It’ll be different when the money gets here. Then you’re going to be so busy with school that you’re not going to have time to worry about that stuff. And I’ll be doing... whatever I end up doing with my time. I haven’t decided yet. I need you to help me make a list.” I swear, I couldn’t make a huge decision (even an impulsive one) without her input.

“I can help you make a list. Might take my mind off things.”

“Yeah?” In response she pulled out one of her myriad notebooks and a pen. Cara lived for notebooks. She had dozens and dozens of them, all filled with lists and ideas and schedules and things she’d done. They were almost a form of journal for her, and she kept them all, going back to when she was a kid and scribbled her lists in crayon and colored pencil and did doodles of flowers and faces.

“Okay, hit me with what you might want to do.”

We spent the rest of the evening making a progressively more silly list of potential jobs or hobbies for me to try.

“Why don’t I just sit around wearing lots of scarves and drinking tea and reading too many novels?” I said.

“I mean, you can. What about becoming a book blogger? You don’t get paid, but you get to read books, and that’s almost the same thing.”

“Put it on the list,” I said.

I ended up falling asleep on her bed and waking up in the middle of the night, too tired to go back to my own. Cara hummed in her sleep and snuggled closer.

We were going to make it. We were going to be fine, I knew it. Even if we kept one tiny secret from our friends.

Sixteen

The two weeks of waiting until we could get the certified copy of the marriage certificate were both annoying and a hell of a lot of fun. Cara and I settled into a routine where she would go to work, I would go on job interviews and putter around the house and make dinner for her to come home to. We also hung out with our friends as a couple, and picked out all the new furniture we wanted to get when the money came in.

It was all adorable and domestic, and made me feel like a real wife. I even got myself a frilly apron.

“How was your day, dear?” I asked one night when Cara came home from work. I was in the kitchen with a spatula in my hand and a steak stir-fry going on the stove in a wok.

“Good, thanks,” Cara said. She always seemed surprised to come home and find me in the kitchen making dinner, even though I’d been doing it consistently.

“I got another interview. This time at the Museum of Fine Arts for the gift shop. It’s only part time, but I’d get a free membership, so that would be cool. We could go and be all artsy and make serious faces and comments about abstract art like we actually understand it.” Cara put her chin on my shoulder from behind and put her arms around my waist. I froze for a second. Cara was definitely more comfortable with touching me now, and it wasn’t my imagination. She had no problem with hugs and lying next to each other on one of our beds, or cuddling on the couch. It wasn’t a big deal, but sometimes my brain told me it was.