Marry Me Now: An Arranged Marriage Collection

13

Mara

A calendar alert reminds me of something I’d almost forgotten in the whirlwind of the last week with John. Our deadline to annul is coming up. Two days. That’s all I have left to change my mind about this. To step off the crazy train and declare our marriage null and void—before reality sets in, and this all becomes real. Our wedding, our marriage, everything.

But in a move that might be even more crazy than our marriage was in the first place… I don’t want to.

I want to stay with John. I want to give this a real shot.

So I close the reminder with a sigh and a smile, about to turn back to my work. I’m in the office early again, as usual, hard at work in the wood shop, awaiting the rest of my coworkers to arrive. I’ve started coming in earlier than I used to, mostly to avoid the stares when I first arrive, the judgment on everyone else’s face.

Daniel has finally started acting semi-normal around me again, saying—when I finally dared to ask what he thought about me and John—that he’d just been surprised by the secret, that was all. But pretty much everyone else acts cold as ice around me. And don’t even get me started on Bianca. I haven’t seen her face to face since the night John tracked me down the restaurant in a panic and told me she came on to him. I think—hope—that she’s embarrassed by her behavior. But who knows?

Ever since that night, she’s avoided the wood shop, stayed glued to her desk on the far side of the office, and dodges my glances, even going so far as to pretend to be on the phone anytime I’m within her vicinity.

I tell myself I don’t care. That I’ll get used to it. That my other colleagues will come around when we work together longer and they realize I’m dedicated to this job; that I didn’t just sleep my way into it. But for now… it rankles, I won’t lie.

It’s the only wrinkle in the otherwise shockingly perfect fabric of this life John and I have unexpectedly started together. When it’s just us together, or out with friends… the rest of the bullshit fades away. It’s just us, and I know this is right. It feels right, in a way I’ve never experienced before. In a way that makes me never want to let go.

I shake myself with a start, realizing that I’m just staring at my phone calendar daydreaming. But it’s when I shake myself out of it that my gaze lands on the date again. Double check it. Triple check.

My stomach does a backflip. Fuck. Is that the date?

My heart starts to hammer faster, my earlier thoughts forgotten as I tap on another app I installed a while back, a tracker, one I added just out of curiosity. Now, though, it’s coming in handy.

I check the dates again, do the math, and swear once more under my breath, softly.

I’m late. My period is late.

I swallow hard, wracking my brain. I take birth control, but I’m not exactly the best at sticking to strict schedules, especially since I’ve been working so much. Sometimes I take it in the mornings, sometimes in the evenings… John and I stopped using condoms since the two of us are definitely exclusive. But it never even occurred to me to worry about anything happening.

I’d been so focused on work, on figuring out what we wanted to happen with our marriage, that I didn’t even think about anything more practical.

My stomach churns, unsettled. It’s almost 9am, almost time for my coworkers to arrive. The last thing I want to face right now is anybody else walking in on me in the midst of figuring out this revelation. I grab my cell phone and beeline out of the office, waiting until I’m safely away from the entrance in the parking lot to dial.

Lea picks up on the second ring, sounding groggy. “Who is this early bird and what has she done with my best friend?” she grumbles into the line.

“I’m late,” I say, without any other greeting. “My period, it’s late.”

There’s a long beat of silence, followed by shuffling, the crumple of sheets. Lea crawling out of bed, most likely. Her bartending gig means that she works late nights and usually doesn’t rise before the crack of noon. I feel a little guilty for waking her this early, but any guilt is overshadowed by my growing worry.

“Well, at least you’re married, so it won’t be a bastard,” she says, after a long moment, and I half-laugh, half-groan into the phone. “Kidding, Mara. Deep breaths, okay? Don’t freak out until you know for sure if you are. Go to the store, get a test.”

“And then?”

“And then, figure out what you want to do.” There’s another sound. A shower turning on in the background. “I mean, you told me John was pretty baby crazy, right?”

“No, I told you his family is,” I clarify. “And crazy would be an understatement when it comes to his mother.” I can still picture that heap of gifts. Her face as she told me I owed them a baby, in exchange for being kept. Like I was some kind of pet her son had adopted at the shelter and dragged home.

My stomach churns again. Would I want to bring a child into that world?

But then I think about John. I think about his face when he talked about finding a wife, settling down. Or the way he looks at me, like I’m the only woman in the world who’s ever ignited him. We work so well together—both in marriage and in our actual work. If there’s anyone in the whole world I could picture myself having a family with, it’s him. He’s someone who would actually participate fully, who wouldn’t leave me to care for the kid all on my own, but who would take an equal role in parenting. I’m sure of it.

But… the weight settles like lead in my stomach. I think about my career. Everything I’ve worked for. My whole life, which is really only just beginning. Can I really derail that? With a change as huge as this?

Then again. Look at my marriage, and how badly I thought it would derail me. When in fact, meeting and accidentally marrying John might have been the best decision of my life. If anything, it only improved my life—my whole life, not just the career I’d always been focused on to the point of ignoring the rest of my needs.

“I can hear those wheels of yours churning. What are you thinking?” On the other end, I hear splashes, no doubt as Lea ducks into her shower.

I sigh into the receiver. “I don’t know, Lea. I don’t know what I want to do. I never thought I’d want a family this young—someday, sure, but now? But then, I think about John, about having a family with him specifically, and… I don’t know.”

There’s another long pause, followed by the telltale slosh of bathwater, before Lea’s voice returns closer to the microphone. “Well, take the test. Like I said, no use making plans until you know. And once you do know, you can make an informed decision, with all the facts. Yeah?”

“You’re right.” I tilt my head back to squint up at the blue sky overhead. It’s shaping up to be a beautiful day. Too pretty to be stressing like this, at least until, like she says, I know the truth. “What if I am though?” I murmur. “How the hell am I going to tell him?”

“A card is always nice,” she replies, and I burst into laughter.

“Thanks for the pep talk.”

“Call me with the results?” she asks before I disconnect.

“Of course. Soon as I know.” I hang up and tug my car keys from my pocket, jangling them between my fingers. Time to face the music.

Well. I should have guessed it.

I squat in the bathroom of the CVS, staring at the test in my fingers. Staring, more specifically, at the thin pink line that marks a sharp and sudden divide in my life. Before and after. As in, before I went and got myself knocked up by my new husband, and after I real

ized that this already complicated as hell mess is about to get a million times more complicated.

I shoot Lea a text, aware that I promised to call her. But I can’t handle hearing her voice right now. Even my best friend’s reassurances won’t help. Not now.

I shut my eyes and ignore the phone as it buzzes away in my lap. Lea tries twice more before she gives up and texts me back instead.

Never doubt the power of a well-worded card, is all she says, clearly deciding to opt on the side of lighthearted. She knows me too well. She knows that I can’t handle looking at this seriously right now.

But the words draw a laugh out of me anyway, albeit a reluctant one.

Still. It’s not the worst idea. I’m going to have to tell John somehow. And in spite of us deciding that we want to really seriously try to make this marriage work… I’m still not entirely sure how he’s going to handle news like this. News this huge.

I deposit the test in the trash and trudge out to my car, hands tucked into my pockets. Along the way, I stop in the CVS card section and buy a card. I labor and debate over the type—Congratulations? Condolences? Thank you for the baby? Sorry, but guess what?

Finally, I settle on one of the blank cards, the front covered in glitter and flowers. At least it doesn’t have any cheesy pre-written messages inside. I want to write my own, although what exactly I plan to say, I’m still not sure. How do you explain something like this?

I spend the whole drive back to work thinking it over, my brow furrowed. When I get to the office, it’s late—the only parking spot available is pretty far from the front. But that’s fine. It gives me more time to think. I pull into it and shut off the car, then lean my head on the steering wheel, eyes shut, hands gripping the leather, and force my tired brain to think.