Don't Kiss the Bride

“This is starting to feel like a really weird interview.”

He lets out a laugh and throws his head back a little, exposing his neck tattoos. There’s a small, green four-leaf clover just below his ear that I love. “I promise this is as awkward as it’ll ever get. I’m not going to give you a hard time.”

“I’m not going to drive you crazy or do dumb things,” I promise. “You won’t even know I’m here. I’ll stay in my room.”

“You don’t have to stay in your room. You can hang wherever you want. It’s a big house. You’ve been confined to one room for too long.”

I slowly shake my head back and forth with disbelief. “I can’t believe we’re really going to do this. This is crazy, right?”

“It is. Not gonna lie. But it’ll only be as crazy as we make it. If we’re cool about it, it’ll be fine. Just two people living together, married on paper so you can see a doctor and get out of hell house. No big deal.”

I let that sink in. It’s not a big deal. “Okay. You’re right.”

“I do have one request,” he says, clasping his hands together in front of him. I can’t help but study the designs and letters tattooed on them. “This is a deal breaker.”

“Uh oh.” I narrow an eye at him. “What is it?”

“I need to meet your mother. I have to tell her myself what we’re doing and why.”

My stomach spins with anxiety. “Jude, no—”

“Skylar, I have to. It’s the right thing to do. She’s your mother.”

“She won’t even give a shit what I’m doing! She never has.” I vaguely remember my mom being loving and attentive when I was very young, but those memories have faded very far into my mind’s vault.

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. You might be eighteen, but you’re still her kid, and I can’t just let you move in with me, and marry me, without sitting face-to-face with your mother.”

I don’t like this at all. I can’t picture him sitting on the couch amongst all the garbage having a chitchat with my mother about marrying me. She totally dropped the parenting ball years ago. This face-to-face will be epically humiliating and awkward.

“What the hell, Jude?” I scowl. “Can’t you call her? Do a video chat?” Even I don’t remember the last time I actually had an in-person conversation with my mother. That’s just the way it’s been since the piles of stuff got too high for me to hike over.

He shakes his head. “No. I have to do this right.”

“You said yourself it’s not even a real marriage!”

“But it’s a legal marriage. This isn’t negotiable, Skylar.”

We stare at each for a few minutes, and it’s clear he’s not going to back down. I feel like I’m drowning in his gray eyes, mesmerized by the silver flecks, and I have to look away. “Can I be there?”

“Of course.”

If he thinks my mother is going to clutch her pearls and say, “Oh no… you cannot take my baby girl away!” he’s nuts. If anything, she’ll ask him for money.

“Fine. You win. Good luck squeezing those big shoulders into my house.”

“You’re funny.” His grin widens. “If we think of anything else, we’ll have it added to the prenup. I should have that ready this week, then we can move forward.”

I stand and push my chair in. “I do have one rule of my own,” I say, smiling up at him. “No kissing the bride at the ceremony.”

He stands, too, and swaggers across the room to put my mug in the dishwasher. “That’s a given. I can promise you, Sparkles, I’ll never try to kiss you.”

I ignore the tiny cinch of disappointment in my heart.

Chapter 12

Jude

Skylar wasn’t kidding.

Even with her warning, I’m shocked when she unlocks the front door of her house and we step inside.

There’s a total mishmash of crap everywhere, piled from floor to ceiling. Some of it in boxes and bags, some of it just tossed loose. Clothes, luggage, canned goods, magazines, books, and blankets. Bottles of lotion and shampoo. Random decor just thrown anywhere. It’s like a dollar store exploded and this woman decided to stick a couch and television on top of the mess.

“Mom,” Skylar says loudly as we squeeze through narrow paths and climb over shorter piles. “We’re here.”

Apparently, she told her mother I’d be coming over, but didn’t tell her why.

“Oh, good,” her mother replies in a completely normal, upbeat voice that only makes her come off as a nut, given the fact that two people are literally climbing into her living room.

When we finally get to the far end of the room, there’s a two-foot radius around the couch that’s clear enough for us to stand in. Out of the corner of my eye, I see either a large roach or a small mouse scurry under the couch.