“Thank you, Brad,” she grins at me. “I know you’re just doing this so I don’t have to miss out on prom. I really appreciate it. You’re the best friend a girl could have.” I stare at her stupidly. “You almost had me convinced there,” she smacks my chest playfully, “that kiss.” She pushes past me, laughing lightly and heads downstairs. I stand in her room, confused and a little dejected, wondering if my pretty girl will ever see me as more than just her best friend.
(Colleen)
Now enjoy being married.
I RUN INTO
the en-suite bathroom like the chicken that I am. Brad’s terms of endearment don’t sit well with me. Not when I know that I’m just Colleen. I’m off limits. He’s not supposed to be aroused around me. I get it,
Bradley
. My stomach lurches at the thought.
I take several deep breaths, willing myself to calm down. I married my best childhood friend
—I thought this was going to turn out… how? This was such a bad idea. What had I been thinking?
You weren’t thinking
, I remind myself. Oh, yeah. That explains it. When I feel myself sufficiently calmed down, I decide that it’s time to assess the situation at hand.
I start at the root of the problem
: I’m an idiot. Aside from that, mine and Brad’s relationship is pretty volatile and has been for a long time. Brad has mastered the art of the push and pull. He will push me just far enough away and then when he’s in danger of doing irreconcilable harm to our relationship, he’ll pull me back. It works every time. Unfortunately, this last round of push and pull has resulted in the biggest mistake we’ve ever made. I don’t think I’ve told him “no” with any seriousness even once. The more I examine the situation that we’re in, I realize something truly unappealing about myself.
While
Brad may be a master of the push and pull, I play along. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me lose my ability to think clearly. As I mentally categorize my issues that have led me to being fake married to my childhood best friend, I decide that this level of psychoanalysis can really only be dealt with by a professional. First thing back in Boston I’m going to make an appointment.
Childhood best
friend.
I mull over that term for a few minutes as I shower and brush my teeth. Does that mean he’s not my best
friend now? We don’t really have anything in common anymore. We don’t really hang out, especially not alone. We don’t like most of the same movies or music and we certainly don’t frequent the same establishments. So then, what links us? For the life of me, everything I come up with has to do with our shared history. Another realization hits me.
If
Brad isn’t my best friend, then who is? Darla could be, but then, she’s my sister-in-law. Maybe that doesn’t count? Lindsay could be, but then, she has her own life and I don’t really know how deep our friendship goes—especially in comparison to mine and Brad’s. James isn’t my best friend, I know that. The more I think it over, the more I realize that while Brad and I barely talk, I’m still closer to him than I am to anyone else in my life—and I barely speak to him. My head hurts, and now not only am I alone and childless, now I’m almost best friendless.
Brad
knocks on the door and doesn’t wait for me to respond before he barges in. I check myself for any gaps in the small towel. “I gotta piss,” he says, yawning and giving me a sideways glance. I watch incredulously as he scratches his belly and walks over to the toilet, legs spread.
“Hey,” he says in a seductive tone. My eyes shoot up and his green ones are sparkling. I get a little lost in them. “If you wanna see Mac, you’re welcome to stay,” he smirks. I watch, horrified as he whips Mac out and star
ts peeing. I run from the room.
“
Brad!” I shout, clutching my towel to me. I hear him laughing and peeing. God. I really didn’t think he could get worse, but then he does.
“Married people piss in front of each other, pretty girl. Get used to it!” he shouts. I hear hi
s gravely morning voice fade into a coughing fit. A few steps toward the bathroom to check on his wellbeing and I hear him hawking a loogie onto who-knows-what surface, and I decide that he can just decompose in there. Besides, I’m a cop’s wife now. I’d get a pretty sweet pension if the pig were to choke to death on his own saliva.
“I won’t have time to get used to it,
dear; we’re getting this thing annulled!” I shout back, annoyed. Honestly, you’d think there would be some sort of grace period for disgusting behavior in newlyweds.
I hear the water running and decide to take advantage of this time alone. I search through my luggage for something appropriate to wear. The best I can do is a white sundress and matching wedge sandals. I don’t look very lawyery, as
Brad calls it, but oh well.
The shower turns on and soon enough I hear
Brad moaning. Curiosity gets the best of me and I tip-toe toward the door. A few grunts, few more moans, and the sound of Brad panting have me speechless. He’s actually… my mind trails and I try to shake the image of Brad pleasuring himself out of my head. I try to reason that legally he is my husband and there’s nothing wrong with… enjoying… the image of him… enjoying himself. But then, my husband is Brad… and he’s so… him. It’s a circular thought process and is doing me no good.
HOURS, A FEW
mimosas, a ridiculous trip to an attorney and a very long conversation with the gang later; and the six of us find ourselves waiting to see a judge about our annulment. Our first stop was at an attorney’s office. He all but kicked us out. There are thirty-five five legal reasons that a judge would grant an annulment, and according to Bozo the Attorney, we don’t qualify. He claims that impetuous decisions made between lifelong friends are outside the legal parameters of which he can work. I think he’s just being lazy and he didn’t appreciate my side comments regarding his limited understanding of the law. So, here we are.
It feels like we’ve been here forever. I stare idly at the clock and take deep breaths in an attempt to will my nerves away. I don’t like this feeling. I don’t like it one bit. Finally, we’re called before the
judge. At first I try on my lawyer face and I find out quickly that it doesn’t work.
“Your Honor, with all due respect,
Bradley and I never intended to stay married.”
“Then why did you get married, Mrs.
Patrick?” she asks with an air of irritation in her voice.
“I wanted to be married by my 35
th birthday, and Bradley offered to be my husband,” I offer, thinking this is sound reasoning for an annulment. I put away the legalese in an effort to appeal to the Judge. She is a middle-age woman and according to Google—never married. Surely she understands my plight.
“Mrs.
Patrick, you and Mr. Patrick have made a mockery of the institute of marriage. I have not found your Petition for an Annulment to have any legal bearing. Neither of you misrepresented your wants from this marriage, neither one of you is already married. Mr. and Mrs. Patrick, you wanted the experience of getting married, now, I suggest you get comfortable and enjoy the experience of being married. Your Petition is denied.”
She.Di
d.Not.Just.Deny.Our.Annullment.
“
Hey,” Brad whispers, “what does this mean?”
“It means we ha
ve to get a divorce,” I seethe.
“
We’re Catholic—we don’t get divorced. But anyway, we can worry about that after lunch. I’m fucking starved,” he says and rubs his apparently empty belly.
(Colleen)
If we’re gonna be married, you got to start putting out, pretty girl.
A LOUD BURP
rings in my ears and I look to my… Brad? Husband? Nah. I shake my head.
Ball and chain.
Yeah, that sounds good. He has a smug look on his face and he’s patting his belly. Thank God this restaurant we’re in is nearly empty or I’d be mortified. As it is, I’m turning a little pink.
“So,”
Brad begins, “when’re ya moving in, wife?” I groan, rolling my eyes, and turn to him. He has his iPhone out and he’s playing with it. Looking around the table I see that everyone has their phones out and they’re playing with them. Something is afoot and I don’t like it—not one bit.
“Quit callin’ me that,” I protest. The longer I’m around him, the more we talk, and especially the more we argue
, the stronger my accent gets—another unfortunate side effect of this sham of a marriage. The gang all laughs. They, collectively, seem to be finding great humor in our situation. Not even Adam is taking this seriously. He won’t quit calling me
The Mrs.
when he talks to Brad.
My phone dings and before I can pick it up, it dings several more times. I catch sly grins and snickers in my direction from my “friends” and I just know that this cannot be good. I check my phone to find that there’s several updates on Facebook. Oh no.
[Bradley Patrick is married to Colleen Frasier Patrick]
[
Bradley Patrick likes Colleen Frasier Patrick’s status]
My eyes grow wide and I see that all of my “friends” like my status. But I haven’t been on Facebook since we left Boston. What the fuck? And why has my name changed!
[Colleen Frasier Patrick is having lunch with “the hubs” Bradley Patrick]
“Who hacked my Facebook account?” I glare around at each of them. I can’t tell who did it. They all look guilty. I try to log into my account, but the password has been ch
anged. “Who changed my password?” I know I’m screaming but I can’t stop myself. They all burst out laughing. I continue to scroll through my hijacked Facebook page. Last night Darla posted pictures from our wedding. Crap. She even posted a link where the whole thing could be watched on the internet. And then I see it. I see where my mom commented.
[
Louise Carter Frasier commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > Colleen (Frasier) Patrick! OMG! How can you do this without us? Emily is distraught!]
And then
Brad’s mom.
[
Emily Shaw Patrick commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > Yay! Finally! I knew you two were going to be married one day! Louise, can you believe it? Next up, grandbabies! :D]
And then
Brad’s older sister, Charlotte, pipes up.
[Charlotte
Patrick Leone commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > She probably already is knocked up, mom. That’d explain the quickie wedding… ;)]
[
Bradley Patrick commented on Colleen Frasier Patrick’s relationship status > Well if she ain’t knocked up yet, I’m not doing something right.]
Oh my God. He has to stop. Thanks, Charlotte. You’re off my Christmas card li
st now,
bitch
. I pry my eyes from my phone. I want to cry. I can’t believe this has gone to Facebook. They’re all still laughing and not a single person understands the severity of the situation. Not a damn one.
I have a job-- not just a job, but a career. I have a reputation to uphold, not just out in the world but if nowhere else-- at the firm. I quickly total up how much debt I have in student loans left to pay and the fact that I’v
e only been practicing for eight years now… I’m still working my way up. I can’t get fired. And honestly, I’ve spent a good half of what I could have saved at Bloomingdale’s over the years. If I lose my position because of this nonsense, I’ll have to move back in with my mother. No, I won’t. No, it’ll be worse. I’ll have to move in with my husband. Tears stream down my face.
“You don’t get it,” I whine-cry as I look around the
table. “I have a job, and my boss has certain expectations of me. I could get passed up for promotions if someone at the firm sees this!” Everyone scoffs at me, Brad pats my knee, and Darla tells me that I shouldn’t have gotten married if I didn’t want everyone to know.
I stand up, toss down a twenty dollar bill and stomp out of the restaurant.
Brad chases after, catching me as I reach the street. He wraps his strong arms around me and I sink into him, crying. He whispers his apology and promises me that he wasn’t the one who hacked my Facebook account. I believe him.
THE REST OF
the day Brad and I shut ourselves off from the rest of our friends. I just can’t face any of them. Despite the numerous phone calls, text messages, Facebook comments and e-mail messages apologizing, I still don’t get a single admittance of guilt from any one of them. They seem to be banded together as a unit. That’s one thing I’ll say for them-- they’re loyal. They must not have anticipated how upset I would be-- except for Darla. She just doesn’t care.
My phone rings and the Caller I.D. shows it’s Grammy
Mary. I dread this phone call, but Grammy hasn’t been in the best health as of late, and I can’t just ignore it. I could for anyone else, but not my Grammy. Grammy is the only one who completely supported me when I made the decision to go to Harvard. My mother has always been more worried about me producing grandchildren for her than what I want for myself.
I look to
Brad, who is next to me on the couch, show him my phone and then bite the bullet and just answer the damn thing. “Hey Grammy,” I say in my best cheerful voice.
“
Colleen Mary Frasier! Or should I call you Patrick now?” I cringe. I knew she knew the moment I saw her name on my Caller I.D., but I was holding onto a thread of hope that I was wrong. I remain silent and sure enough, she continues. “I can’t believe you got married without me, young lady! And Bradley… did that boy even think about what he was doing? Your father is steamed. He wanted to walk you down the aisle.” I open my mouth to apologize. I don’t have the guts to tell Grammy that it was a sham. I don’t know if I ever will, honestly.
“I’m sorry, Grammy,” I say and look to
Brad. He sighs. He and Grammy have always had a special relationship. He was her boy since birth, despite that there is no real relation there. My Grammy is his Grammy, too. He doesn’t like her being upset any more than I do. He won’t be able to tell her the truth either, I just know it.
She sighs. “I’m just glad you finally did it, young lady. Even if it wasn’t in a Catholic church, at least you finally stopped fighting your fate. I always knew the two of you would be perfect together.” She coughs and it doesn’t sound good. It’s not one of those little, delicate coughs. It’s one of those large, throaty coughs that sounds
of phlegm and yuckiness.
“Are you okay, Grammy?” I ask, genuinely concerned.
Brad’s eyes are fixed on my face and I shake my head. I know that she’s okay, I just have to ask.
“I’ll be fine. I just want you home. You will come see me when you get back, won’t you?” I agree. “And you’ll bring my boy with you, won’t you?” I agree. “Well, I guess he’s your boy now, isn’t he? I guess I can share
him with his wife,” she says in a faux snippy voice. I laugh.
“I can share, Grammy. I promise. He’ll always be your boy.” I smile at
Brad and his face lights up. Before I can stop him, he grabs the phone out of hand and runs off with it. He’s talking animatedly with Grammy. I can’t help myself, I watch him. He’s happy. He’s pretty much always happy. I don’t quite know what to do with it, so I just sit there and watch him. He and Grammy are making plans to have lunch and he insists on bringing me along.
If I weren’t so used to this, I might be offended that my grandma is trying to get him alone. Knowing her, she’ll try to convince him to knock me up if I’m not there. At least if I’m present, she’ll just strong
ly suggest we have kids-- and soon. I don’t know how I feel about having lunch with Grammy, but I do know one thing for certain. We can’t let her know that this marriage isn’t real. But the question is-- can we really fake it? Do I even want to fake it? I don’t know the answer to these questions, all I know is that I need to stop staring at Brad. I think I’m starting to drool.
Brad
gets off the phone with Grammy and plops down next to me. He is all smiles, I, on the other hand, am deep in thought.
“What’s going on in that head of yours, pretty girl?” he asks. I shrug, not wanting to tell
Brad that I think I might want to stay married. For Grammy, I mentally correct myself. I just don’t want to disappoint Grammy. Yeah, that’s it. Brad tickles my sides and I give up in one loud blurt.
“I don’t want to get a divorce!” I shout.
Brad’s fingers still at my sides and he slowly lets go. “Grammy is sick. She’s old. She can’t live forever, and… she was so happy to hear that we got married. And I…” I stutter, “I couldn’t tell her the truth.” He nods and then grins. I let out a breath and smile at him as I continue my explanation. “The thing is-- all of Facebook knows we got married now… and our parents… God, Brad… our parents know!” I put my hands on my face in exasperation.
“
Good. We weren’t going to divorce anyway,” he says with a smile. “Look, if I’m a taken man, then you gotta start putting out, pretty girl.” I remove my hands from my face and quirk an eyebrow at him. He must be joking. But then, he’s Brad, so of course he’s not joking. He grabs his junk and my eyes follow his hand. “I got blue balls here!” I smack his arm and glare at his face. Yep, not looking at his crotch… definitely not looking at his crotch. Nope. Not doing it. I’m not looking at it, so I can, without a doubt promise that I didn’t notice the semi in his pants. Definitely didn’t notice that.
“You can still date, or have sex, or hire a hooker… do whatever it is you do, moron.” I practically spit at him. “We’ll just be married, okay? I guess we’ll have to live together, but we’ll hav
e separate rooms. We can do things separately, we can just pretend.” Then an idea comes to me. “We don’t even have to really live together. I’ll keep my condo downtown, and I’ll just change my address. I can stay at your place sometimes, when we have to… you know, fake it.”
Brad
nods and rubs his chin. He’s thinking about all of this. “Okay,” he says and half smirks. “But I think we’re gonna fuck it up. Somebody is going to find out that this is all bullshit. If you start putting out, it’ll look more real.” I squint my eyes in thought before I understand his implication. I roll my eyes at him. I stand up and lean over him, shoving my chest in his face. He’s noticing the girls, just as I knew he would.
“Read my lips,
Bradley Patrick,” I whisper-shout. “I am never going to sleep with you. So you can just give up on that little fantasy.” He smirks and I think I’ve got him. Quickly, he pulls me into his lap and kisses me. I freeze and then, in shock, kiss back. Just when I’m getting into it, he shoves me to the side and stands up, sauntering out of the room. All I can think is: my husband is a great kisser.