I glance toward Ian out of the corner of my eye. His gaze is on his book. He’s been a source of calm throughout all this, and I wonder if, under all those abs of steel, maybe he feels anxious too? If maybe he’s just a little bit better at hiding it?
He doesn’t say a word as I study him. He turns a page in his book and I scoot closer until our hips touch. Then I reach over and drag my pillow over so I’m propped up beside him. He has a king bed, so we don’t have to be crushed together in the very center, but feeling his skin on mine unknots my stomach. I take the first deep breath of the day.
For three years I’ve trained myself to ignore my feelings for Ian. I never imagined he could possibly feel the same way I do, and now here we are married, living together, reading in bed.
“You okay?” he asks.
I nod and lean my head against his shoulder. His arm dips around the small of my back so he can grab my hip and drag me even closer. I’m basically sitting on his lap.
He must realize my brain is going a million miles a minute because he asks if I want him to read his book aloud. I nod and close my eyes and listen to his voice, deep and steady as he picks up right where he left off. It doesn’t take long for my heart to mimic the rise and fall of his chest so we’re breathing in sync.
His voice is so soothing, like the sensation of sinking into a warm bath on a cold winter day.
I’m so close to drifting off when I speak up. My voice sounds drowsy and soft.
“Hey Ian?”
He pauses reading.
“You know I’m in love with you, right?”
His heart thumps against my back and his breathing quickens. There’s a long, heavy silence, and I blink one eye open to look up at him. He’s staring down, studying my face with intense focus. My words clearly caught him off guard.
“Once again—years.”
I smile.
“Say it again.”
“Which part?”
His mouth tips down and captures mine. His poor book doesn’t stand a chance now. We’re supposed to be sleeping and resting up for work tomorrow, but instead, Ian strips me out of my pajamas and presses a kiss to every patch of skin he can find. His lips hit the center of my chest and he tells me he loves me too. He moves lower and kisses my naval and tells me again. The words are muffled, but he says them so many times there’s no way to miss them.
We fall asleep tangled up in one another, and in the morning, I wake up to “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher. It’s Ian, calling me from the kitchen.
I smile and reach over for the phone.
“When did you have the time to change my ringtone?”
“Last night after you drifted off. You were snoring.”
I groan and sit up so my feet dangle off the side of the bed.
“Tell me the truth—what’s the point of these songs?”
“Haven’t you guessed?”
“I think you just like to torture me.”
“No. I’ve been trying to tell you how I feel.”
I think back on the last few I can remember. I just thought they were cheesy songs. Now, I realize I should have read between the lines.
“They were all love songs by dynamic duos, just like us.”
“Awwwwwww! Ian Fletcher, you big softie!”
He hangs up on me and shouts from the kitchen for me to get my butt out of bed.
He loves me big time.
“This isn’t fair. Our honeymoon wasn’t nearly long enough.”
“Yeah, well, we can’t skip school. I checked my email while you were showering and Principal Pruitt wants us to be at the PTA meeting later today. He thinks a public apology would go a long way to settle tensions.”
“An apology?” I sound affronted by the idea. “This O’Doyle lady is a terrorist! We can’t negotiate with her.”
“We’re married now, so it shouldn’t be a problem anymore, but I’m worried she’s gotten everybody so worked up our new wedded status won’t matter. Maybe I should look into going back to work for my old company.”
“No.” I know how much he hated working there after college. “We’ll figure it out. If I have to paste on a fake smile, I will. I can do it.”
I tell him that, but really, I’m not so sure. I have a lot of pride and I’m not very good at apologizing when I don’t feel like I’ve done anything wrong. So what if Ian and I canoodled? We did it on our own time and away from school premises—well…mostly. There was that Valentine’s Day dance chaperoning incident, and that time we nearly made out in the field house…but let’s not get bogged down in the details here.
Ian and I stroll into school side by side but not touching. He walks me to my classroom and I can tell he wants to kiss me, but we save it. Instead, I say, “Let me see it.”
He wipes away his grin and holds out his hand. His thick gold wedding band sends a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
“I love it.”
“And yours? Do you love it too?”
“Are you kidding?”
My ring could do some major damage if I ever decided to partake in a street fight. I glance down and the diamond twinkles up at us.
My students immediately notice it, one in particular: Nicholas.
“Good morning, Ms. Abra—OH MY GOD WHAT IS THAT ON YOUR HAND?!”
“Nicholas, deep breaths.”
He fans his face like he’s going to pass out.
“It’s a wedding ring,” I admit calmly.
“Go Ms. Abrams!” another student hoots from the back of the class.
Nicholas sends them a death stare then flings his glare back to me. “How could you do this to me? I was going to wait for you!”
I ease him down to his seat, just in case he’s about to lose consciousness on me. “Well, Nicholas, Mr. Fletcher and I—”
“Mr. Fletcher?! So he’s the homewrecker!”
For the rest of class, he refuses to meet my eyes. When we go around the room, discussing this week’s newspaper assignments, he declares he’s going to write an opinion piece on marriage failure rates in America.
“Last I heard, nearly half of all marriages end in divorce,” he warns, gaze slicing through me.
“Sounds like an interesting feature. Dig into it.”
I don’t have the energy to nurse his wounded teenage heart. I need to keep my focus on the PTA meeting coming at the end of the day. I practice apologizing to myself in front of the bathroom mirror in between periods.
“Yes, Mrs. O’Doyle, you may go sit on a pineapple.”
Hmm…not quite right.
I stretch my mouth and practice a few jaw exercises before I try again. “Mrs. O’Doyle and members of the Oak Hill PTA, I’m here today to tell you all that I am so…so ready for you all to…move on to the next piece of mindless drama. Also, did y’all know there’s a sale on choppy bobs down at the hair salon?”
All right, scratch that. Maybe I’ll let Ian do the apologizing and I’ll try to look deeply contrite in the background.
By the time lunch arrives, word about our elopement has spread to the entire school. Ian and I knew it would, and we didn’t go to any lengths to keep it a secret. There’s no point. Being married should help us out of the hot water in which we’ve found ourselves, and, incidentally, we’re both pretty excited about it. I really wasn’t sure how the rest of the school would take it, but when I arrive for lunch, Ian is recounting the museum story to the entire lounge. Everyone turns to me as I walk in and explodes into a round of clapping and whistles. Someone’s even taken the time to decorate the room with balloons and streamers, and yes, there’s a can of whipped cream with a bow on it waiting for me at my chair. I hold it up and laugh.
“Ha ha. Very funny.”
Really, it is. I’m going to lick whipped cream off Ian’s naked chest later.
Life is grand.
There’s even a cake that says, Happy birthday, Mary! I don’t understand the joke, but hey, cake is cake.
After we cut into it and dole out all the slices, a soft voice chimes in near the back of the crowd, “Aww man, is that my birthday cake?”
The Freshman Four stand scowling in a corner. When I glance over, Gretchen slices a finger across her neck menacingly and Bianca elbows her in the ribs. “Jesus, we aren’t going to cut her throat, Gretchen!”