CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Mr. and Mrs.
ABBY STOOD ON THE CURB, HER HAND HOLDING THE only two fingers I had free. The rest were gripping bags or trying to flag down America.
We had driven the Honda to the airport two days prior, so Shepley had to drop his girlfriend off at her car. America insisted on being the one to pick us up, and everyone knew why. When she pulled up to the curb, she looked straight ahead. She didn’t even get out to help with the bags.
Abby hobbled to the passenger seat and got in, babying the side she’d just inked with my last name.
I tossed the bags in the hatchback, and then pulled on the handle of the backseat. “Uh . . . ,” I said, pulling on it again. “Open the door, Mare.”
“I don’t think I will,” she said, whipping her head around to glare at me.
She pulled forward a bit, and Abby tensed. “Mare, stop.”
America slammed on the brakes, and raised an eyebrow. “You nearly get my best friend killed at one of your stupid fights, then you bring her to Vegas and marry her when I’m out of town, so not only can I not be the maid of honor, but I can’t even witness it?”
I pulled on the handle again. “C’mon, Mare. I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m married to the love of my life.”
“The love of your life is a Harley!” America seethed. She pulled forward again.
“Not anymore!” I begged.
“America Mason . . . ,” Abby began. She tried to sound intimidating, but America shot a glare in her direction so severe, it left Abby cowering against the door.
The cars behind us honked, but America was too enraged to pay attention.
“Okay!” I said, holding up one hand. “Okay. What if we uh . . . what if we have another wedding this summer? The dress, the invites, the flowers, everything. You can help her plan it. You can stand next to her, throw her a bachelorette party, whatever you want.”
“It’s not the same!” America growled, but then the tension in her face relaxed a bit. “But it’s a start.” She reached behind her and pulled up the lock.
I yanked on the handle and slid into the seat, careful not to speak again until we reached the apartment.
Shepley was wiping down his Charger when we pulled into the apartment parking lot. “Hey!” He smiled and hugged me first, and then Abby. “Congratulations, you two.”
“Thanks,” Abby said, still feeling uneasy from America’s temper tantrum.
“I guess it’s a good thing America and I were already discussing getting our own place.”
“Oh, you were,” Abby said, cocking her head at her friend. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones making decisions on our own.”
“We were going to talk about it with you,” America said defensively.
“No hurry,” I said. “But I would like some help today getting the rest of Abby’s stuff moved over.”
“Yeah, sure. Brazil just got home. I’ll tell him we need his truck.”
Abby’s eyes darted between the three of us. “Are we going to tell him?”
America couldn’t contain her smug smile. “It’ll be hard to deny with that big-ass rock on your finger.”
I frowned. “You don’t want anyone to know?”
“Well, no, it’s not that. But, we eloped, baby. People are going to freak out.”
“You’re Mrs. Travis Maddox, now. F*ck ’em,” I said without hesitation.
Abby smiled at me, and then looked down at her ring. “That I am. Guess I better represent the family appropriately.”
“Oh, shit,” I said. “We gotta tell Dad.”
Abby’s face turned white. “We do?”
America laughed. “You sure are expecting a lot from her already. Baby steps, Trav, Jesus.”
I sneered at her, still irritated that she wouldn’t let me in the car at the airport.
Abby waited for an answer.
I shrugged. “We don’t have to do it today, but pretty soon, okay? I don’t want him hearing it from anyone else.”
She nodded. “I understand. Let’s just take the weekend and enjoy our first few days as newlyweds without inviting everyone into our marriage just yet.”
I smiled, pulling our luggage from the hatchback of the Honda. “Deal. Except one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Can we spend the first few days looking for a car? I’m pretty sure I promised you a car.”
“Really?” She smiled.
“Pick a color, baby.”
Abby jumped on me again, wrapping her legs and arms around me and covering my face with kisses.
“Oh, stop it, you two,” America said.
Abby dropped to her feet, and America pulled on her wrist. “Let’s go in. I wanna see your tat!”
The girls rushed up the stairs, leaving me and Shepley to the luggage. I helped him with America’s numerous, heavy bags, grabbing mine and Abby’s as well.
We heaved the luggage up the stairs and were grateful that the door had been left open.
Abby was lying on the couch, her jeans unbuttoned and folded over, looking down as America inspected the delicate, black curves along Abby’s skin.
America looked up at Shepley, who was red-faced and sweating. “I’m so glad we’re not crazy, baby.”
“Me, too,” Shepley said. “I hope you wanted these in here, because I’m not taking them back out to the car.”
“I did, thank you.” She smiled sweetly, returning to Abby’s ink.
Shepley puffed as he disappeared into his bedroom, bringing out a bottle of wine in each hand.
“What’s that?” Abby said.
“Your reception,” Shepley said with a wide grin.
ABBY PULLED SLOWLY INTO AN EMPTY PARKING SPACE, carefully checking each side. She had chosen a brand-new, silver Toyota Camry the day before, and the few times I could get her behind the wheel, she drove it as if she were secretly borrowing someone’s Lamborghini.
After two stops, she finally put the gearshift in Park, and turned off the engine.
“We’ll have to get a parking sticker,” she said, checking the space on her side again.
“Yes, Pidge. I’ll take care of it,” I said for the fourth time.
I wondered to myself if I should have waited another week or so before adding the stress of a new car. We both knew by the end of the day that the school’s rumor mill would be spreading the news of our marriage, along with a fictional scandal or two. Abby purposefully wore skinny jeans and a tight-fitting sweater to ward off the inevitable questions about a pregnancy. We might have gotten married on the fly, but kids were a whole new level, and we were both content to wait.
A few drops fell from the gray, spring sky as we started our trek to our classes across campus. I pulled my red ball cap low on my forehead, and Abby opened her umbrella. We both stared at Keaton Hall as we passed, noting the yellow tape and blackened brick above each window. Abby grabbed at my coat, and I held her, trying not to think about what had happened.
Shepley heard that Adam had been arrested. I hadn’t said anything to Abby, afraid that I was next, and that it would cause her needless worry.
Part of me thought that the news about the fire would keep unwanted attention from Abby’s ring finger, but I knew that the news of our marriage would be a welcome distraction from the grim reality of losing classmates in such a horrific way.
Like I expected, when we arrived at the cafeteria, my frat brothers and the football team were congratulating us on our wedding and our impending son.
“I’m not pregnant,” Abby said, shaking her head.
“But . . . you guys are married, right?” Lexi said, dubious.
“Yes,” Abby said simply.
Lexi raised an eyebrow. “I’ll guess we’ll find out the truth soon enough.”
I jerked my head to the side. “Beat it, Lex.”
She ignored me. “I guess you both heard about the fire?”
“A little bit,” Abby said, clearly uncomfortable.
“I heard students were having a party down there. That they’ve been sneaking into basements all year.”
“Is that so?” I asked. From the corner of my eye I could see Abby looking up at me, but I tried not to look too relieved. If that was true, maybe I’d be off the hook.
The rest of the day was spent either being stared at or congratulated. For the first time, I wasn’t stopped between classes by different girls wanting to know my plans for the weekend. They just watched as I walked by, hesitant to approach someone else’s husband. It was actually kinda nice.
My day was going pretty well, and I wondered if Abby could say the same. Even my psych professor offered me a small smile and nod when she overhead my answer to questions about whether the rumor was true.
After our last class, I met Abby at the Camry, and tossed our bags into the backseat. “Was it as bad as you thought?”
“Yes.” She breathed.
“I guess today wouldn’t be a good day to break it to my dad, then, huh?”
“No, but we’d better. You’re right, I don’t want him hearing the news somewhere else.”
Her answer surprised me, but I didn’t question it. Abby tried to get me to drive, but I refused, insisting she get comfortable behind the wheel.
The drive to Dad’s from campus didn’t take long—but longer than if I’d driven. Abby obeyed all traffic laws, mostly because she was nervous about getting pulled over and accidentally handing the cop the fake ID.
Our little town seemed different as it passed by, or maybe it was me that wasn’t the same. I wasn’t sure if it was being a married man that made me feel a little more relaxed—laid-back, even—or if I had finally settled into my own skin. I was now in a situation where I didn’t have to prove myself, because the one person that fully accepted me, my best friend, was now a permanent fixture in my life.
It seemed like I had completed a task, overcome an obstacle. I thought about my mother, and the words she said to me almost a lifetime ago. That’s when it clicked: she had asked me not to settle, to fight for the person I loved, and for the first time, I did what she expected of me. I had finally lived up to who she wanted me to be.
I took a deep, cleansing breath, and reached over to rest my hand on Abby’s knee.
“What is it?” she asked.
“What is what?”
“The look on your face.”
Her eyes shifted between me and the road, extremely curious. I imagined it was a new expression, but I couldn’t begin to explain what it might look like.
“I’m just happy, baby.”
Abby half hummed, half laughed. “Me, too.”
Admittedly I was a little nervous about telling my dad about our eventful getaway to Vegas, but not because he would be mad. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but the butterflies in my stomach swirled faster and harder with every block closer that we came to Dad’s house.
Abby pulled into the gravel driveway, soggy from the rain, and stopped beside the house.
“What do you think he’ll say?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He’ll be happy, I know that.”
“You think so?” Abby asked, reaching for my hand.
I squeezed her fingers between mine. “I know so.”
Before we could make it to the front door, Dad stepped out onto the porch.
“Well, hello there, kids” he said, smiling. His eyes scrunched as his cheeks pushed up the puffy bags under his eyes. “I wasn’t sure who was out here. Did you get a new car, Abby? It’s nice.”
“Hey, Jim.” Abby smiled. “Travis did.”
“It’s ours,” I said, pulling off my ball cap. “We thought we’d stop by.”
“I’m glad you did . . . glad you did. We’re getting some rain, I guess.”
“I guess,” I said, my nerves stifling any ability I had for small talk. What I thought were nerves was really just excitement to share the news with my father.
Dad knew something was amiss. “You had a good spring break?”
“It was . . . interesting,” Abby said, leaning into my side.
“Oh?”
“We took a trip, Dad. We skipped on over to Vegas for a couple of days. We decided to uh . . . we decided to get married.”
Dad paused for a few seconds, and then his eyes quickly searched for Abby’s left hand. When he found the validation he was looking for, he looked to Abby, and then to me.
“Dad?” I said, surprised by the blank expression on his face.
My father’s eyes glossed a bit, and then the corners of his mouth slowly turned up. He outstretched his arms, and enveloped me and Abby at the same time.
Smiling, Abby peeked over at me. I winked back at her.
“I wonder what Mom would say if she were here,” I said.
Dad pulled back, his eyes wet with happy tears. “She’d say you did good, son.” He looked at Abby. “She’d say thank you for giving her boy back something that left him when she did.”
“I don’t know about that,” Abby said, wiping her eyes. She was clearly overwhelmed by Dad’s sentiment.
He hugged us again, laughing and squeezing at the same time. “You wanna bet?”