Marital Bitch (Men with Badges)

Chapter SIX

(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 f*ck? 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 changed. “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 list 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’ve 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 strongly 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 have 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 f*ck 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.