I rush down the stairs, Chuck following closely on my heels. We careen into the kitchen and find Marco seated at the island on a stool, his coat unbuttoned but still on, a military-green rucksack dropped at his feet.
“Marco,” I say, straining so much to smile my lips might crack.
He turns, stands up, and hugs me, going for a kiss full on the mouth. I turn my face at the last minute and his lips land on my cheek. I quickly push him away, and Chuck rushes in to hug him and pat his back, saying, “You made it, man. So glad you could come.”
Marco blinks at Chuck, bewildered, and is thankfully too shocked to react. He knows who Chuck is, but they’ve never met face to face; my ex-boyfriend is probably the last person Marco expected to find at my house.
Mom, who up until a second ago was frowning at Marco’s handling of me, relaxes and smiles at the knowledge he’s supposedly Chuck’s dear friend. “I was making Marco a hot chocolate.” She turns toward the stove and grabs a clean mug. “Are you here for the wedding, Marco? Kate, Chuck, if you have other guests coming in from Ann Arbor you should tell me; I’m already working on the seating arrangements, and the Beach Club has limited space.”
Marco frowns. “What wed—”
Before he can complete the phrase, I slap my hand over his mouth and grab his elbow. “You know, Mom, we’ve had enough hot chocolate for today. We’re going for a beer in town. See you later.”
And before she can reply, or Marco can protest, we’ve dragged him into the hall and are putting on our coats and snow boots.
As soon as we step outside, Marco wheels on me. “What’s going on here? What wedding? Why are you two together?”
“Not here,” I say, and pull him down the driveway. He follows, albeit grumbling the whole way. Chuck wisely keeps his mouth shut and lets me handle it.
We walk for about ten minutes in strained silence and stop at a small park about half a mile from my parents’ house. In the rush of getting away, I forgot to put on gloves, and my fingers are already going numb. I jam my hands in my pockets to warm them, and pace around as I tell Marco everything that has happened in the last few days, trying not to sound too crazy. Chuck looms in the background a few feet away from us silently observing.
“You mean you’ve been lying to me, all this time?” Marco says when I’m finished.
“Technically, yes, but only because the timing didn’t matter, what difference do a few days make?”
“Let’s see,” Marco says, mock pensive. “Only that if you keep postponing, you’ll end up married!” He points his finger between me and Chuck. “I still can’t believe he proposed, and you said yes!”
“I told you it was a complete misunderstanding.”
From the distance, Chuck shouts, “Totally unintentional, dude.”
“You stay out of this!” Marco snaps.
“Or what?” Chuck says, and then, under his breath, adds, “What’re you gonna do, bench press me?”
“What did you just say to me?”
“Nothing.” Chuck again follows up with a whispered provocation. “Idiot.”
“Cabrón,” Marco retorts.
“Jerk.”
“Pendecho.”
The last thing I need right now is for my fake fiancé and my real boyfriend to get into a fight.
“Listen,” I say, grabbing Marco by the shoulders and guiding him a little further away. “Please bear with me, just for tonight. Now is too late to talk to our families, and we’re all tired, and Chuck’s parents aren’t at the house anyway. But I promise we will tell them tomorrow morning first thing. No excuses this time.”
“And what about tonight?” Marco asks. “Where am I supposed to sleep?”
That’s a good question. We have a guest bedroom in the house in theory but it’s so filled up with Mom’s paraphernalia it’s a hazard to even enter. “You can crash in the barn,” I say.
Keeping him and Chuck under two separate roofs might not be a bad idea as well.
Marco doesn’t agree.
“While he sleeps in your room?” he protests.
“It’s totally innocent, you know that. I broke up with him, remember?”
Chuck’s face falls at that, but he’ll have to suck it up, because Marco’s my priority right now. And Marco clearly isn’t happy about the sleeping arrangements, but after a little more convincing he finally comes ’round.
As we start to head back home, Chuck accidentally-on-purpose bumps shoulders with Marco. “By the way,” he says, marching on and kicking at chunks of ice the snowplow has amassed by the side of the road. “If anyone asks, you have a girlfriend.”
“I do have a girlfriend.”
Chuck replies without turning or stopping. “Well, in this town it’s not Kate.”
And just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse… When it rains, it pours.