Stella and Greer exchange glances and I don’t blame them. I know how unhinged I am. They met me when I was in a dark place, but I’ve never lost the plot like that in front of them before. I’m not as stoic as Arlo, but we were both raised to think before we speak. Hence, our reticence. And their shock.
“Can you just, you know, kick him out?” Greer asks.
I pick at a piece of lint on my coat. “I thought about that, but he laid down the hammer last night.”
“What do you mean?” Stella asks.
“Well, you see, he asked for three months to see if this marriage could work and if I don’t give him those three months, he’s going to tell Arlo.”
“Nooooo,” Greer says in absolute horror.
“He wouldn’t,” Stella shouts.
“Oh, he would.”
Stella slams her fist on the desk. “What the absolute hell? He can’t do that.”
“Oh, he is.” I take another shot of whipped cream and then pass it around the circle. The girls join me. “And do you know what I said last night?” Cheeks puffed with whipped cream, both of them shake their heads no. “I told him, fine.”
Greer’s eyes widen. “You said that? You used the four-letter word?”
“Yup.”
“And how did he react?” Stella asks.
“Absolutely unfazed.”
“Oh God, I feel like you’re either dealing with a completely tone-deaf man or some sort of wizard. I would like to believe he’s tone deaf, but I’m afraid I’m leaning toward wizard status,” Stella says.
“That’s exactly why I called this meeting.” I flip open my notepad, take the cap off my pen, and poise it at the top of the paper. “Ladies, we need to make his life miserable.”
Smiles creep across their faces.
Stella rubs her hands together. “Are you talking pranks? You know I live for this.”
“I’m talking the worst things you can possibly think of, things that would turn Arlo and Romeo off, things so vile that within a week, Pike will have no choice but to pretend none of this ever happened.”
Greer giggles. “Oh, this could be good.”
“Very good,” Stella adds. “He wants a wife? Well, we’ll give him a wife.”
“Now this is the kind of attitude I was looking for, ladies.” I flip my ball cap so it’s backwards and say, “Let’s get down to business.”
This morning, I thought my life was over. Dramatic? Maybe. But let’s be honest, I just got divorced, only to be hitched shortly after to a man I don’t know. Should I be flattered that the man wants to stay married to me?
Maybe a little.
But the overall theme here is I don’t want to be married, possibly never married ever again. That’s how much the first marriage took a toll on me.
But now, oh man, talk about a pep in my step.
This girl’s head is held high.
Pride is pushing through me at a rapid rate.
I can’t stop smiling.
And on occasion, while thinking about the list of things we came up with to deter Pike, I start to giggle.
He wants to play hardball? Well, guess what? He’s playing with the wrong person.
After a good brainstorming session and the agreement that Keiko might have been helpful with ideas, given how she helped Greer with pranking Arlo early on, we came up with a solid list.
The overall goal—make his life hell.
We have phases of hell, though.
We have to start out slowly. If we go in too strong, he’s going to realize what I’m doing and just put up with it. He’s smart, I can see it in his eyes, so there’s no way he’d fall for my antics. But if we ease him into hell, then he might very well think this is the person he married.
So, phase one starts today, and that begins with me being his chef.
It’s a simple thing.
We have to eat, so therefore, he can eat what I make. If he wants to be the doting husband he claims to be, then he should eat the food I make. And let me tell you, the food I make is barely tolerable to me, so I know he’s going to hate it.
So, after I left the girls, I made a menu and went grocery shopping. I thought it would be fun to try some traditional English dishes, but since I don’t want to overdo it, I’m going with mushy peas as a side dish tonight. The main course, burnt-to-hell chicken and over-salted fries, in the oven.
I have no idea when he gets home from school, so I’ll have to be casual when he arrives. Casual, but irritated.
Sitting on my bed, my computer on my lap, I glance at the time and note that it’s four already. I could start making dinner now. I mean, I have no perception of how long it takes to make things, but that’s the joy in all of this—I know how to mess up a meal.