Too stunned to say anything, to go after her and beg her to forgive me. My chin begins to wobble a bit. In the back of the house, I hear a door open and keys jingling—an indication that Mom has left the house.

I remember when she and Dad would fight, she’d take the car and drive around, sometimes stopping at the Dairy Queen to get an ice cream. She’d sit in a parking lot and stare off into the distance until her nerves had settled, and I wonder if that’s where she’ll go now.

Welp. She’s definitely telling Dad.

They almost never punished me when I was growing up; I had enough self-loathing to do the job for them. Disappointing my parents would eat me alive, and not a lot has changed since I was younger.

I drag myself to my bedroom and flop down on the bed, tears at bay until I’m well and truly alone. The one person I want to call is sound asleep and halfway across the world.

You should go figure your life out.

You have a husband somewhere.

Figure it out.

I should.

It’s been months since the wedding, since we packed up our things and said our goodbyes on the steps of Ashley’s house at school.

Months since we made love and kissed.

I hardly know him, but it’s like I’ve known him all my life and what am I doing here?

I cannot allow him to come here. I can’t ask him to give up his job or the role he plays in his family. But I also can’t afford to go there—I have no money for an apartment and clearly no job prospects in England.

Well, I have none here either.

Tears continue to flow down my face, pillow getting soaked, my nose beginning to run. I hear both my parents come home a little while later, and then a knock at my door.

I wipe my nose with the sleeve of my pajama top and sit up as Dad walks in, Mom leaning against the doorframe.

She doesn’t look mad anymore, just…unreadable.

“Mom told me your news,” he begins.

I wait as silence fills the air.

“We’re really disappointed, Georgia Margaret.”

Disappointed? A bold understatement, I’m sure.

“We’re disappointed by the fact that you didn’t tell us, and we’re disappointed that you were foolish enough to get so drunk in a city where you could have been kidnapped—”

“Or murdered,” Mom adds from the doorway.

“Or murdered. We may not have known for who knows how long, not to mention you’ve never mentioned being romantically involved with this boy—excuse me, this man to whom you are married—let alone brought him home to meet us. You’ve had ample opportunity.”

The list of offenses is humiliating.

I can’t tell if Dad is done with his spiel or not, so I keep my mouth shut and continue listening as they stew, him pacing in my tiny room, wearing holes in the carpet.

“Your mother and I talked, and she’s right—you have to figure your shit out. We love you, buttercup, but you’re married.” He seems to choke on the word, voice cracking. “We think thirty days is fair.”

If I have to be out in thirty days, there’s no way Ashley can come here. Not to this house, not to stay, not even for a night.

What a mess.

“We’re doing this because we care, sweetie,” Mom says. “You can’t hide out here. You go to work and come home and don’t leave your room—and I hear you on your phone. I hear you crying.” She pauses. “It’s time.”

“Shit or get off the pot is what Grandpa Parker told me when I graduated from college. Make a decision. Rip off the Band-Aid.”

Dad and Grandpa love metaphors.

I give a feeble nod, thankful that my bottom lip doesn’t tremble when I say, “No, I get it. I understand.”

When Mom eases her way into my room and comes to sit next to me on the bed, wrapping her arm around me, Dad comes to join, sitting on my other side.

“You’ll do the right thing,” he says.

Mom kisses me on the top of the head. “Get the annulment, sweetie, and move on.”

Tell me how you really feel.

Epilogue

Ashley

Twenty-nine days more…

“Jack, can you get the door?”

I listen for the sound of his footfalls, but there are none.

“Jack?”

I know he’s here; he stuck his head in the bathroom this morning when I was on the loo taking a dump and asked if I wanted a coffee while he was running errands, but it’s been hours and he should have been back long ago.

I’ve been seated at his kitchen table for a while now, paperwork from the office printed and scattered, along with a real estate sampler of housing and flat rentals.

The pen in my hand has been busy circling proper places to let.

I set it down when the doorknocker gives another metallic clank.

No signs of my brother.

Fine.

I’ll get the door myself, not that it was a problem to begin with, but it’s his flat and probably his delivery—assuming that’s what it is since we’re not expecting company.

Armed with a budget, I’ve been trolling for a place of my own so I can get out from under Jack—it’s impossible having phone sex with my girlfriend whilst sleeping on the couch with my blasted brother in the next room.

His favorite thing to do? Bust out of his bedroom with absolutely no warning whatsoever and try to catch me with my hand down my pants.

No thank you.

I get up from the table and shuffle through the house. Parlor, hallway, front entry, hardly checking to see who’s outside before unlatching the lock and pulling the door open.

Georgia is standing on the veranda.

Down on the pavement stands my brother with three giant suitcases in his hands and a stupid smile plastered on his face.

Georgia.

Suitcases.

Georgia.

Suitcases.

It takes me half a second longer to gather my wits, stepping outside to grab her and lift her up.

“I missed you,” she says, face buried in my neck, lips kissing below my ear.

“I missed you, too,” I reply breathlessly, emotions I didn’t know I had welling up inside me. “I can’t believe you’re here. I was getting annoyed at my brother for not getting the door. Bloody irritating it was.” I kiss her lips. “But it was you.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”

The sky is dark and threatening rain, so I usher her inside. “Get inside, let’s…” I glance down at Jack on the pavement. “Hold on, let me help him—you go in.” Bounding down the steps, I embrace my brother. “You arse! How long have you known she was coming?”

He shrugs, hefting two of Georgia’s bags. “Couple weeks. I wager she has loads to tell you.”

I nod, grabbing the third suitcase and having Jack go up the stairs first.

She doesn’t travel light, this one.

My brother and I get her things inside, setting everything by the door. When I find Georgia, she’s on the couch with her shoes off, rising again when I walk into the room.

I turn to my brother.

“Mate, can we use your room for a bit?”

He grunts. “No shagging.”

My girlfriend laughs. “We’re not going to shag, I promise you!”