Knot a Liar (Knotted Up Book 1) (8 page)

“Huh?”

“There’s a personal age limit set, Max, which is five months away. I thought I’d have to change the original documents, especially in Sam’s case, but this is just perfect.”

Sam’s hands runs through his hair then leans forward, “So what happens if there’s a divorce?”

“As long as the marriage is over 18 months, the position if secure. Less than that –you lose it. But no talks of divorce now son, you just got married.”

“So, so why are we just hearing about this, what if neither of us got married?”

“We didn’t want you or Sam trying to slip one by us by finding someone and pretend to marry them or pay someone to marry you.” Sam chokes on water as Lydia gives her boys a pointed glare, before she turns to me.

“Sandra, Sam has always been sneaky. Max, too, Patricia. We were worried about what scheme these two would present us. That’s one of the reasons I allowed Peter to keep the incorporation documents as is. Keep your eyes on these two, ladies.”

I turn to see Sam attempting a part glare, a part smile and a part frown. Sam’s facial features look confused and in pain as if unclear of what he wants to feel.

“B –b –but isn’t that old-fashioned? I mean anyone can run a business well without being married. This, this –” Sam turns to his siblings in obvious need of help.

“–is ridiculous –”

“–not to mention idiotic. I’ll be forced to get married before I can claim my shares in a family business, Dad?”

“Exactly! Family. We’re securing a strong foundation. It’s been proven that married men –and women, Koya –are more emotionally and mentally stable. Hence, better business decisions.”

“This is about maturity and responsibility. So this had less to do with you, Koya, and more to do with Max and Sam.”

“Hey!”

“I take great offense to that Dad.”

“You shouldn’t. He speaks the truth, Sam.”

“But anyway, this is excellent news all around. Both our sons are married Lyddie. I’m retiring month end and, Sandra, you are a wonderful and welcomed addition to our family.”

Again, this is an official declaration. The worst day of my life has indeed arrived. Nothing in the future can top today. Wasn’t it yesterday I thought the same thing? Hmmm… I’m sensing a pattern here.

“Dad, Sandra and I have something to say. Won’t be fun to hear, but it needs to be said. Sandra and I,” Sam takes in one final breath before finishing the admission of guilt, “We –we’re not –”

“Patricia and I aren’t married. I’m sorry.” Max says quietly staring at the tablecloth.

Oh no, he didn’t. Max didn't just do that.

[8]

Eight Ate Honesty

“What?!” All voices scream. Patricia not excluded.

Shoulders slumping, Max repeats, “I’m sorry, Dad, Mom, but Patricia and I aren’t married. We lied.”

Sam bangs his head on the table; Koya sits wide-eyed, mouth hanging open. Lydia’s eyes close, head shaking, lips tightening.

Peter slams his hands on the table, causing cutlery to jump back into their places, “Dammit Max! What is wrong with you?! Lying about this, oh,” massaging temples, he turns to Lydia, softening his voice, “Lyddie, what did we do wrong? How did we completely screw them up? Surely, it must be genetics and if so who’s to blame? Koya’s still good, aren’t you baby?”

Koya glares at her brothers before nodding at Peter, answering in a child’s tone, “Yes, Daddy.”

“Were we bad parents to the boys and not the girl? Did we like her more when we were raising them? There has to be worse parents with better children. Do they hate us? I don’t know anymore. I’m heading up. Come with me baby, you’ll probably burst a vessel staying down here with them.” Lydia says to Peter standing up from the table, holding out a hand.

“Were we too hard, too soft on them? I’m getting tired of these schemes and lies and games. No, I am damn tired of these lies and schemes and games. Time to man up son, you are not 16, 17 or even 18 anymore.

“I feel like we constantly have to bail you two out of trouble that you have created for yourselves. I’m too old to keep doing this. You gotta change, boys. Matter of fact you’re not boys anymore at 27 and 29. You are men. You have been men for a while now. I tire of this perpetual frustration with you both. Sandra, Koya, goodnight.” He gets up takes Lydia’s hand and leads her from the dining room.

We all stay seated digesting the only bits of deception that lays bare in the atmosphere. Koya sighs, crinkles her nose one last time before making a retreat as well.

Sam shakes his head at Max, sighs, then says, “You just had to, right, Max? Ready to go home, Sandra?”

I take a minute to think and look around at the remains of my own averted disaster before shaking my head, “I want to help clean up first.”

“You sure you don’t want to go home right now?” Sam looks in earnest as if wants to escape the dinner table. Surely, the promise of a personal apocalypse taunts and jeers at him as much as it does me.

While I sympathize, something holds me back from escaping as well. “No, I won’t be long. It’s not right your mother is left with all this.”

Sam sighs and again looks over at Max as he excuses himself from the dining table. “Let me help.”

“Let me use the bathroom first. Where is it by the way?” The sudden desire to urinate is weird.

“Down this hall, second door on the left.” He leads me out the dining room before pointing the way.

I come from the bathroom to overhear Sam, Patricia and Max in conversation in the kitchen.

“It’s not like she wanted to be here, but here we are. Together as a family, I was trying to make the best out of it. Obviously that plan backfired. Big time.”

Sam’s response escapes my hearing.

“I know Patricia can be quite nasty and condescending at times.”

“Oh, so you’ve noticed! I wonder why. I’m not even supposed to be on your radar.”

I step into the kitchen admitting that life has indeed been far more interesting, but worse since Sam showed up. I have now become a servant, a slave to my own lies.

I see them all huddled around the island in discussion. Max sitting on a stool, Patricia and Sam leaning on the counter. None have started on cleaning the kitchen.

Patricia then says to herself quietly, “Yeah, what could I possibly know about love right? Never got the chance to experience it. No real marriages in my future.” Bitterness chips at her laugh.

Max and Sam take the opportunity to clear the dining table, moving dishes, serving platters to the counters. I move to sit at the island.

“But why should you care about what anyone says or thinks?” Why am I talking to Patricia?

“I don’t,” she shrugs, “Not really. Look, Sandra, I’m not in the mood for a face-off right now. Just leave me alone for once in this life.”

Max starts clearing the dishes in the garbage disposal, leaving Sam to clear the dining room. We both rise moving to take over from the guys. Max starts loading the dishwasher while Sam goes for the Swiffer to start cleaning the floors.

“Decisions of great consequence are made by the conscience itself. Maybe it was just weighing on Max.” I start rinsing the plates to hand them to Max.

She turns to clean the rest of dishes in complete silence. Sadness, shame and defeat following, highlighting her movements.

“I’m sorry, didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

“No, it’s not you. I didn’t mean to be harsh. It’s just that that answer came out of nowhere,” She turns to look me in the eyes, hazel to brown, “I was expecting an insult, not sincere concern. You threw me off- guard that’s all.” This version of Patricia is unsettling.

She must be really hurting. Patricia has never been vulnerable. This is newly discovered, uncharted territory.

“I understand love, loss and heartbreak more than you know, more than anyone realizes.”

We make quick work of clearing the table, loading the dishwasher, dishing up leftovers and cleaning the kitchen. Though working in silence, the atmosphere was far from uncomfortable. Sam leaves a note of gratitude for dinner. Max, on the other hand, writes a note expressing his regret and apology for spoiling dinner.

The four of us then leave for our homes.

I breathe when I close and lock my own apartment door. That dinner was horrible. Food was good, conversation and dinner guests, not so much.

“I don’t know. I get why but I just don’t know. Aren’t we taking this too far?”

“Look, we could file for a divorce after. It’s easy, people do it every day.”

“That’s not necessary; we would go for an annulment instead. Not like we Sam be sleeping together. Once the marriage isn’t consummated we could go for the annulment. That’s like saying the marriage didn’t happen in the first place. I think I’ll prefer that.”

“So are we deciding to get married tomorrow? It’s less than a week later than when we said we did get married. It shouldn’t make a big difference.”

I take a seat on the barstool in my kitchen. I can’t believe I’ll be married more than the one time I promised to be. He lied for me. This is the least I could do for him. We’ll go to Vegas, get married, file the papers, wait a little while, get an annulment and move on with our lives. We could tell everyone it was a mistake. We wouldn’t be lying then. Deceiving everyone of the reason and nature of our entire relationship, yes. However, we wouldn’t be lying that the marriage is a mistake.

At this point it’s a preposterous desire to turn back the pages of history and make corrections. Such a thing can’t be done. We have to, from here on out, live with an impromptu announcement of matrimony.

This decision should have less depressing consequences for our consciences. For one it would be less deceitful if we were really married. Although real marriage in and of itself brings with it a new set of lies, desires, consequences and problems to burden the consciences once more. Sam would have his family off his back for a while. If he gets married followed by a divorce, his family would think he’s putting himself out there while still maintaining his share of the business.

“Yes, we’ll get married tomorrow.” My words wake me to terrible facts of the situation. Oh what the hell! I’ve already made my bed in hell, might as well fluff the pillows while I’m at it. Reach for a pretty sheet too.

“Alright, then. Let’s get the ball rolling.”

He moves to pick up my laptop from the coffee table and brings it over to the breakfast bar. I enter my password after he switches it on.

“You should tell me your password; we are getting married after all.” The signature grin of mischief makes its way onto his face once more.

“Of course, honey. It’s ‘get a damn life and leave me alone’. Got that, sweetie?”

“Hmm…,” he looks thoughtful before continuing, “Didn’t look that long when you were typing. Is that all lower case or what?”

“You could get it when I receive the password to your cell phone.”

“Oh, that’s no problem. It’s ‘Sandra’s got a sexy ass’. All caps.” The grin returns, again threatening my ability to ignore him.

‘Don’t say stuff like that Sam’. Again the ‘less-than-gay’ comment rings a mental bell. I release a deep, guttural groan.

“We’re sticking with Vegas, right? I don’t think there’s anywhere else we could get married so quick without applying for a licence beforehand.”

We search through a Las Vegas convention website which lists 49 licensed wedding chapels.

“Hey, we could do an Elvis wedding!”

Lips turn down, brows scrunch up as I turn to look at him in complete disbelief. His total hottie, god-human status goes down a notch.

“We are getting married, Sam, not looking for a wild, party ride. A minister Sam have to do. Hell, I’ll even take a priest or rabbi over Elvis any day.”

“Aah, you’re no fun. By the way, are you taking my name?”

To real, too real. I make a complete turn on the barstool to look at Sam. “What the hell have you been drinking, Sam? Do you smoke crack in your spare time or something?”

“I don’t normally have much spare time, so no to the crack. What spare time I do have now-a-days, I spend with you. Besides it’ll be more real for me.”

“You’re gay. Why would you want a real marriage with a woman? You know what never mind, don’t answer that. No Sam, I Sam remain Sandra Pennington for the rest of my life, irrespective of how many marriages I go through. By these actions,” waving between the laptop, Sam and myself, “There Sam be at least two.”

“How can we convince my parents of our love if it’s obvious our marriage is fake? I want to be a loving, doting husband, isn’t that what you want from any man you marry?”

Not from you, I couldn’t survive that. “Well… Yes, but I don’t want any lines crossed, feelings involved or mistakes made.” Heavens knows I’m struggling to keep the lines straight already.

“Sandra, we’re long past a mistake free relationship. And how can any lines be crossed or feelings get involved when you keep a reminder that I’m gay every five minutes?”

Oh, honey, that’s for my sanity. “Okay, you have a point.”

“I have many points, some less sharp than others.” Cheeky Sam is out to play.

I shake my head. “Boundaries, Sam. What are the boundaries?”

“No coitus, in the words of Dr. Sheldon Cooper. Although, I’d probably give you the chance to try and change me.” Cheeky Sam gleams at me brighter, hoping I take the bait. Pity that’s the only boundary I’d be Saming to cross.

“Whatever, Sam. What else?” Ignore him, Sandra. Sam’s goading you.

“I don’t know what else. That’s it for me. I’ll set up a joint account next week, so you’ll get the credit card for that. Where Sam we live though, here or my place?”

For an extended second, I look at Sam. Really look at Sam.

“I’m not spending your money, Sam, and I’m not moving.” I uttered, serious and slow, for Sam to understand.

“Common sense, Sandra. What husband doesn’t spend on his wife? Won’t that be suspicious when your name registers on nothing for me?”

“Yeah, but –”

“Think of it as a shoes fund or whatever else that’s a habit. It’s not like I’ll move my life savings into that account. Just money for incidentals and miscellany, alright? Granted I like your place more, but mine is bigger. Come check it out Saturday and decide then, alright?”

“Okay.” Aren’t I relenting on my earlier words?

While a few chapels recommend reserving dates and times, all are accommodating to people who want to get married on a moment’s notice. We decide to book 2 pm at a garden chapel that actually looks nice. Our wedding package includes extras like photography and flowers, as well as the wedding official. Even fake, we want it to look as if some thought went into the wedding.

We also asked them to provide witnesses for us in an email. Dragging people into this new idea would guarantee people thinking that we lost our heads. I don’t need those suspicions confirmed.