Happily Never After

by Lynn Painter

“But that could be a fun side gig, being the Objectress to your Objector.” “I don’t know if fun is the word I’d use,” I replied, letting my eyes close as well. “Trust me, Objector,” she said, her voice a sleepy drawl. “We’d have fun.”

“Did I mention TJ fosters rescue animals?” “Stop,” she said, pointing at me with a red-tipped index finger. “You can’t manipulate me with—” “One is a cat that has wheels for back feet,” I interrupted, “and when he runs, they squeak like—” “Shut up,” she demanded, but exhaled a tiny laugh as she shook her head again. “The other one is blind—” “It is not,” she cried, looking defeated. “With bald spots from his feline anxiety, which I totally think they should call fanxiety because it makes him sound like a badass vampire cat—” “Fine!” Sophie interrupted, gritting her teeth and holding up a hand.

“So tell me about your life, post–shitshow wedding. Are you seeing anyone?” She looked over at me like I’d sprouted a second head. “Seriously? That’s your question, Mom?” “I’m not asking for any reason other than I found your take on relationships to be interesting,” I said, unsure why I had even asked the question. “Settle your ass down.”

“Names, please.” “What?” “I’m going to need your cats’ names. It’s my job, as a man, to let you know my opinion on your decision.” “That is your job, isn’t it?”

“So now every time she has a Karen-Joanne story, I share my own Karen-Joanne story, things like ‘Karen coughed up a hair ball in the kitchen this morning, and Joanne tried eating it.’”

“You drive a ’69 Camaro?” She beamed, almost like she was proud of me for recognizing it. “I do. His name is Nick, he’s a Sagittarius, and he makes me feel things I’ve never felt for another man.”

How could I not smile at that? I realized as I looked down at her that I had no idea who she was. Wild bride, serious professional, hopeless car romantic; which one was the real her? “You’re very weird, Sophie.” “I know,” she said,

“Now my life is complete. Text me all the details about tomorrow, okay?” I flipped her off before turning in the direction of my car, and I heard the familiar sound of her laugh as I walked away.

“I suppose you’re wondering what the deal is with those two.” “Fraternity siblings?” I guessed. “Ha ha,” she said, looking at the floor numbers above the door instead of at me. “Court-appointed guardians?” “Hilarious.” “Is this a catfishing situation, where you thought you were online connecting with your dream man and instead landed two elderly besties?”

“There are no dream men,” she said. “And they are my roommates.” “Waaaait.” I turned toward her, so she had to look at me. “Is this like a Freaky Friday, magical realism thing, where your roommates were turned into the elderly? Are there twenty-seven-year-olds inside those midcentury bodies?”

“Nah,” I said, thinking back to that cold winter day. “As soon as I heard your fiancé’s name was Stuart, I knew I was good.”

The back of her hair was sticking up, and without thinking, I reached over and patted it down. Which made her laugh, eyes crinkled at the corners, which made me laugh, too. A second later we were both cackling at the absurdity of what’d just happened, the kind of full-on belly laughing that put tears in both of our eyes.

“So you lied to me,” she said, not sounding upset about it. “I tried lying to you,” I corrected, switching lanes to go around a slow truck, “but you lawyered the shit out of my attempt and made me lean on your heartstrings instead.” “Jerk,” she said with a tease in her voice. “Bleeding heart,” I replied. She coughed a laugh. “Takes one to know one.” “Agree yet again,” I said.

It was weird that we barely knew each other, because the look we shared, a self-deprecating kind of appreciative stare, felt like something that belonged to old friends.

“Shut up and drive, Parks.” “Shut up and ride, Steinbeck.”

“No offense?” Max said with a teasing gleam in his dark eyes. “Because I work in construction. Have you been stalking me, Miss Steinbeck?”

“Thank you so much,” TJ said, and when he pulled back I could see the tears in his eyes. Tears, sadness, exhaustion, but also—I could see relief. Because he was free. Exactly how I’d felt.

I glanced over at Max, who was staring at me like he was trying to figure me out, and I wasn’t sure I wanted him to. So I flipped him off.

“But now that we’re officially an objecting team and I’ve seen you at work, I want to know where you live, what your office looks like, if you go to a barber or a salon, if you have any pets, what your favorite food is, and what song is stuck in your head lately—you’ve become a whole thing I’m curious about.”

“Hey,” I said, stepping out and closing the door. “Take a picture with me before I go in?” “What is this, prom night?” he teased as he came around the car.

“Smile, Max,” she said, and I leaned a little closer for the picture. I felt her soft cheek rest against mine as she grinned for the selfie, and then she pulled back and looked at the display. “Aww, look at us.” She held it up to me, but I couldn’t look away from her face.

“I don’t know you well, but I know that Sophie Steinbeck should only ever be laughing.”

My eyes wouldn’t stay away from her lips, and her eyes wouldn’t stay away from my eyes.

Her eyes on mine, her lips so close. I was like a fucking middle schooler, daydreaming about almost kissing.

Everyone else in the conference room was looking at me like I’d just burped the alphabet, like they were horrified and amused, all at the same time.

“I have a tux.” “You do?” she asked, sounding shocked. “Why?” I looked down at the grass and ran my shoe over a soft spot. “Sometimes I go out.” “Whoa,” she said. “Are you a billionaire?” “Are you high?”

“It’s not stealing, it’s checking for ripeness,” she said, shaking her head as she took a grape from the bag and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm—these are good.” “Now I’m going to have to tell the checkout clerk that I owe them for one additional grape.”

“It’s not for you.” “Who is it for?” “Me.” She tilted her head and said, “If the eleven things I add to your cart are destined to die in your fridge, then I’m going to select eleven things that I like so I can save their lives by rescuing them from your bags and taking them home with me.” “I don’t like tricky people, Steinbeck.” “Says the man who tricked me into being his grocery shopper and delivery driver.”

“Do you know how dirty grocery carts are?” “As dirty as the shoppers who fondle the peppers with their filthy hands.” “But the carts also sit outside in the elements. Birds poop on carts.” “Just like the peppers before they were picked.” “At least tell me you scrub them.” “The peppers or the birds?”

I turned around. My body was mere inches away from his as he looked down at me with dark, questioning eyes. Butterflies went wild in my stomach as the moment lingered. Paused.

“Tonight. Now. As soon as we finish grocery shopping, let’s go over to the wine bar on the other side of the store and we can twenty-question the shit out of each other.” His smirk returned. “Why wait? Let’s wine and twenty while we shop.”

“Okay, here’s your twenty-one. Will you be my objectress for the wedding?” Her mouth stretched all the way up, into a wide, happy smile. Her eyes were crinkled at the corners as she said, “Oh, I so will.”

“I don’t want to sound like an asshole misogynist, Soph,” he said, his eyes still everywhere on me, “but I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman look this gorgeous in real life.”

“You can tag me.” “I don’t have to—” “Tag me,”

“Can you imagine if we had sex that way?” I started coughing, absolutely hacking because the water went down the wrong tube. As I coughed and my eyes watered, Sophie sat there, watching me with her head tilted, like I was entertaining. “I’m okay, thanks for asking,”

“All I meant, when I scared you into inhaling your beverage, was that can you imagine having sex for yourself, without giving a damn about the other person’s thoughts or desires?” “That’s called masturbation.”

“Because it was your whole world,” I said. “Every moment of every day belonged to the two of you, together. So how do you not feel a loss when those moments are only yours now?”

“Wow,” I said, a little embarrassed because the sleepily flirtatious look on my face was apparently what I looked like when I was thinking about sex with Max. Is that my turned-on face? “I look tired.” He raised his eyes to me. “Or something.” Or something. I knew he knew somehow, and I could tell he liked it.

“Smile.” I raised my phone, and he still wasn’t smiling. He was smoldering, at me, and my breath caught in my chest a little as I took the picture.

“You’re like the damn language police tonight. Maybe talk to me when you haven’t been out playing ‘taste the tonsil’ with Julian the Hot.” “Have I told you lately how much I love you?” “Keep it in your pants, Soph. I’m far too old for you.”

His eyes narrowed. “You can’t be serious.” “Ah, but I am.” “My legs are so much longer than yours.” “Weird thing to brag about.” “You won’t be able to keep up.” “Are there hats that fit your big head?”

No, she’d just stopped posting entirely. So her feed was still filled with pictures of Stuart, of selfies of them together, only now there was a picture of me right at the top. Like a statement.

I stopped when she did, but I shook my head, breathing hard. “I don’t think a sweaty picture is necessary—stop that.” The little shit took a picture of me without warning.

“Sophie Dickhead Assbag Steinbeck, you give me that phone this instant.”

She’d posted a picture of me dripping with sweat, my mouth half-open, with the caption Someone couldn’t keep up with me. #winded . Such a little shit, and she was beaming like she’d just single-handedly won the World Cup.

“Max!” she screamed, laughing and squirming in my arms. “Give me the phone,” I said calmly. “Never,” she yelled, holding it out in front of her. My arms were also longer than hers, so it was almost like she was offering it up to me. “Thank you very much,”

She turned around and looked up at me, and suddenly I thought, What a good fucking morning. Because there I was, on a warm summery morning, surrounded by the slowly awakening city, and her pretty face was smiling up at me. Good fucking morning to me.

She took off her sunglasses, and her entire face scrunched into an enormous scowl. “This is what you look like when I call you Maxxie.” “I can assure you, I’ve never looked that ridiculous in my entire life.”

“Look,” she said, throwing her head back and laughing while holding her phone out to me. I glanced down at her phone and saw the photo she had just taken of me, looking like a grade A asshole.

“That’s right—I’m the guy you took a cheap shot at during your wedding.”