Free Marital Bitch by JC Emery

this. I can’t believe my Great Uncle Earl is here. I haven’t seen him since my first communion, and that was over twenty years ago. Grammy keeps shooting Great Uncle Earl dirty looks. They haven’t gotten along since they were kids and if you even try to make sense of it all either one of them will say is “potatoes.” We’re Irish; the source of most great conflicts seems to be over potatoes in one form or another.
    An hour after our arrival, I finally spot the old Ball & Chain across the living room, leaning against his giant Boston Celtics green and white and gold basketball stand and hoo p. God, that thing is so ugly. I’d tell him I wanted it gone, you know, as his legal wife and all, but I’ve seen him dump girlfriends for less. Wait. Since when am I concerned about being dumped? I shake my head free of confusing thoughts. I haven’t a clue what is going on upstairs anymore.
    Brad spots me and calls me over. He’s smiling wide. His enthusiasm is infectious and I find myself happy to be in his company. I approach and do my best to look smitten and in love. It’s really not that tough an assignment right now. The Ball & Chain is surrounded by his parents, my parents, and Grammy. Our mothers comment on how much in love we look. Either we’re good actors or… no. We’re just good actors. He pulls me to him and kisses me. I kiss back until I feel his mouth open. This is just too much, I try to pull away but he holds me there. Reluctantly (or so I maintain), I open my mouth to him. Our tongues slide against one another’s. Neither one is fighting for dominance. There is no dance of seduction that people commonly describe during a heated kiss. He is gentle and loving and slow.
    John , Brad’s dad, clears his throat and elbows my dad, laughing quietly. We pull away, both sporting stupid grins on our faces. “Hey baby,” Brad whispers into my ear and pulls my back against his chest. He’s laying it on thick, a little too thick for my liking. But then I look around. Our parents look so… content? They look happy. I haven’t seen them look so happy in a long time.
    “ Bradley,” my father says. He looks very serious.
    “Yeah, Chief?” Brad grins at him.
    “You took my baby girl and married her in Vegas. What do you got to say for yourself?”
    He just shrugs, knowing there is nothing to fear here. Anyone else might get pistol-whipped for such a thing. But not Brad. “You want a beer?” Brad asks.
    My father laughs and the two bond over another beer. Neither one of them need another, but whatever. Their mothers can deal with it.
    “So,” Emily says, sipping on a beer of her own. “When are you gonna make me a grandma?” She’s staring right at me and when I take too long to answer, both Grammy and my mother nudge me. “Well?” Emily asks. Brad leans in and rubs my stomach much to my dismay. The longer we continue with this lie, the more complicated it gets, and the worse I feel for it. Emily Patrick has always been a second mother to me. Not a fiber in her body would ever think we would be lying to her. If she knew the truth it would break her heart. In this moment, I want nothing more than for this marriage to be real. I want to love Brad the way he deserves to be loved by his wife. I want it to be real, but I can’t make myself love him. I just can’t.
    “Don’t worry, Ma,” he says, “we’re working on it.” Emily and my mother giggle and I shove Brad’s hand away. I don’t know if that wedgie I gave him outside was worth it after all. I look to John for help. He’s always been such a compassionate man. Back in high school when he caught me and Darla shoplifting at the mall, he didn’t tell my dad. Thankfully, John had been the officer to respond to the call. He hauled us off to the side of the building and told me he’d tell our fathers if we so much as spit on the sidewalk after that. That’s been our little secret between the three of us ever since.
    “Son,” John says,