Chapter 24

I, Marcella Keyes, love you, Finnegan Marsh.

– Marcella

The first red flag I have ever seen Finn display appears on Thanksgiving morning. When he ignores my text asking what I should wear to dinner with his mother. Since he didn’t tell me, it is a blow to my carefully-curated spite that I’m not in my pajamas when he rolls up with his second red flag.

Three words. Three incriminating words.

Before sitting across from me (a third red flag if I’ve ever seen one since we’ve started riding side-by-side like derpy little love birds), he said:

You look beautiful .

Finn, wisely, never makes unsolicited comments about my appearance. If he dares start talking about how I look without any prompting, I’ll bite him hard enough to draw blood. For this reason, I know his little comment was a reply to my text.

Meaning he saw my text.

Meaning it was truly and completely ignored .

Bringing my red flag count up to a glorious four , he’s been stiffly smiling out the window ever since. Not another word to me in the past thirty minutes.

I knew his mother lived a ways outside the city. I wasn’t expecting to face the journey in dead silence, though.

Miraculously, however, I survive.

Just in time to experience red flag five through I lost count …

Nerves eat me up with every foreboding step I take toward what I can only call a modest mansion . Compared to Finn’s and mine, the structure could pass as a normal house. If it weren’t the only building at the end of a long, cobble drive past a gate, I could be convinced it belongs in a regular community, just perhaps the sort of community that winds up on a magazine cover.

The sticking dread that something is wrong pools in my gut as Finn knocks on the front door.

I’ve spent the past forty minutes gaslighting myself out of overreacting.

Finn’s human. A person. With feelings , and so forth. He’s allowed to be a little nervous about my meeting his mother days before we’re scheduled to get married.

I do not need to make it my fault he’s acting strange.

He has a life outside of me.

Besides, what’s one ignored text? He probably saw it, was busy, forgot about it, and remembered the moment he came to pick me up. It’s not like we talk constantly whenever we’re together. This falls into the realm of normal behavior.

I’m just anxious because I’m getting married in a few days to someone I’ve only known for half a year.

I mean.

Come on.

I invited my entire family . I can’t just say sorry, no in a back room now.

Ever since Finn made me feel safe and secure in the loudest, most chaotic, most awful place I have ever been, I’ve kind of…known. I had fun with him at the Halloween town. In the sort of place I wouldn’t want to be within fifty miles of, I had fun .

Because I was with him .

Believing in something as idealistic as finding the one isn’t like me. Logic dictates that many sorts of characters and personalities mesh with many other sorts. Finn isn’t special and unique in a sense that no one else could ever make me feel safe and happy…but he is special, and he is uniquely him, and now that he has been the first person to put in the effort, he is my one.

Or something like that.

I don’t know.

Barf.

How long have we been standing out here?

As though reading my mind, Finn clenches his fist and knocks on the door again.

This time, a woman with a tight smile greets us. “Mr. Marsh,” she says, “I’m sorry. We were trying to get her settled in the dining room. Today’s…not a good day.”

“Is she all right?” Finn asks.

The woman opens the way for us to enter. “For right now. But…you may want to cut your visit short.”

Finn’s smile trembles, then—barely audible—he says, “Okay.”

Sirens explode in my head as a chill soars down my spine. Without warning, Finn reaches his hand back, for me. His lips part, but I clasp on before he gets a chance to say anything.

His grip bites into my bones, but the pain is minimal compared to the shock my whole system is going through right now. With every step, the stillness buries into my flesh. With every step, the wrong mutates into something insurmountable.

He draws me through the pristine lobby to a small room with a round oak table. Seated there, with a bowl of ice cream, is an elderly woman I’ve seen before. Many times. In pictures. Tabloids. News stories.

The images I remember look nothing like this ghost of them.

It’s as though she’s been stripped of color.

Carefully, Finn approaches. “Hi, Mom.”

Mrs. Marsh startles, and fear grips her glassy eyes. “Ulysses? Ulysses.” Tears gather, bubbling over into her bowl. “You finally came home.”

Ulysses…Marsh.

Finn’s dad.

Finn’s long since passed dad…

My heart shatters, turning to splinters in a pile near my toes.

Finn’s voice breaks. “Mom, no. It’s not Dad. It’s Finn. Finny?”

Without registering his words, her eyes trail to me. “Who’s this?” Her head begins to shake. “I told you we don’t need any more help.”

“She’s not help.” Finn pulls me to his side, grasps me around the waist, and forces the most painful smile I have ever seen. “Mom, this is my wife, Marcella.”

Soundlessly, Mrs. Marsh repeats my name. “That’s beautiful.”

“It is. She is. I wanted you to meet her.” His voice cracks. “I really…really wanted you to meet her.” His other hand lifts, plunging into his hair. He grips the roots, and I feel the ways he’s shaking in my entire body.

Setting my free hand against his shoulder, I pull on a tried and true smile. “It’s so nice to meet you, Mrs. Marsh.”

“Wait.” Confusion fills her gaze before a tear traces down her cheek. Broken, she whispers, “Wife? Did you say wife ? But… I’m Uly’s wife…”

It feels like I’ve swallowed acid. “Yes, you are. Do you remember Finn? Your son? I’m your son’s wife.”

Her brow furrows. “Finn’s too young to have a wife. He’s at his lessons right now. He’s doing so, so well. I’m proud of him.”

“What lessons are his favorite?” I ask.

“Math.” The frailest start of a smile touches her lips. “He takes after his father. Loves his numbers. It’s unusual for a boy his age to be so good with them. I wish he could make more friends… Will you be his friend, Mar…Mar… It was such a pretty name… So many letters. Finn likes letters. He says they have personalities…” Her tone drifts, tinny and…lost. “M was always his favorite.”

The woman who greeted us at the door passes while I’m grappling for something to say. My memory on how to interact with someone suffering from Alzheimer’s or dementia fails me more with every second. Turning to us, the woman says, “I’m sorry…”

I look at Finn, but he twists sharply on his heel before I can meet his damp eyes. Tripping after him as he makes his way back outside, I sort my emotions into clearly-marked boxes.

He didn’t tell me.

He really should have told me.

What was he thinking?

His mother is…

His mother is dying.

He didn’t tell me his mother was dying .

That’s information I really needed to know and prepare for.

Finn stumbles on the last step off the porch, barely catching himself before we go careening into the concrete driveway. Once he’s made sure I’m stable on my feet, he lets me go and starts pacing beside the limo, hands shaking. He taps his fingers against his thighs, deep breaths raking through his lungs.

“Finn—”

“I’m sorry.” His voice chokes. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t know how to face it. I just…I hoped. I’ve been visiting her every week, watching her just…just slip away . She hasn’t recognized me since October. Next, she’ll…she’ll forget how to eat…and…and then.” He grips his face and closes his eyes. “They told me December, Marcella. January . February if we were really lucky. I—” He swallows. “We…aren’t lucky.”

A hollow pit opens up inside me. “You…you wanted to find a wife by the end of November so your mother could meet her?”

His blue eyes snap open, oceans pooling in them. Dropping his arm to his side, he says, “I wanted to find a wife…so I wouldn’t be alone when my mother died.” Words fracturing, he whispers, “As long as I can remember, I have been so…so…very lonely.” He bites his lip—much too hard. “I can’t buy friends, Marcella. I’ve tried. That isn’t how it works.”

“So you tried to buy love?”

A crackling laugh leaves him, ending abruptly as he wraps himself in a hug. “No. I tried to be honest about the social class expectations of applying to be my wife and included the deadline I saw creeping up on me, then I tried to find someone who would answer two hundred questions thoughtfully.”

My fists clench at my sides. “For a billion dollars, what wouldn’t people do?”

Finn smiles as tears coat his cheeks. “Save my parents.” He shakes with every inhale. “I’m sorry, Marcella. You have every right to be upset. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I just didn’t know how to face making this real. And then I didn’t know how to explain that the stress I’ve caused you with this time limit came down to a hope that my mother could make it to my wedding before she…” He can’t force out the word died . “I didn’t know how to tell you that I wanted a wife to fill the hole she has already left behind.” Tossing his head back, he stares at the sky and whispers a swear. “It sounds…so terrible. Like all I’ve wanted is to use you. I’m sorry I never found the right words to explain myself, and now I’ve run out of time to try.”

“Yeah.” I close the short distance between us. “Expecting me to take her emotional place does sound awful.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Using me is also really cruel.”

“I am so sorry.”

I cross my arms. “So here’s the part I can’t figure out, Finn. Where in these past few months have I given you the idea that I want you to be nice to me?”

He stares. “What?”

“How many times have I asked you to be mean to me?”

His gaze wanders a moment as he runs his fingers through his hair. “A…concerning number.”

“Exactly. You had this in your back pocket the entire time, and you never once thought to mention you were using me?”

His lips part. He blinks. His brow furrows. “Marcella, I’m confused. What are you trying to say?”

Stomping, I grab his hand, tight. “I’m trying to say you don’t ever need to worry about me, Finn. Especially not right now, while you’re hurting. I don’t need pretty explanations. I will never expect your energy to pander to me, just like you better never expect any pandering in return. You have let me exist and given me more than I will ever need to cover anything I want. From the start, you told me you were doing this because you were lonely. Then? Then you made me fall in love with you. So it’s okay . I don’t mind being useful. Knowing I can do something for you when you’ve done everything for me isn’t a bad thing.” Tears burn in my eyes as I cup his damp face. “It’s okay , Finn. I’m right here. And I’m going to stay right here. I don’t think anyone can ever really replace anyone else, but I can promise that, for the rest of your life, you’ll be subjected to my existence until you’re completely sick of me.”

“Never.” He clamps his hand to my cheek. “I’ll never grow sick of you. Not ever.”

“Can I get that in writing?” I fight to form a small smile. “Because it’s actually one of my biggest fears.”

“Yes, you may.” Dropping his forehead to mine, he whispers, “But only if I can get what you just said in writing, too. The part about how you’re…how you’re in love with me.”

I let my lip jut. “No.”

“Please?”

“Fine…” Wrapping my arms around him, I hold him as tight as I can. “I guess I can be convinced.”

He crushes me in his embrace. “How romantic.”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not really the romantic one between us.”

“Head kiss,” he murmurs before crushing his lips to my hair. “Tell that to the flowers you pressed into that book on your dresser.”

I scoff. “When did you go through my things?”

“While you were singing ‘I Won’t Say I’m in Love’ in the shower November 1 st …” He nestles his chin against my head. “In my defense, it was left open.”

“In mine, I have also kept every rock Bridge and Penny have ever given me.”

Finn squeezes. “I’ll give you a second to understand how that isn’t a defense at all.”

I huff. “Yeah, no. I heard it.”

He swears, fighting down a swallow. “I’m so sorry about all of this… I don’t know what I’d do without you. Thank you so much, Marcella. Just…just for being here with me, thank you.”

Listening to his heart, I mutter, “Hey now…you’d be just fine. You’d probably buy a yacht and cry on it where no one could see you use hundred dollar bills to dab your tears. After pulling yourself together as much as possible, you’d descend into the kind of madness Disney Channel kids contract when they outgrow their shows. You’d be dyeing your hair even louder colors, getting face tattoos, and commissioning NASA to build you a luxury spaceship so you could circle the moon for funsies.”

The weakest laugh in the history of laughs causes Finn’s chest to tremble against my cheek. Seemingly unconvinced, he says, “Wow. You’re right. You know me so well.”

“It’s true. But, unfortunately, I’m here.” I grip his clothes as tight as I can. “So, I guess, instead of collapsing into an overfunded midlife crisis, we’ll just have to get through this together instead. Is that…okay?”

He sniffles.

“I mean, if it’s not, I’ll dye my hair and circle the moon with you. Gonna have to pass on the face tattoos, though. I have a desk job. I’m sure you understand. My boss is a bit of a prick. Sometimes he even makes me do the job I signed up for.”

Every muscle in him seems to sag, but I hear the incessant smile in his voice when he replies, “I’m sure your boss would understand if you tattooed his name on your face. Only because it might match yours on his.”

I mumble, “I do hear our names have the same number of letters. And even the same number of syllables.”

“Like someone planned it that way…”

“No one is that coordinated. We, Finnegan Marsh, are an adorable, drunk accident. And that’s all there is to it.”

He murmurs, “Marcella, does any of this imply that you’re going to marry me next week?”

I hum. “You’ll have to find out at the altar. On another note, my entire family has flown in for unrelated reasons. For similarly unrelated reasons, they’re probably in my parents’ backyard right now. With turkey.” My nose scrunches. “That sounded insensitive, like I just want turkey, because I expected turkey when we came here, and I will be honest. I do want turkey…but what I’m really trying to say is that while the turkey will probably be cold and dry by now, my family will be just drunk enough to be funny. And, still unrelated to your previous inquiry, they’re probably about to become your family, too. So it’s very important to begin gathering blackmail on them. If that would make you feel better. I can organize to take notes in the car.”

He exhales a damp laugh into my hair. “That’s…a very tempting offer. But I kind of don’t want to be around people right now.”

“Such a mood. I respect that.”

“You’re not people. Just in case you thought I’d be dropping you off at home or with your family.”

I let all my weight rest into him. “You know something? That wasn’t even a concern that crossed my mind.”

“Marcella?”

“Yes, love?”

He squeezes me, and even though his voice is still thick with emotion, his weak smile hasn’t faltered since it returned. “Can we pick up something to eat on the way home, grab my laptop, and play Stardew together in your room?”

Breaking away when he begins to, I grin up at him. “Dibs on the couch.”