Page 2 of Fake Wife
“Okay, honey.” I kiss him again, wishing we had the time or the energy to take it further. It’s been so long since we’ve been intimate I’ve forgotten what sex with Drake feels like. It’s understandable, though. His residency at Portland General keeps him incredibly busy. “I have to go to work. Have a good day.”
He mumbles again and rolls to his side, away from me.
I stand from his side of the bed and pull my purse to my shoulder.
Drake is the first long-term boyfriend I’ve had. We met our junior year of college, and for the last seven years, I’ve been following him all over the country while he completed medical school and now his internal medicine residency. I would have thought by now we’d be married and living the life he’s continually promised to give me. With each year that passes, I’m beginning to think his promises have been more of a carrot dangled in front of me.
At some point, our plans and our dreams we used to whisper about, bodies entwined after a marathon lovemaking session, have been pushed to the back burner. At least on Drake’s. I still want all the things I always have. A husband, a family, and an equine therapy farm for special-needs children.
“I love you,” I whisper to his back, sculpted and lean, and one I used to spend hours running my hands down. It’s been months since we came together. It’s more than the lack of sex putting distance between us. I’m starting to doubt if he still loves me.
Before I can cry over our messed-up relationship again, I head toward the kitchen. I quickly shove my bagel into the toaster, grab a coffee pod, and pop it into the machine. While the coffee is brewing and the bagel browning, I dig through my purse and apply a fresh coat of lip balm. It’ll come off in minutes, but I’m addicted to the old-school, cherry-flavored stuff.
A quick glance at the clocks tells me I need to get the lead out or I’m going to be late to the library where I work. It’s not much of a job, but I didn’t finish college, choosing instead to quit after my junior year and follow Drake to med school in Chicago, fourteen hours from my hometown in Tennessee. I’m not exactly qualified to do much other than stack shelves, issue new library cards, help visitors, and ride horses.
The last one has nothing to do with the library, but it’s been years since I’ve been on a horse, and the more time that passes, the more I miss them. After my parents died, my grandma took me in. She wasn’t the most loving woman, but she lived on a horse ranch in western Tennessee. I spent the majority of my days riding horses and taking care of them, and I’ve missed having horses be a part of my life ever since I moved away.
Shaking off my morose mood, I make a plan for the weekend. It’s Friday and I’ll be home from work just before five. If I hurry, I can throw on a sexy dress, grab takeout, and surprise Drake at the hospital for dinner and perhaps a quickie in the doctors’ break room like we used to do.
Perhaps we’ve been together so long we’re in a rut. That’s all it is. His hours are long and exhausting and more stressful than anything I can imagine. Perhaps he needs some early night stress relief in a form only I can provide.
A smile stretches my lips and I pour coffee into my travel mug.
Yep. That’s what I’ll do. Work, hospital, a quickie where I please my man and show him we still got it, and then home to rest.
—
My hands tremble and my chin quivers, but I can’t stop the emotions from threatening to overwhelm me.
“Pardon me?” I ask William Tanner, Portland Central Library’s operational director.
“I hate having to say this to you, Teagan. It’s simply that funding has been cut and the last levy didn’t pass in the election. We no longer have the resources to employ four assistants, and unfortunately, you were the last person hired. It’s nothing personal. We all admire the work you’ve put into the library over the last few years. And you know how much I adore you.”
Nothing personal.
Firing someone is absolutely personal—at least for the person who now faces the weekend with the stress of looking for a job.
“William—” I start, but he covers my hand with his and stops me.
“Please, Teagan. You’ve been given four weeks severance, more than one week for each year you’ve been with us. It’s generous, and it’s also all we have. We’ve tried fighting this, but our hands are tied. When Shelly from HR told me this was going to happen, I insisted I be the one to tell you. I’m truly sorry.”
I know he is. William is more than a boss. He’s kind and generous and has a beautiful wife. Mary could never conceive and they decided against adoption, but they’d be the best parents in the world. He’s also been the director of this central location of Portland’s mass library system for fifteen years, and I know he cares about me.
It doesn’t erase the sting any.
“Okay,” I mumble, fighting back another chin quiver. “Thank you for everything.”
He squeezes my hand. “Thank you, Teagan. Take care, and if you’d like, please keep in touch. Mary will miss you if you don’t.”
I press my lips together and tug my hand from his grip. His wife is one of the sweetest women I’ve ever met and I have no doubt he’s being honest. In the three years I’ve worked here, I’ve spent countless holiday meals with their family, Drake joining me when he hasn’t had to work. They’ve become more like parents to me since I’ve moved to Portland.
“Have a good weekend, William.”
I don’t reply to his comment. I adore Mary. It’ll just take time before I can sit across from them and not remember this exact moment.
He nods and pushes back in his chair. “You, too, Teagan. And don’t worry. You’ll land on your feet. Perhaps this will help nudge Drake into finally looking for one of those hobby farms you two have always discussed.”
His comment brings back all the doubts I had only hours ago, but I don’t tell William. If he knows I’m fearful my relationship with Drake is slowly crumbling, Mary will be on my cellphone inviting me over for drinks and dinner before I can board the next MAX train.
