Page 42 of Accidentally Marrying the Prisoner
“To apologize for taking the name he wanted, and that’s only because I felt so guilty for the strain in your relationship. And I wanted to tell him that I felt terrible about the way things ended, but that I was so glad I didn’t wait for him to get out of prison or else I wouldn’t have been lucky enough to marry you,” Alisa says. “You, Bradley Jackson O’Byrne, are the love of my life. Wearesoulmates. If you went to prison, I’d wait a lifetime for you.”
“Wish she’d actually said that at the apartment,” Mirabeth whispers to me from the side of her mouth. “Would have saved me a lot of heartache.”
Fucking same. Mirabeth and I aren’t the only ones who need to work on our communication skills.
Brad sniffles several times, blinking quickly, his hands shaky when he lifts them to cup Alisa’s face gently. “But you text each other all the time, sending him pictures of our son.Ourson,” he says, his voice raw with emotion.
“It’s not like I want to.” Alisa rises and bumps Brad’s nose with hers. “I’m only trying to be friendly so Drew can get to know his uncle.” She sighs heavily and says, “And the texts and calendar reminder about the hotel—I was planning a party for your birthday. You were supposed to go with your friends to pickup the ones who are flying in before you go hunting, and we’d all be waiting to surprise you.”
“Oh,” Brad says in a small voice. Then his face and tone transform, brightening like a kid on Christmas morning. “You said you wanted to try for another baby. Let’s do it. Now. Right now!”
“Finally!” Alisa tilts her head to kiss him, and he sweeps her onto his lap where they all but start having sex at the table.
It is both exceedingly awkward and encouraging, proving to both Mirabeth and Brad that Alisa and I in no way, shape, or form harbor feelings for each other. I’m nothing but exceptionally happy for my brother and his wife. Let bygones be bygones and move on with our lives.
Brad breaks the kiss, gasping for air, and says, “If it’s a girl, I want to name her?—”
I smack the table, making the glasses of root beer shake precariously, and I point at Brad. “I call dibs on ‘Andrea’, ‘Drea’, ‘Rea’, ‘Andy’, and ‘Mandy’.”
Brad cracks a grin, his hair a mess. “I was going to say ‘Tally’ after Alisa’s grandmother, but now that you’ve mentioned it…first come, first served.”
I stand up so fast that my head spins, knocking my chair back as I haul Mirabeth up with my arm around her, flattening my palm over her stomach. “We’re pregnant! First come, first served,” I mock, lifting a brow, feeling ten feet tall with Mirabeth back by my side, as I have been all night.
The room goes silent for a heartbeat and then explodes with noise.
“Didn’t I tell you?!” Mom squeals at Kyra, the two of them hopping around once more. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it!”
“She tried, though, didn’t she?” Kyra cackles.
“Tried what?” Mirabeth asks, wrinkling her nose at her mom.
I would also like to know what other tricks my mother-in-law has been playing.
Kyra waggles her blonde brows. “I know the pharmacy tech who filled your birth control prescription. The pills are bogus.”
Mirabeth throws her hands up in exasperation. “Oh my god! I know this town is small, but it’s notthatsmall. You can’t possibly rope everyone into your truly unhinged grandbaby scheme.”
I can’t help it. I start to laugh, then harder, bending over to slap my knee, my ribs aching. “This is too good.”
“What is? What’s so funny?” Mirabeth asks, steaming mad when she grabs my arm, trying to shake the truth out of me.
When I’ve caught my breath, I tell her, “I found your pills hidden in Merlin’s contraband cat treats and replaced them with fakes when I picked up my antibiotics. I probably got them from the same tech.”
“From Allie?” Kyra guesses.
“One and the same,” I confirm, pulling Mirabeth once more under my arm and kissing the top of her head, then tipping her chin up. “It’s why I stopped fighting you about taking them.”
Mirabeth crosses her arms and taps the toe of her shoes. “I’m going to sic the Berenson Boys on you. Just you wait.”
“Oh, please,” my mom says. “As if those boys are any better. They’ve got a football team of kids between them, and it didn’t happen by accident.” She should know, since she’s best friends with Yamuna, the gossipy receptionist at the trucking warehouse.
Mirabeth clutches the front of my shirt. “We’re moving far, far away from these crazy people.”
Kyra snaps her fingers. “About that…” She turns to rifle through a purse large enough to qualify as a suitcase. “Ah, here it is,” she says, handing Mirabeth a fancy card with a printedpicture of her and Garth holding hands in front of a fake backdrop of a sunny day tacked to a cinder block wall.
When Mirabeth doesn’t take it, turning up her nose, I do and read the text printed beneath the photo. “You got married?” I ask. “Congratulations.”
“What?!” Mirabeth snatches the card from my hands. “When?”
