It was actually me who did the moving, sliding into different families. A cousin here. Another cousin there. Eventually foster homes. Then the last home, in Phoenix.

The memory makes the wine go sour in my mouth, my stomach suddenly roiling, and I sit my glass back on the tray, almost catching the lip and dumping pinot grigio everywhere.

“Obviously, I never lived in the South before now,” I say, grinning again and trying to cover the awkwardness of the moment. “Or I’d know my Roll Tide from my War Eagle.”

That makes them laugh, like I’d hoped, and I’m hoping we can move back into talking about flowers or flags or whatever other dumb shit they want. I’ll spend another grand on fucking light-up lawn ornaments if we can stop talking about me.

“But I sure hope you’re planning on staying in the South,” Landry says, all saccharine now. “Now that you and Eddie are…”

She trails off, waving one hand.

There’s nothing pointed about it, and her gaze is nowhere near as searching as Anna-Grace’s was, but I feel a question hanging in the air.

Campbell finishes her train of thought. “I do not know why he doesn’t just go ahead and wife you up, girl.”

“Seriously,” Emily says, nodding and pouring herself more wine. “If he’s going to have you living with him, the least he can do is put a ring on it.”

“Caleb wanted us to live together before we got married,” Anna-Grace says, shaking her head so that her ponytail brushes her back. “And I was like, ‘I don’t think so!’ If a man wants a woman to basically be a wife, he needs to make her a wife.”

The others all hum in agreement, and I look around, at these ladies drinking in the middle of the afternoon on a random Thursday, all of whom seem to have decided that “getting married” is a woman’s chief accomplishment.

And I finally get it.

I can join all the committees, wear all the right clothes, learn about fucking football, say all the right things, and none of it will matter.

I’m never going to be one of them until Eddie proposes.

14

For the next week, I try so hard not to think about Emily or Campbell or any of that, try not to want more than I have. What I have is, after all, like winning the fucking lottery, and I’ve learned the hard way that wanting more is what fucks you in the end.

But it sits there under my skin, itching—the way they’d looked at me, the questions, the insults disguised as jokes.

And it’s not just the Thornfield ladies. It’s John, it’s whoever was calling him and asking questions. I feel like he got what he wanted that day in the Home Depot parking lot—to lord something over me, to watch my fear and anxiety creep in, plus two hundred bucks out of the deal. Surely that was enough for him. And as weird as it sounds, I trust John.

Okay, trust is not the right word.

I know him, I guess. People like him. All of us who stayed permanent foster kids, who met at group homes or shelters. John might follow me and maybe even call one of these days, making insinuations, but he’s not going to turn me over to the cops.

Or at least, I don’t think he will.

Being Mrs. Rochester feels like another brick in the wall between me and threats like that, like maybe John wouldn’t even attempt it if he thought it would involve Eddie.

So that’s the plan. The new plan.

It’s not enough to live with Eddie. Being the girlfriend is not the way in. I have to be the wife.

Which means I have to be the fiancée first.

So, for the next few days, I study Eddie. I don’t know what the signs are that a man is thinking of proposing to you—I’ve actually never known anyone who got engaged. People I’ve met are either firmly single or already married, and not for the first time in my life, I wish I had an actual friend. Someone to talk to, just one person who knew the whole truth about everything.

But I’ve only got me.

* * *

About a week after the committee meeting, Eddie comes home from work a little early and asks if I want to take Adele to the Cahaba River Walk.

It’s a park not too far from us, and one of the places he brought me when we first started dating. I like the quiet of it, the meandering trail along the water, the shade of the trees, and as soon as he suggests it, my spirits lift.

It’s a place he knows I like. It’s special to us because we’ve been there before.

And he never comes home early.

The idea that maybe I won’t have to do anything at all to get him to propose is dizzying, and when we get out of the car, I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet.

Laughing, Eddie takes my hand as Adele runs ahead of us, barking at squirrels. “You seem happy,” he says, and I lean over to kiss his cheek.

“I am,” I reply.

And I really am. Right until Eddie settles us both on a bench by the river and pulls out his phone.

“Sorry,” he says as Adele flops at our feet, panting. “I just have a few emails to send, and I need to get them out before the end of the day.”

So much for our nice afternoon in the park. I sit there, sweating and fuming, while he types and a couple of guys kayak on the river.

There are also people walking, and as two women move past us in their workout shorts and fitted tops, I see their eyes slide to Eddie, see one of them, a brunette with the same shiny hair and tiny waist as Bea, look over to me like she’s thinking, Huh. Wonder what that’s about.

My face is warm from more than the heat now, and I sit there, wondering, too. What the fuck is this about?

Eddie is still on his phone, and I decide to go for subtle.

“I need a manicure,” I say on a sigh, wiggling my fingers in front of my face. “When I was at Emily’s the other day, all I could see were everybody’s perfect nails. Well, perfect nails and a metric fuckton of jewelry. I’d be nervous wearing more than one ring.”

Okay, so that last little bit was maybe not as subtle as I could have been, but desperate times and all.

Eddie snorts at that, but doesn’t look up. “Bea always thought it was tacky how much jewelry they all wore. Especially when they’re mostly just staying home all day.”

“Okay, well, I don’t have to be dripping in diamonds, but I should probably take better care of my nails.”