The Boy I Married [hold]

23 | How Clichè

4 weeks later

Today's the day we've been preparing the brewery for and by the time I've finished getting myself ready and fueling my body with enough coffee to make it through the morning, I head to Samaria's.

The only car that's parked in the lot belongs to Jacob, and despite the enormous red bow—that my husband wrapped in front of the doors for the grand opening this morning on his way to landscape with my dad—I slip into the brewery for a final glance at the new and improve coffee shop. From the inside on account of the windows lining the building, a golden lightfrom the rising of the sun illuminates the navy blue coloring the sky. Since it was only six A.M, we had two hours to finalize everything we hadn't finished detailing last night.

It'd be a lie to say I hadn't been trembling and trying to hold my composure as we checked everything off the list and time dwindled. Once we'd finished plating our last batch of cookies until it was time to make more, we headed up front. By this time, our team of staff has all arrived—dressed in their white collared Polo shirt and pleated black skirts—through the glass, the significantly brighter sky shines brightly and we notice the influx of cars and people beginning to fill the lot. I have my parents to thank for that because, for the past two weeks, they've been posting fliers on bulletins around town and mentioning our grand opening to anyone who would listen.

Jacob and I stand outside the building in front of the red ribbon stretched in front of the door. The pair of scissors needed to cut the ribbon is large enough for both of us to hold, so we do before beginning to count down from five. After five seconds have dissipated, the ribbon falls to the ground and the doors of Samaria's are finally open. The only way to describe the sensation of every sale we made was magical—how cliché—but it isn't so cliché when you've witnessed the success of something you've dedicated yourself to.

At around noon, Justin and Dad decide to show their face. Thankfully, Samaria's isn't as crowded as it was at the opening, so we have enough food to supply them with a decent lunch before they had to leave shortly after arriving. As terrible as it seemed, I didn't feel comfortable with Justin roaming the streets and in and out of businesses with lots of foot traffic. Neither of us could deny how much time had passed since the tour ended. It was well enough time for someone to have discovered where he decided to take his break.

My husband's success meant everything to me and more, no one could deny me that fact. But, after his first tour, people started to take more interest in him and even me. It wasn't until then that I realized how truly terrifying it was. Two days into our relocation to LA, someone had enough time to figure out both our cell numbers and our address. An article with pictures of us entering our home was on the internet. In two days! Who's to say someone hadn't already caught wind of all our indiscretions? I couldn't handle having the news of my infidelity plastered on the internet with pictures of me and whoever they'd speculate I cheated with. It wouldn't be too hard to automatically assume it could be my reasonably handsome business partner. I'd be humiliated in front of the entire world. Again. The worst of all, imagining the news of our pregnancy getting out. Being blamed for the death of your child by thousands of people you don't know isn't fun, nor is it an easy thing not to take to heart. Especially when I had already harbored enough guilt about that all on my own. I couldn't imagine the pictures they'd get of us walking into our home, our doctor's office, or the grocery store. It petrified me, but it's something that Justin had grown used to and as a result, it seemingly didn't bother him the way it bothered me.

This spiral had me conflicted for days about whether or not the news of our child should come directly from Justin as opposed to being leaked by some anonymous source. At least then it would be because we wanted it to be known and not because it was stalked out of us without choice. It would eliminate a reason for anyone to assume I cheated in the first place—if someone hadn't already been brewing up a plan to expose pictures of Justin walking out of a clinic.