Two Punks In Love

Therapy

Trace

There's no wind. I watch the sunset from my patio through a stratified smoke vapor. I draw deeply on the cigarette and exhale, adding to the layers.

"Do they have it? That's all I want to know, Marcy. Has someone leaked my marriage to Ashlynn? Yes or no."

"I don't know."

"It's your job to know."

"No," she says, tension rising in her voice. "It's my job to manage your press and advise your press relations. It can't possibly be my job to have omniscience of every single person on the planet that carries the knowledge that you and Ashlynn were once married. I'm not God."

"You are a smart-ass," I snipe.

"And you are a pain in the ass," she pops back.

That...might be true. I take another drag.

"That picture on the Internet...that's got to be our "I do" kiss. Whoever leaked it had to have taken it inside the room where we got married. They have to know..."

"Actually Trace, that picture was not taken in the room in Caesar's Palace where you married. It was taken in Fizz, the private lounge? I can tell by the artwork in the background. Did you go there after the ceremony? For a champagne toast perhaps?"

"What?"

After a long moment, I'm aware that the cigarette is halfway to my lips. I finish it with one long intake, and stub it out, holding the nicotine in. Like that could somehow clear my confusion. A long dry exhale and I grit out, "That's not possible. We're kissing in the picture. I only remember kissing her when the guy said husband and wife."

"Well since you don't remember where you bought the ring, you didn't remember what the hell you did with the prenup, and Riley found it in the trash just before it was incinerated in the hotel basement, and you didn't even remember to call your manager or me during the drive to Vegas to let us know what madness you were making, I think it's safe to say that it's possible you might have kissed your brand new bride and not remember it. You've kissed a lot of women over the years, you know? I'm sure you don't remember them all."

I huff. Except for a few video actresses, I've only kissed one woman over the last seven years and she's the love of my life. So you better believe I remember with distinct remorse every time I have kissed her sister. There was the spin-the-bottle disaster in sixth grade, the wedding kiss, then the awkward Happy Birthday peck I gave her when I gifted her with the diamond earrings Riley had bought, and a few weeks later the kiss on that damn purple couch that messed up everything...and...I pull my phone, staring at the blurry image of Elton-John-On-The-Wall in the background...damn. Apparently I have another regrettable, drunk kiss to add to my sin bucket.

"Fuck."

"Noooo...not fuck. Why fuck? This is good. This means whoever took this picture probably had no idea you had just gotten secretly married."

"Okay, that part is good, but in general it's not good Marcy. If I don't remember this kiss, what else don't I remember?" I hiss.

"Wow. Okay. Call Riley for this, I don't want to hear that you accidentally screwed you fiancée's sister and don't remember—"

"Don't even joke, Marcy. I'm positive, absolutely one hundred percent positive we didn't sleep together that night or any other night. I would definitely remember the morning after. The guilt would have ripped my soul apart. I'm just saying...all these pictures? These...touches and kisses? I don't remember any of this stuff. I don't know why I don't remember, but Marcy..." I step away from the house. "I don't know what else could be out there. I told Kat I only ever kissed Ashlynn for real one time...when we got married. I told her maybe a friendly peck or two, but only the one real kiss."