A Little More Than Convenient

|Carmen Remington|
“Lana?” Trent asked, mouth gaping.
She was standing beside Tristan, who’s eyes were red and glazed over.
“What are you doing here?” I asked her, harshly.
“I invited her!” Tristan announced.
“Did I give you permission, Tristan?” Trent asked.
“Trenty, that’s not nice!” Lana pouted.
I bit my lip. “You...you weren’t invited, though.”
She glowered at me, then saddened. “My family is out of town. I didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving alone.”
I bit my lip again and glanced at Trent. He sighed. “Okay. Tristan, take Lana to the dining room. We’re going to eat in a few minutes.”
Lana’s face lit up and she and Tristan dashed to the dining room.
I looked over at Trent once they were out of earshot. “Is Tristan drunk?”
Trent shrugged. “Probably.”
“Now, what about Lana. She’s really...,” I trailed off.
“Annoying?”
“That’s the word.”
He sighed. “I don’t know what to do. She just...keeps coming around. It’s just fucking crazy!”
I stared, openmouthed at him. Then I chuckled.
“What?” he asked.
“I’ve hardly ever heard you cuss. Let alone the F word.”
He let out an exasperated breath. “Okay, look. We’ve got to do something about her. About our parents. Hell, our families. They are not buying this marriage. Sure, maybe it’s,” he lowered his voice, “fake. But still, we’ve got to convince them.”
I nodded. “Let’s start now.” I took his hand.
“Start talking a little,” I said through gritted teeth.
He did. “Giggle.”
I rolled my eyes, but agreed.
The table was quiet. There were two seats, side by side left. The one on the left was beside my mom, the right was beside Mark, so naturally I took the left, and Trent took the right.
Harrison said the prayer. It was about three minutes long. “Okay, let’s dig in,” he said grinning, and taking a piece of turkey.
“Speaking of religion,” Tara said, “if you guys have kids, what will they be?”
I nearly choked on a green bean wrap. I looked over at Trent. We looked over and each other and simultaneously said, “Christian.”
“What denomination?” Mercy asked.
I shrugged. “Um...”
“We don’t think a denomination is necessary,” Trent answered.
“Of course it is,” Mom said.
Mercy nodded.
“Methodist, of course,” Harrison said.
My eyes widened. Oh, shit.
My glance shifted to my dad. “Why not Baptist?”
I bit my lip.
“Carmen dear, stop biting your lip. It cracks them,” she looked over at Mercy. “I tell her and her father all the time, not to bite their lips, but they don’t listen. Ever.” She shook her head.
“Anyway,” Tara said. “Lizzie, when are you and Stephen getting married?”
“December the fourteenth.”
Tara gasped. I faded out of their conversation. Lizzie, Tara, Stephen, and Mark were talking, Harrison and Dad were talking, Mom and Mercy were talking, and Lana, Tristan, Trent, and I just sat and chewed.
Finally, Lana said, “Tristan, have you been working out?”
I refrained from snorting.
“Nope,” he replied, “I’ve been drinking. A lot of Vodka and Gin and shit.”
His parents ignored him. Trent just shook his head.
Lana continued to flirt with Tristan, obviously trying to make Trent jealous, but he was oblivious. He kept his head down, eating silently.
“This food is great!” Tristan announced out of nowhere.
“Yes!” there was a chorus of agreement.
I blushed. “Thanks.”
Mark nudged Trent. “So Trent, does she do that a lot?”
“Do what?”
“Blush.”
I blushed more furiously.
Trent nodded.
Mom laughed. “Carmen and her little habits. Like, I know for a fact that she watches Gl-”
“Enough, Mother,” I said.
“That’s not all,” Lizzie added, “when we were teenagers, she watched Lizzie McG-”
“Enough Lizzie!” I snapped.
Lana laughed.
“What’s so damn funny?!” I yelled at her.
She shrugged. “It’s just that Lizzie was talking about Lizzie and all...”
“Carmen, you’ve got to calm down,” Mom said.
I sighed and burst into tears again. I ran out of the room. I went to Trent’s room, since I really couldn’t go to mine. I slammed the door, only for it to be opened seconds later.
I expected to see my mom or Lizzie or even my dad, but it was Trent.
“It’s pretty terrible, isn’t it?”
I sniffed. “You have no idea. I get so tired of being made fun of.”
He nodded. “I told them to leave you alone. I know you’re tired. You’ve cooked and cleaned all week, and on top of that, you haven’t felt up to par lately.”
I smiled. Somehow, he was making me feel much better. I wiped my eyes. “Thanks a lot.”
He held his hand out to me. “Come on.”
I sniffed again, and then took his hand. We walked back to the dining room. Everyone watched as we sat down.
Trent smirked at me. In other words, we were getting good at this marriage stuff.
“So, when’s the divorce?” Lana asked.
The moms, Tara, and Lizzie all gasped. The dads, Stephen, Mark, and Tristan just stared.
I gulped; Trent cleared his throat, and then opened his mouth to say something. My mom beat him to it.
“Miss, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name. What is it?”
“Lana,” she replied, “Lana Lynn-Marie Partridge. And you...?”
My mother was getting angry; I could tell. I’d seen this face way too many times to know different. “My name is Kira Ann Sanchez. Not that it matters to you. And, now time for my question: what are you doing here?”
“I met her at the liquor store this morning!” Tristan announced, “We were both buying vodka, and she said that she knew my brother. Also, she didn’t have anyone to spend Thanks-Thunks, the holiday with. So I invited her!”
Without thinking, I bit my lip.
Mom gave me a look.
“Anyway, Lana, I think it would be best if you left.” Trent retorted.
She made a face, but pushed up her plate and stood up. “Come on Tristan,” she pulled on his collar.
“Bye!” he announced.
Trent followed them, saying that he was going to lock the door behind them, but I figured it was to make sure that they actually left.
Which was the reason that I followed him. You know, just to make sure that they actually left.
Lana kept her nose in the air. Tristan followed her around like a a freaking puppy.
“Goodbye, Trent. After the way you treated me today, I doubt I’ll see you again.” Lana said, putting on her white Aviator sunglasses.
“Okay,” Trent replied, “Lana, I’m married! We can’t see each other.”
“Hmmph. Well, I never,” she slammed the door.
Tristan came up to me. “If you ever get tired of this loser,” he pointed at Trent, “come see me.” Then, he slapped me right on the ass.
I blushed furiously, basically frozen. I didn’t know what to do. Trent, obviously did.
He glared at Tristan, and then grabbed him by his shirt. “Never, ever, ever touch my wife that way again, you hear me?”
Tristan gulped and nodded. Then he dashed out the door.
I placed my hand on my hip and frowned at Trent. “What’s the matter?”
He frowned back at me. “He doesn’t have a right to touch you that way.”
I bit my lip. “Technically though,” I lowered my voice, “we’re not married. So it shouldn’t matter.”
“Maybe,” he said, “but it’s not just you. Tristan thinks he can do that to every girl who comes remotely close to him. It figures that he’d come here with Lana. See why I can’t have a girlfriend?”
“Because you’re married?” I joked.
He cracked a smile. “No, because my brother thinks that what’s mine is his. Which, isn’t the case, is it? No. In fact, I’m surprised he hasn’t gone after my job yet.”
I shook my head. “Lizzie’s the same way. But I think we should probably get back in there. This dinner’s been interrupted a few too many times, don’t you think?”
He shrugged. “I suppose.”
I chuckled again, and we headed back into the dining room to continue what little was left of Thanksgiving.