She Woke Up Married by Suzanne Macpherson Page A

had a collection of small bears that took up most of the cupboard space, as far as he could tell, and apparently the collection had taken over every windowsill and tabletop. Turner pivoted around the place and got the full picture. Tall stacks of magazines had old coffee cups and saucers on top, as if the magazines were end tables.
    “Just throw your bag in the living room behind the sofa. That’s where you’ll be sleeping.”Paris flounced over to her bed and shed a few more layers of clothing, which went on the chair.
    She did have a closet, he guessed, because she stepped into an area that was draped with plain canvas panels hung from the ceiling. She vanished like a magician’s assistant.
    Sofa. Let’s see. There was a sort of beige plaid blob of slipcovered fabric to his near left. That must be it. It faced the wall, and two tall, skinny windows poured the night lights and neon colors of Manhattan back down on it. It actually also faced an old cabinet television perched in between those windows. He didn’t see it at first, because it was piled with papers.
    Turner put his bag behind the blob sofa and walked around his new sleeping spot. He picked three dirty sweat socks off one sofa cushion and put them in a basket overflowing with more magazines. He would have considered sitting and contemplating his fate, but the rest of the sofa was occupied by a gaggle of larger teddy bears—in dresses.
    Turner tripped over Paris’s tennis shoes. Two pairs of them were just underneath the billowing bottom of the slipcover. He caught himself just before his head hit the bears.
    Turner Pruitt had married a kitchy, bitchy slob.
    He decided to go to the kitchen and find a glass of wine to dull his senses.
    Just about then Paris popped out of the canvascloset wearing gray leggings, thick socks, and a gray-and-white nightshirt with big pink kittens on it. Her hair was in a messy ponytail held back with a pink scrunchy. Hey, she was color coordinated.
    “Help yourself to whatever is in the kitchen. I haven’t had a chance to spruce the place up since I got back from our little Vegas adventure.”
    That was quite a while ago. But it looked to Turner like she hadn’t spruced up since Clinton was in office. Or maybe Carter.
    “Thanks,” he replied.
    “The bathroom is over there.” She pointed to a door painted barn red off to the right. Actually, it was painted just like a Dutch barn door, open on the top, closed on the bottom, with a black-and-white cow’s face smiling at him.
    Turner felt genuine fear wash over him. What evil lurked in the heart of Paris’s cow bathroom? Maybe he should have stayed put at the YMCA. But then he couldn’t spend this quality time with his new wife and get her to come to her senses and talk to him.
    For a moment Turner wondered if she had any senses to come to. “Thanks again. I’m going to pour myself a glass of wine.”
    “None for me, thanks. If you think I’m falling for that one again, you’re nuts. I’m not getting drunk and ending up in bed with you. I’m goingto brush my teeth, get in my own bed, and curl up with a good book. Do whatever you want. There’s sheets and blankets in that closet right there.” Paris pointed, then padded toward the barn bathroom door in her socks and slammed the cow in his face.
    Turner found the blankets and sheets in a small linen closet that dumped its entire contents on him when he opened the door. He picked out a few things and stuffed the rest back in. He better do battle with the teddy bears or he’d never get to sleep tonight. After some careful rearranging, he managed to make himself a bit of a bed. The teddies glared at him from their new home in the corner on the floor.
    The kitchen, the kitchen. Oh, my Lord. He just couldn’t help himself. Turner located a trash can under the sink, but it was full to the brim. He shut the lid down as best he could. If it wasn’t still so cold in New York, there would be more flies. There. He found a