{"id":3002,"date":"2019-04-22T07:34:07","date_gmt":"2019-04-22T14:34:07","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/?p=3002"},"modified":"2019-04-22T07:34:07","modified_gmt":"2019-04-22T14:34:07","slug":"willing-to-pretend","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/archives\/3002","title":{"rendered":"Willing To Pretend"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"blossoming<\/a><\/p>\n

Okay, so I\u2019ve been in love with Elisha Montoya for four years, three months, two weeks and five days. I know with such exactitude because in my desk calendar for that year, on the day she and her children arrived in our midst, I wrote in purple ink: Elisha Montoya appeared in Mona\u2019s today. Spanish Irish? Reddish brown hair. Quietly regal. Simply beautiful. Two sweet kids, Conor and Alexandra. Love at first sight. <\/i><\/p>\n

So, yes, I am a romantic, though I\u2019d stopped thinking of myself as such until Elisha came to town and became the leading light at Mona\u2019s<\/i>, the one and only bakery\/caf\u00e9 in Carmeline Creek, our small town on the far north coast of California. Schmaltz alert: Elisha became my muse, poems and songs gushed forth, and now she and her children are the emotional epicenter of my life. I haunt Mona\u2019s most mornings, give Conor and Alexandra guitar lessons, the four of us have supper together two or three and sometimes four nights a week, and in every way except the conjugal bed, we are a family.<\/p>\n

The few times I attempted to shift my friendship with Elisha, who is forty-six, into a romantic entanglement, she rebuffed me, not unkindly, but firmly, and so I let such hopes go the way of Dodo; and if that reference means nothing to you, how about the word extinct<\/i>?<\/p>\n

My name is Paul Windsor. I am fifty-five, five-foot-eleven, graying brunette, musician, poet, and gardener. I share my small house with two large dogs, Zerc and Raj (Xerxes and Mirage), good-natured Golden Retriever Blue Heeler siblings who require, at minimum, two long walks every day else they drive me mad with their restlessness.<\/p>\n

Following two disastrous marriages and three angst-ridden relationships, I have lived alone for nine years, though in the privacy of my thoughts I am married to Elisha, minus tender kisses and passionate embraces and sex, a minus that makes me sigh every time I see her. Oh well.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

So here I am on a sunny afternoon in May, in need of a haircut and about to leave for a three-mile jaunt across the headlands with Zerc and Raj, when Elisha shows up sans children and looking lovely in a long skirt and crimson shirt, a small red rose in her hair. She accompanies me and the dogs on our walk to the beach at the mouth of Carmeline Creek where I throw tennis balls for the water-loving mutts for twenty minutes before we return to my house with an hour of daylight left.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat fun going on a walk with you,\u201d I say, standing with Elisha in my rose-infested front yard, the dogs having run around to the back porch to drink from their water bowls. \u201cThough you did seem mightily distracted and, dare I say, anxious about something, not that it\u2019s any of my business except\u2026 did you want to tell me something?\u201d<\/p>\n

She forces a smile and makes an adorable spluttering sound. \u201cCan we go inside?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I say, smiling curiously at her.<\/p>\n

We have tea at my kitchen table, the late afternoon sunlight making of Elisha a modern Ver Meer, and after a few minutes of idle chit chat, and with absolutely no forewarning, Elisha asks, \u201cWould you be willing to pretend to be married to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

Now here\u2019s a funny thing, not funny ha-ha, but funny strange. For a moment, maybe four seconds, I think Elisha asked me to marry her, and apparently four seconds is enough time for the neuro-hormonal consortium to flood my system with joy before my rational mind takes over and the joy is obliterated by bitter disappointment.<\/p>\n

\u201cPretend<\/i> to be married to you?\u201d I say, feeling stabbed in the heart. \u201cWhy would I do such a thing?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, Paul, I\u2019m sorry.\u201d She winces sympathetically. \u201cI just\u2026 I don\u2019t know what else to do except run away again, and I don\u2019t want to run away again. We\u2019re happy here, happy for the first time in our lives and\u2026\u201d She makes another spluttering sound very much like the earlier one, but I don\u2019t find it adorable this time. \u201cI should have explained first before I asked you, but I\u2019m just so\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFucked up,\u201d I say, realizing this is the first time I\u2019ve ever been angry with her. \u201cI know the feeling.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou never use that word,\u201d she says, frowning at me. \u201cNot that I\u2019m aware of.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019ve never insulted me before,\u201d I say, shrugging. \u201cBut there\u2019s always a first time.\u201d<\/p>\n

She bows her head. \u201cI\u2019m so sorry. I never want to insult you. And I\u2019m sorry I haven\u2019t been\u2026\u201d She looks up at me, her blue green eyes full of tears. \u201cI\u2019m sorry I\u2019ve been afraid to\u2026 and it isn\u2019t because I don\u2019t find you attractive, I do. It\u2019s just\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cStop,\u201d I say, holding up my hand to add emphasis to my request. \u201cJust tell me why you asked if I would be willing to pretend to be married to you, and we\u2019ll be done with it. I have long been resolved to the twin roles of brother and uncle vis-\u00e0-vis you and your marvelous children. Please say no more about attraction, but do enlighten me.\u201d<\/p>\n

She fights her tears, and I wonder if she seems ultra-beautiful to me because I\u2019m in love with her or if I\u2019m in love with her because she is so beautiful to me, not that it matters, but that\u2019s what I\u2019m wondering as I memorize the way she looks, her long reddish brown hair alluringly windblown, her cheeks ruddy with emotion, her eyes sparkling.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

\u201cI lived with my mother in Dublin until I was twenty-six,\u201d she says, getting up from the table and going to the window. \u201cShe was the manager of a restaurant and I worked there as a waitress. She was only seventeen years older than I, but we were not sisterly. She had survived my alcoholic father and rarely had more than a sip of wine or beer until she turned forty-three. But then she started drinking heavily and using cocaine and bringing strange men home to our little apartment, and life became intolerable there for me, so when I was offered a job as a waitress in Boston, I jumped at the chance.\u201d<\/p>\n

She comes back to the table, starts to sit down, changes her mind and returns to the window.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019ve always loved poetry and music, as you know,\u201d she says, turning to look at me, \u201cand on my nights off, I\u2019d go to caf\u00e9s to hear poetry and folk music and jazz, and I fell in with a gang of poets and musicians and their friends, and after three years in Boston, I moved with Kevin\u2014I\u2019ve told you a little about him\u2014to a big farm on the outskirts of Montpelier in Vermont, a commune with three couples with kids and three couples without kids. And a month after we got there I was pregnant.\u201d<\/p>\n

She comes back to the table and sits down, but doesn\u2019t speak for several minutes.<\/p>\n

And I\u2019m just about to ask what her getting pregnant sixteen years ago has to do with my being willing to pretend to be married to her when she says, \u201cI don\u2019t know how to explain except to tell you from the beginning. Is that okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOf course,\u201d I say, my anger having morphed into a retroactive jealousy that I am not the father of Conor and Alexandra.<\/p>\n

\u201cThank you,\u201d she says, gratefully. \u201cSo\u2026 the saddest thing about my four years with Kevin was that I didn\u2019t love him, and if I hadn\u2019t gotten pregnant when I was too stoned to be careful, we wouldn\u2019t have stayed together more than a few months. But once I was pregnant, I resigned myself to making a life with him. I\u2019m what Flo calls a deep monogamist and\u2026 well, anyway\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy did you move there with him?\u201d I ask, ever curious about who we love or don\u2019t love and why. \u201cIf you didn\u2019t love him?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe went as friends,\u201d she says, nodding to affirm this. \u201cWe both wanted to get out of the city and we were both intrigued by the idea of living in a commune, and when he was invited to join, he invited me to come with him. But I never imagined I\u2019d have a child with him.\u201d She laughs a little and shakes her head. \u201cAnd then we had two, though he left me when I was four months pregnant with Alexandra.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat a cad,\u201d I say, wishing I\u2019d been there to help her. \u201cSo what did you do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe stayed on the farm, my babies and I, until the wife of the man who owned the farm ran off with the husband of another of the couples, and then the man who owned the farm told everyone to leave and I went back to Boston with four-year-old Conor and one-year-old Alexandra and got a job as a waitress in a ritzy restaurant.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWas Kevin\u2026 did he help you in any way? Send you money or\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she says, shaking her head. \u201cWe never saw him again. He and I never got married, so\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut how\u2026 was he good to Conor before he left?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was okay.\u201d She shrugs. \u201cHe wasn\u2019t comfortable with children. He liked fixing things and building things, but he was helpful with Conor, and Conor adored him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDidn\u2019t you say he liked poetry?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe did. He loved going to poetry readings. Something about being read to in that way fed him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSpeaking of feeding,\u201d I say, trying for a little levity, \u201cwe\u2019re approaching suppertime. Do you need to contact the dynamic duo?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThey\u2019re having supper with Flo and Grady tonight,\u201d she says, gazing at me. \u201cYou hungry? I could make us something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr I could make us something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr we could make something together.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

We make spaghetti with a mushroom and zucchini and tomato sauce, I crack open a bottle of decent red wine, and as we cook\u2026<\/p>\n

\u201cThere you were,\u201d I say, chopping tomatoes, \u201cin Boston with two little kids, working in a ritzy restaurant, and\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAfter two years of doing nothing but working and taking care of my children, I met a man named Arthur Chance.\u201d She drops the noodles into the boiling water. \u201cAnd because I was starved for love, I made the mistake of sleeping with him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh,\u201d I say, feeling another upwelling of retroactive jealousy. \u201cWhy was it a mistake?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBecause he took it to mean I loved him and wanted to be with him, neither of which was true.\u201d She stirs the noodles. \u201cAnd nothing I said would change his mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow many times did you sleep with him?\u201d I ask, hoping she\u2019ll say only once<\/i>.<\/p>\n

\u201cOnly once,\u201d she says, nodding her thanks as I refill her glass. \u201cOne dreadful time. And then I told him I was very sorry but I didn\u2019t want to see him again, and he said, \u2018I don\u2019t believe you.\u2019 And for the next few months he called me every day, came to our apartment unannounced, came to the restaurant, and every<\/i> time I asked him to leave me alone he said, \u2018You need me, Elisha. You\u2019re just afraid to love someone again because your husband abandoned you. But I will never abandon you, and eventually you will learn to trust me, and then we will be lovers again and husband and wife.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid you call the police?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI did,\u201d she says, starting to make the salad. \u201cThey sent two officers to corroborate my story, and when they saw what Arthur was doing, they warned him that if he persisted they would arrest him. So he stopped coming to the apartment and the restaurant, and stopped calling me, but I saw him many times after that, never so I could claim he was following me, but I know he was. And eventually I stopped being able to sleep and my children were more and more upset by me being so disturbed, so we ran all the way across the country to a little town in Arizona, Caldwell, and lived there for three years until one day I got a phone call from Arthur at the bakery where I worked, and when he heard my voice, he said, \u2018Ah, I\u2019ve found you. It\u2019s Arthur. How are you?\u2019 And because he didn\u2019t sound crazy, I said I was fine. Then he asked if I was married, and I said No<\/i>, and he said, \u2018I knew you were waiting for me. I\u2019ll be out there in a few days.\u2019 And I shouted, \u2018Don\u2019t you dare come here. Don\u2019t you dare ruin my life again.\u2019 And then I hung up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDid he come out in a few days?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes. And when he came to the house, I told him I would call the sheriff if he didn\u2019t leave, and he said, \u2018But I just came to say hi. There\u2019s no crime in that.\u2019 Then he just sat in his car in front of our house, so I called the sheriff, and when the sheriff came, Arthur explained that he and I had been lovers in Boston and then split up, and when he decided to move to Caldwell, he discovered I lived there and came to say hi with no intention of bothering me if I didn\u2019t want to associate with him. I remember distinctly his use of the word associate<\/i> and how it made me want to kill him.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did the sheriff do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe asked me if Arthur\u2019s story was true and I said it was a lie, but since I couldn\u2019t prove that, and Arthur hadn\u2019t done anything illegal, there was nothing the sheriff could do. And everywhere we went for the next few weeks, there was Arthur. So we ran away again. And after a year of camping and staying in motels in Idaho and Washington and Oregon, leaving no traces, we came here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd now he\u2019s found you again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she says, stirring the sauce, \u201conly this time he didn\u2019t call me. He sent me a letter care of the post office. He said he read an article on the internet about my inheriting Rex\u2019s house and how the will was contested. He said he\u2019s coming here to make sure I\u2019m doing okay in the face of such hostility from the community.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd you are hoping that an apparent husband will finally convince this lunatic to leave you alone?\u201d I ask, draining the noodles.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes,\u201d she says, carrying the salad to the table. \u201cAn apparent husband who does not take kindly to another man harassing his wife.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDo you think this lunatic might resort to violence? Should he find you with an apparent husband?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI doubt it,\u201d she says, shaking her head. \u201cBut I don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease forgive me for prying, but\u2026 have you had other lovers since you slept with Arthur?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she whispers.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d I say, nodding.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh what?\u201d she says, frowning at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour fear of him kept you from loving another.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, it did,\u201d she says, nodding.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

After supper we sit on the sofa in my living room enjoying the crackling fire, my dogs sprawled at our feet.<\/p>\n

\u201cI see a number of problems with your plan,\u201d I say, loving this time alone with Elisha despite the gravity of the situation. \u201cMay I enumerate?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease,\u201d she says, sitting much closer to me than she ever has.<\/p>\n

\u201cFirst of all, should this fellow come to our town, he will encounter no one here who knows of our supposed marriage. Second, your children will have to be enlisted in this pretense of our being married, and brilliant as your children are, they are not trained actors. Third, we would have to concoct a believable living-together charade involving all of us sleeping under one roof, this roof or your roof, and\u2026\u201d I pause portentously. \u201c\u2026you and I ostensibly sleeping in the same bed.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSeems crazy,\u201d she says, nodding in agreement. \u201cSo what do you<\/i> think we should do?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe?\u201d I say, arching an eyebrow.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou and I?\u201d she says, looking into my eyes.<\/p>\n

And though my rational mind is shouting at me not to succumb to impulse, I say, \u201cI don\u2019t think we should pretend. I think we should be lovers and get married and live together for the rest of our lives.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d she says softly. \u201cThat\u2019s what I want, too.\u201d<\/p>\n

I freeze in quasi-disbelief, deduce from the available data that she wants me to kiss her, so I do, and our kiss turns out to be one of those doozies that propels us to my bed where, as the old saying goes, we know each other and the knowing is good.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

We wake early the next morning with a renewed thirst for knowledge, and when our thirst is quenched for the nonce we make an omelet and look at each other as if seeing a miracle unfolding, which I guess one is.<\/p>\n

Tummies full, Elisha calls Florence, strategizing ensues, and ere long we are a party of seven in Grady\u2019s turquoise 1967 Lincoln Continental heading over the hill to the county seat to get married.<\/p>\n

Grady, seventy-four, is driving, Florence, fifty-three, sits beside him, and next to Florence is Delia Krantz, ninety-four, honorary mother and grandmother to all of us, while in the backseat, Elisha and I bookend Conor, fifteen, and Alexandra, twelve\u2014the mood jubilant.<\/p>\n

I keep expecting to wake up and find myself alone in my bed as per usual, but Elisha keeps being there giving me alluring looks, and Conor and Alexandra keep being between us, both of them grinning.<\/p>\n

Now we are getting out of the car and going into a big old brick building and standing in line to get our marriage license as prelude to gathering in a little room where a smiling woman with short gray hair reads a brief speech about marriage and Elisha and I vow to stick together through thick and thin unto death and Grady hands me a ring I slip onto Elisha\u2019s finger and Florence hands Elisha a ring she slips onto my finger and we kiss and everyone cheers and cries.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

Two days later at ten in the morning, I am sitting in Mona\u2019s<\/i> finishing a letter to my friend Cole who lives in Connecticut, updating him on my marital status. Elisha is behind the counter filling a bag with muffins for Jennifer Smits who works at the one and only bank in Carmeline Creek and is purchasing the muffins to share with her co-workers.<\/p>\n

The door bursts open and Conor and Alexandra rush in with several copies of the Carmeline Creek Crier<\/i> fresh off the press. Alexandra runs to Elisha, Conor runs to me, and my bride and I simultaneously admire the big color picture of us on the front page. We are standing on the steps of the county building, holding hands, Elisha looking gorgeous, I not gorgeous, but very happy. The caption reads Congratulations Elisha and Paul<\/i>.<\/p>\n

And the very next minute, and I mean the minute right after the kids brought us the Criers<\/i>, the bakery door opens and Arthur Chance walks in. I know he is Arthur Chance because Elisha showed me a picture of him, though he is much older than he was in the picture\u2014a few inches shorter than I, burly, his thinning black hair turning gray, his brown eyes magnified by thick-lensed glasses in black frames. He is wearing brown slacks and a wrinkled gray shirt and a garish yellow tie decorated with black squiggles. He reminds me of a harried businessman arriving home after a long commute, looking forward to a refreshing drink and a hug from his wife. And despite what I know about him, I don\u2019t dislike him, nor do I sense he is prone to physical violence.<\/p>\n

I stand up to face him\u2014Conor and Alexandra beside me.<\/p>\n

Arthur approaches the counter and says to Elisha in a surprisingly boyish voice, \u201cThere you are.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease go away,\u201d says Elisha, fighting her urge to scream. \u201cYou\u2019re not welcome here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need me, Elisha,\u201d he says, plaintively. \u201cYou need to not be alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s not alone,\u201d I say, approaching him\u2014Conor and Alexandra following close behind. \u201cShe\u2019s with us. I\u2019m her husband and these are our children. I appreciate your concern for my wife, but you are not wanted here.\u201d<\/p>\n

He sneers at me. \u201cMind your own business. This is between me and her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d I say, shaking my head. \u201cMy wife\u2019s business is my business, and if you don\u2019t leave immediately, we will call the sheriff who is a very good friend of ours and no friend of stalkers.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cShe doesn\u2019t have<\/i> a husband,\u201d he says, snarling at me. \u201cYou think I\u2019m an idiot? Just stay out of this if you don\u2019t want to get hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHey,\u201d says Conor, stepping in front of me. \u201cDon\u2019t threaten my father. And stop bothering my mother. We don\u2019t want you here. Just go away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to see a psychologist,\u201d says Alexandra, speaking quietly to Arthur. \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t be following us. You need to leave our family alone.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat?\u201d says Arthur, squinting at Alexandra and Conor.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou need to leave our family alone,\u201d says Alexandra, raising her voice. \u201cWe don\u2019t want you here.\u201d<\/p>\n

Arthur blinks a few times as if waking from a trance and his snarl gives way to a look of bewilderment. Now he looks at Elisha who has been joined behind the counter by Mona, looks at Conor and Alexandra again, looks at the dozen other people in the caf\u00e9, all of whom are watching him, their fear palpable; and lastly he looks at me and I can see he realizes his psychic grip on Elisha is gone and there is no niche for him here, no place to hide, no victim to torture.<\/p>\n

Now he hurries out the door\u2014Conor and Alexandra and I following him out and watching him grow small in the distance and getting in a car and driving away, the car growing smaller and smaller until it disappears.<\/p>\n

\u2206<\/p>\n

We\u2019ve decided to sell the house Elisha inherited from Rex Abernathy and expand my house to better accommodate the four of us. Living in town, we won\u2019t need to drive except to go on long trips, so we\u2019ll only need one car instead of two. The kids can walk to school, Elisha can walk to work, and I can walk the dogs on the headlands mid-morning\u2014four dogs now, a happy pack.<\/p>\n

In bed this morning, Elisha and I were enjoying the sounds of the kids in the kitchen feeding the dogs and starting the water boiling for coffee and tea, when Elisha wrapped her arms around me and said, \u201cYou were so wise to suggest we not pretend.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u00a0 \u00a0fin<\/i><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Okay, so I\u2019ve been in love with Elisha Montoya for four years, three months, two weeks and five days. I know with such exactitude because in my desk calendar for that year, on the day she and her children arrived in our midst, I wrote in purple ink: Elisha Montoya appeared in Mona\u2019s today. Spanish […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[5470,5467,5469,306,5468,5498,5496,5493,5497,5495,5492,5494,51,9,33,5491],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3002"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3002"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3002\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":3005,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3002\/revisions\/3005"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3002"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3002"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underthetablebooks.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3002"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}