Page 81 of Fake It 'til You Make It

I’m about to protest but Abbey is heading off along a purpose-carved walk cut into the side of Sulphur Mountain. ‘Plus, like I say, life can be much more fun than being stuck in an office, right?’

Right. Like working on a TV-production set, or a baseball field.

We explore the breathtaking area, a lightness back in us both. Everything else that’s going on is so far beneath us here – out of sight and out of our minds as we laugh and joke through the walk, pausing at the viewpoints where we both take pictures of the scenery and a couple of selfies together.

Refreshingly, we don’t have to take a thousand pictures like Ihad to do with Fleur, each exploring an ever so slightly different angle, a hair fix in between and a reapplication of lip gloss, knowing one of the bunch at least must be Instagram worthy.

It’s just a picture, capturing a moment between two friends. Easy and not forced.

34

TED

At seven thirty, Abbey and I are in her bedroom getting ready for dinner with her parents. I haven’t met her dad yet and I’m not sure whether I should be excited or nervous – if he’s anything like her mom, he’ll be a force to be reckoned with, a little hostile and very anti my fake relationship with his daughter.

Abbey steps out of the ensuite wearing a dress I haven’t seen on her before. It shows off her figure in a way that’s sophisticated. It’s understated but quite fancy for a dinner with parents, and I wonder if this is always how she dresses at home, or if this is supposed to be the first meeting with a new boyfriend, an occasion.

‘You look… nice,’ I tell her. It’s a huge understatement, but in a nanosecond of consciousness, I decide ‘nice’ would be better than something like stunning, mesmerizing, beautiful, in the circumstances. We are, after all, friends helping each other out.

Nevertheless, on seeing her, I do make a mental decision to wear smart pants and a shirt, rather than jeans and a T-shirt for dinner. I climb off Abbey’s bed, where I’ve been lying chilling out whilst she’s been getting ready. I locate the pants I hung up in herwardrobe earlier, slip out of my shorts and T-shirt, and fold them into a drawer.

As I’m standing in my underwear, I catch a glimpse of her reflection in the dresser mirror and realize she’s scrutinizing me. It’s nothing she hasn’t seen already, but I wonder what she makes of me. Does she find me lacking in some way? Or would she be happy to have me if this was a real relationship?

I’ve heard from Fleur so many times that I need to do this exercise or that exercise, how I shouldn’t eat this or that, and ridiculously, I’ve often taken her advice on board. It’s not that I don’t want to feel good and fit my clothes well but the constant nagging to be an Instagram fiancé is tiresome.

Abbey catches my eye in the mirror and starts.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare,’ she says.

‘As my girlfriend, I think you get a free look.’ I’m smiling, though I don’t feel the sureness my words suggest, and I slip into my shirt.

‘Well, if you will look like that, and as this is a short-term arrangement, I might as well get my fix.’

She laughs but I see her skin change color. She’s embarrassed, or nervous, I’m not sure. Either way, it’s kind of cute.

She’s this incredible, extroverted, sassy woman one minute and vulnerable the next. She’s like a city of secret passageways and I wonder how many other people get to see her hidden places, or if I’m the lucky one.

It’s seventy forty-five when we make our way downstairs to the dining room, somehow deep in discussion about the increasing prevalence of artificial intelligence and its use in the finance industry, joking about robots and space. It’s sort of crazy, as if it’s Abbey and me, rather than my brother. I’ve forgotten the lion’s den we’re about to walk into because we’re finding ourselves highly amusing as we happen upon Abbey’sparents, standing by a large, set dining table, each holding a glass of fizz.

I’m pleased I decided to go with smart pants. I’m also bracing myself for an evening of interrogation. All the calmness I’ve been feeling this afternoon and this evening with Abbey fades away and I tune in to the psyche of Michael Thomas.

Abbey’s dad is a tall man, heavy set and with a shock of grey hair. He’s wearing a suit jacket and separate smart pants in a way that reminds me of Richard Branson. I make this assessment whilst Abbey bounds into his chest and is folded into his arms. I avert my attention as they speak quietly to each other, Abbey’s dad kissing her hair.

Then, as Abbey steps aside, her dad does what every successful businessman is able to do in a matter of seconds – he weighs me up in one glance, so subtle another person might miss it, but I’ve seen it many times before; I do it myself.

My initial thoughts are that Abbey’s dad seems like a decent guy. He holds out a hand and when I take it, we shake firmly, but he doesn’t try a power hold, or to twist his hand so it’s on top of mine. He seems open, earnest, as if he’s treating me as an equal. A contrasting approach to Abbey’s mom.

‘You must be Michael, or is it Mike? I’m Terrance, call me Terry. You’ve already met my wife, Anna. I hope she didn’t give you too hard a time?’

He makes an expression that causes Abbey’s mom to roll her eyes, but surprisingly, it’s in a way that demonstrates years of alliance and love between them, which I recognize from the way my own parents behave after forty years of marriage.

Abbey and I must’ve had a similar upbringing in that respect. I already know she’s a family person, despite her grumbles about her mom at times, and I like that about her. I do miss having more time with my own family. It’s something that got eaten awayslowly but steadily, not so much by work as Fleur. I want to take that time back with them. And one day, should I have my own family, I’d like to think they would look upon me and my wife with similarly fond reflection.

‘No more than I’d expect from a loving mother,’ I reply, being kinder toward Anna than she was to me.

There’s a chance Anna’s smile is genuine, though the thought is fleeting because she quickly throws me to the wolf, or more appropriately, the grizzly bear.

‘Come and help me, Abbey, darling; we’ll finish the starters. Terry, you can pour the wine.’

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