Page 95 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Maisie Daisy snogged Andrew behind the bike sheds in high school. Then asked him to prom,’ Dee says.

‘I thought Andrew and I were starting to get together, become more than the girl and guy next door. But Maisie, with her big boobs and false eyelashes, made herself too available to resist.’ I’m still mad about it now. ‘I actually tried to switch my home room because of it but I had no luck.’

‘Then she and Andrew got it on after a house party on prom night and it was all anyone wanted to talk about for a week,’ Dee adds.

Even now, I could curl up and hide at the memory.

‘I thought you and Andrew were always a thing. I thought you were each other’s firsts?’ Shernette asks.

‘He was mine. Maisie was his.’ Before this conversation, I don’t think I’d put my mind to the similarities of then and what he did to me six weeks ago. Was I an idiot for much longer than I’m giving myself credit for?

‘Speaking of the lying jerk. Guess who I ran smack into right after lunch with his mom?’ I come to sit on the sofa between my sister and best friend, both of whom have a glass of wine on coffee tables placed at either side of the sofa. ‘Should you be drinking that?’ I ask of Dee.

Her eyes go wide and she raises her arms from her sides. ‘What could I say? Mom brought out the good stuff and she knows I’d never turn it down. I’m not actually drinking it.’

‘Isn’t now a good time to tell her about the baby?’

‘Are you kidding? The night before her vows? She’s going to hate me when she finds out – the fact I’m not a virgin will be the biggest shock.’

‘I think she knows you’re not a virgin, Dee.’ I think about my dad’s reaction just now – still baffling and unexpected. ‘Or maybe she’ll be happy? It will be her grandchild, after all. Speaking of which, is Nate home, yet?’

‘Meh.’ Dee flicks her hand. ‘They were on our flight, sitting in fancy class, naturally. Didn’t even bother bringing us a dessert back each. They’re meeting some of Nate’s friends for dinner tonight, apparently. Absolute lead balloon with Mom.’

‘Erm, sidetracked,’ Shernette says. ‘What happened with Andrew?’

I pick up Dee’s wine and take a sip. ‘He told me he made a mistake and that he wants me back.’

‘What? Is he serious?’ Dee asks, furious on my behalf, I think.

It’s a conversation we’ll continue later because Mom calls to us from the kitchen. ‘Girls, come and take your seats, please.’

There are things about my mom that drive me potty – like her drilling into me a checklist of life choices that I’ve never been able to fully attain – but the way she looks after us all and welcomes my friends into our fold as if they’re her own isn’t one of them.

We take our seats at the table. Though Mom has removed the extension piece from the middle of the large oval, we adopt our usual positions. Dad is sitting at the head of the table and Mom will sit opposite him at the other head when she takes a seat. I’m next to Dad on one side and Dee is next to him on the other. Shernette sits between Mom and Dee, where Nate would usually sit, and there’s a space for Mike between Mom and me, where my sister-in-law would be when we all get together.

There’ve been times, of course, when Andrew has been here and Nate’s kids, too, and we’ve added the extension for them to squish into the middle spots. But not tonight and, so far as Andrew goes, never again.

Six weeks ago, that thought would have made my eyes sting and brought a lonely pang to my chest, but not tonight. No more. I amso overAndrew and his bullshit.

There’s music playing lowly in the background – Dad’s old country tunes. I can smell Mom’s famous lasagna cooking and I’m not at all surprised when she walks into the room carrying plates of bruschetta topped with sliced mozzarella to start. Her classics never get old.

But I am surprised when she’s followed into the room by Mike, who’s also carrying three plates. ‘You can pop those three on your side, Michael,’ Mom tells him, with not a hint of resentment or ill-will.

He’s freshly showered, his hair still wet, and he’s wearing ashirt tucked into smart pants, similarly open at the neck and casual like my dad.

I’m pretty sure my heart just skipped a beat. Then he reaches into the wine bucket Mom generally rolls out when we have guests, dabs water off the bottle of white with a napkin, and tops off the glasses around the table, kindly not making a deal of it but missing out Dee.

All the while, the scent of him – clean and spritzed with flirt potion – infiltrates my senses. I’m putty for the millionth time today.

He replaces the bottle in the wine bucket, receiving thanks and smiles from Mom, then sits into the seat next to mine.

Just when I think I can’t take any more, his fingers find mine beneath the table and he locks our hands together, then brings them to his mouth, pressing his lips to my skin.

God. Help. Me.

Putty is way more solid than the way I am feeling right now. One hundred percent liquefied might just cover it.

I’m still in my sportswear, disheveled from our day and very much underdressed at the table. Yet the way he looks at me, his eyes hooded and gentle, it’s like he hasn’t even noticed.

---