Page 5 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Maybe that’s because you didn’t tell them the reason you and Andrew broke up. That cheating, lying bas?—’

If I wasn’t holding a box, I’d press my fingers to her crude mouth. ‘I’ve got it, thank you. There’s no point giving everyone the sordid details and dwelling on things. What’s done is done.’

Dee lowers her shades and gives me a school ma’am look, eyebrows raised. ‘Right, sure. It’s all the faff. That’s why you’d rather have our parents off side.’

The problem with siblings, especially the kind who follow you hundreds of miles from home in Alberta, Canada to New York City, and spend far too many nights sleeping on your sofa, is that they know you much better than you’d care to admit.

I’m not going to get back with Andrew. Of course I’m not. No chance.

He’s with someone else.

Regardless, I have a modicum of self-respect.

But what would be the point of my parents hating him? Moreover, why would I admit that I couldn’t hold on to him?

‘Plus’ – Dee drapes her arm around my shoulders – ‘when Itell Mom and Dad that I’m knocked up to a fellow actor and we aren’t even dating, I’m going to need to deflect.’

‘Ah, the truth. This isn’t a good idea. It’s a terrible idea that you hope will make Mom and Dad more irate than your illegitimate child? You remember they’re practicing Catholics, right?’

Dee shrugs. ‘My upbringing is precisely the reason Brett and I weren’t using protection.’

Despite the importance of the situation, I laugh. ‘I still can’t believe you’re going to be a mom.’

‘I know. Crazy, right?’

I don’t think, Ihope, that Dee’s flippancy is just because the enormity of the pregnancy hasn’t sunk in yet. Otherwise, it’s terrifying.

‘Have you told Nate yet?’ I ask.

Our brother, Nate, successful architect, married with two kids, all by thirty-two years old. Our parents adore him. Their only gripe with him is that they don’t see him enough.

But perfect Nate is sooooooo busy.

Dee is four years my junior, one year out of acting school, wild and most often penniless. Yet, whilst she’s been making babies, I have been unravelling every life goal I’ve strived toward since I was a teenager.

‘Nope,’ she says, with zero concern. ‘I’m going to try it out on him first, before the parents. Will you come to dinner with us? Nate will pay.’

I scowl at her, though I feel no menace. ‘If you stop showering me in sarcasm, I’ll think about it.’

‘Thank you.’ She gives me a chaste kiss on my cheek then starts walking, empty handed, away from my car load of belongings and toward the entrance of my new, swanky apartment block. She calls back across her shoulder, ‘It’s not like you have anything better to do now that you’re single and unemployed.’

She has a point.

I follow Dee to the main entrance, where she’s holding the door open for me, until her phone rings and she takes it from the pocket of her dress.

‘Hi, you,’ she says, letting the door close behind her.

‘Dee!’ I call, lugging my box. This is so typical of my sister. I love her but she definitely puts herself before anyone else.

Grunting, I lean back against the glass pane on one side of the double doors, balancing my box on one knee whilst trying to open the adjacent door with my spare hand.

I try to navigate my way through with my butt, but as I do, I lose balance. It’s my face or the box; one of us is going down.

The box falls, some of the contents spilling out.

‘Argh.’ I stomp my foot in frustration. It’s that or cry. Today is quickly becoming overwhelming. ‘What the hell am I doing here?’ I mutter, my voice breaking.

This is way out of my comfort zone. I’m not impulsive. I am not showy. And despite taking Dee’s advice, I’m just not the kind of woman who fakes it until she makes it.

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