Page 109 of The Fake Dating War

“No pressure about a future wedding or doing this for yourself again,” says Esha, smudging eyeshadow along my eyelid. “But how excited are you about your future with Jake?”

Excited… future… It’s way more complicated than she knows.

“What if love turns me into an idiot?” I ask instead of answering, voicing the secret demon of a fear that lives inside me.

“You’re already an idiot,” says Esha with fondness. “But also, I think it’s supposed to do that to a degree. Like I’m so excited about blending baby food. Isn’t that idiotic?”

“Blending baby food? But you hate mushy food.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“My back already hurts, I throw up, and I’m going to get huge. But like an idiot, I can’t wait for when Gurinder has to massage my swollen, stubby feet every night. Or when I tell him to trim my hoo-haw cause I can’t reach it myself.”

“That man is a saint,” I tell her with utmost sincerity.

“Please, I’m a catch. Every week, I rub oil into his hair before he washes it. He loves it. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he’s the one who is all, ‘Should we have a spa day, babe?’”

A wave of jealousy washes over my heart.

What my sister is talking about is a real, equitable partner.

And sure, in a fair and perfect world, I don’t mind giving more than taking sometimes, because not everyone has the same strengths. A good partner is supposed to forgive, accept, and nurture the other, even when they aren’t doing great. Setbacks happen. Life can be a real kick in the ovaries. Men, too, need support. It’s not like I expect to be treated like some grape-fed goddess. Sometimes. Occasionally. Here and there.

But even before the gambling messed it all up, back when Harry and I were dating, any time I complained, saying how it would beniceto not think, plan, and base all my actions around his schedule, he insisted that I was so good at balancing everything. That I was the perfect, nurturing girlfriend.

And like someone who has always been an Achiever, I let the compliment feed me. It made me so proud. Yes, I am the shield keeping this man together.

Now, I know better.

A partner is worth so much more. Maybe even better than an earth-shattering, squirt-astic orgasm… which I’ve never had happen to me. The squirting part. Yes, I’m manifesting. That’s how that works.

“You haven’t said I love you,” Esha guesses, finishing up with my eyes.

“No.”

Here is another opportunity for me to come clean. To tell her the real story of why Jake is here, but I’m afraid it will pull attention from her special moment. This is the eve of her reception, not a session for us to dig into my life. But as soon as she is back from her honeymoon, I’ll share the truth. I can’t stand her not knowing any longer.

“Do you love him?” she asks.

“No, of course not,” I scoff.

She gives me a very snooty eyebrow raise.

“I don’tlovehim,” I explain. “Not that I loathe him, either. I’m not saying that, but only warning you not to get overly excited like you do. These things are never guaranteed and you don’t know what’s going to happen in the future. All I know is we’ll be back at work soon, and sure, he is going to be there across from me. I mean, he has to be there. Always, he’s there. It’s what I count on—and—and what gives the day certainty.” I wave my hand in the air. “Only because we compete against each other. That’s why we’re at each other’s desks all the time, checking to see how the other is getting on with clients. And sure, I’ll probably toss him a compliment here and there. He carries a lot of worries on his shoulders about people he cares for and should decompress way more—but everyone in his life probably thinks that.”

“Do they?”

“Obviously. All you have to do is read his eyes. They get darker when he’s stressed, but a different kind of brightness and darkness mix when he’s worked up in a good way. And his mouth—is a really, really good mouth.” I clear my throat. “This is not me being a pervert, although it is fucking clever in certain naked-y situations. No, this is me saying that if you look at his mouth, you can guess his feelings. It doesn’t just smirk at you. It can be exasperated when you’ve done or said something outrageous and he wants to shake you a little, but is trying to be patient. I really lo—like when that happens. It’s fun. Bothering him. Actually, there’s this meter in my head.”

Esha runs a serum through my hair, polishing the waves. “What kind of meter?”

“It’s more of a vague score. And I’m sure he has it, too. You see, we try to keep the other person distracted. Bonus points if they break and laugh. A snort counts. Jake does that when he’s trying hard to keep a blank face and his nostrils are flaring, but I’ve really amused him. He also does it at night in his sleep. Do you know he dreams in colors but not shapes?”

She hands me a shimmery lip gloss. “That is… interesting.”

I glide it on while rolling my eyes. “Not interesting. Weird. I told him it’s because he punishes his brain with spreadsheets. He has one for his expenses every month. And his investment budget is like a hundred pages long. The man is obsessed with a good formula and thinks it helps make his life easier.” My eyes narrow. “I called it a kink. Why else give such a blank check for others to send him anything to organize and strategize? He totally gets off on it.”

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