Page 18 of The Fake Dating War

So now, I wear Ms.Beatrice’s clothes.

Sexy Reema on the loose! Want to watch a full-coverage strip-tease? I got you.

Yawning, I wrap myself in a duvet that smells like incense and mothballs, falling asleep in the corner of a living room, surrounded by a curtain held up by zip-ties.

I think of Coleman.

If he saw me now, what would he think?

How hard would he laugh?

13

JAKE

I met my mother at a coffee shop. They took away most of their seating and filled the place with jam jars. It doesn’t invite people to linger, but my mother, Charlotte Coleman, doesn’t care. We’re here early enough to grab the only table in the corner.

The shop has yellow-painted walls, its shelves also filled with bundles of strange produce like asparagus, beets, and yams, though nothing on the menu suggests those things are used in the food or the coffee. There are so many plants hung from the ceiling that they’ve blotted most of the lights, but my mother—and the owners apparently—seem to think it gives the place a nice, shaded-under-a-tree experience. Personally, I find the place dingy and weirdly moist.

With her reading glasses on, my mother looks over the documents I’ve printed.

“The important parts are highlighted,” I tell her.

She flips through the booklet faster than she can read. “Everything is highlighted, dear.”

“I don’t want you to miss anything.”

When she reaches the summary page, a line between her eyebrows deepens.

“What part is confusing? I’ll explain it,” I offer.

She puts the papers down. “I understand you are buying the house back.”

“Yes, but it will stay under your name. No one is going to take it away from you.”Again.

Her expression softens. “I know, but this is so much work, Jake. I knew you said you would figure it out, but I didn’t realize it was going to bethismuch.”

Before I can respond, a family trickles into the cafe. The man wrangles a brood of kids and the other one goes to the desk to order. My mother’s reaction is plain on her face.Longing.She misses him. Her partner. My dad. Unlike me, her heart is forgiving.

“Don’t worry,” I say when she finally tears her attention away. “I don’t mind the work.”

She slowly takes her glasses off. “There are… other options. Rooms you can get in a facility or a little apartment in a more affordable area…”

“Not happening. You don’t have to worry.” I sip my black coffee.

“This isn’t your responsibility.”

“It’s not a burden.”

“You must have other things you want to save for.”

“There’s nothing more I want.” My head slants as I consider her. “Why? Do you want to leave the house?”

Does she finally have the tainted memories that I do? No, I think not. Her rose-colored view is remarkably stubborn. In a way, I’m glad it won’t ever change. She is exactly who she has always been. Unlike my father, who became a stranger in the end.

“I would like to stay, but—” Her eyes search for the price listed on the papers. Her gasp is an accurate reaction. It’s enough to drive the air out of your lungs. Thirty years ago, my father bought the house for a fraction of the cost, but those days are gone. To get it back under Charlotte Coleman’s name is going to cost me a fortune.

My mother looks lost. “This is so much, and you’re not letting your brothers help you either?—”

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