Page 46 of The Fake Dating War

Turn around.To add emphasis, I remind him of my first point.For those stomach issues.His next response takes longer than the others. I’m almost lulled into this sense of relief that he’s listened to me, but I should’ve known better.

What if I’m asked about these stomach issues later? Lying doesn’t come naturally to me.

And it does to me? Is that what he’s saying?

It sure did come easy when you stockpiled those clients,I write back. What did he think the premise of this week would be? And why is there a hot wiggle in my chest? Something that feels like guilt. Something that makes me wonder if I’m a bad person for doing all this?

“Reema,” asks Pooja. “What do you think of this one? We all love it.”

I make appropriate cooing noises at the white strings the owner presents to the group. A debate is sprung up about the bride buying all white lingerie or not. It buys me time to nestle my phone between my thighs so I can read Coleman’s next text.

I didn’t want to stockpile anything. It’s not something I’ll do again.

Is he implying that Ididwant to do it?

Don’t pretend you are better than the rest of us,I write, fiery annoyance spiking within me.

Three dots appear. He is typing. The dots disappear. There is no message.

He’s not responding and that bothers me more. As ifI’mthe one who is taking this too far.

“Is that him? Is Jake coming?” Esha has come to stand above my shoulder. She’s got a feather boa wrapped around her neck. The presentation is over. Jyoti and Pooja have left to browse the store for their own lingerie needs.

I turn my phone over so Esha can’t see the screen. “It’s awkward for him to be here,” I tell her, opting for half-honesty, my conversation with Coleman ringing loudly in my mind. I’m not lying to hurt anyone. This whole fake-boyfriend situation was because I knew it would be… easier… and I was so tired of all the sympathy and questions… and the back-ended commentary on my choices…

Esha lifts her hand, palm-face up. I go to high-five it, but she moves it away, so I get her knee. I smile. It’s a move we did all the time as kids.

The last time we played this game was so long ago. Another lifetime ago. Time has moved so fast, and my current life feels so sloppy when I compare it to the straightforwardness of my past. That’s why I want to erase all the mistakes of these last few years before anyone sees them. So I can pretend they happened to someone else.

My sister sits. “You know, I almost cared more about seeing you this week than having my actual wedding.”

My mouth goes slack.

“Relax. I saidalmost.This is still my week, and I’m going to be the center of attention, but can you also stay by my side?”

I nod, feeling a fresh layer of guilt. “Of course.”

“You can help me pick my last outfit, and we can spend time together, and I can spend time with Jake and get to know him as well? I’m pretty sure we’ll be done here by the time he comes. Tell him we won’t make it awkward for him. Tell him to come. Please?”

“Okay.” How can I say no to that?

Internally wincing, I type out another text to him.

Actually, can you come?

I’m so hot and cold. Is he going to punish me for it? He has no reason to show up. I don’t even know why he’s here in the first place. We’re not friends. We’re co-workers. Competitors. Two people who argue more than they ever agree. He has no reason to do anything I ask him to do, especially after this last conversation.

Putting my phone away, I help Esha pick out the flimsiest piece of lingerie we can find.

As a thank-you, she digs her hand underneath my sweater and finds the strap of my bra. It’s lifted and released, the band snapping back on my skin.

“Fuck-off,” I say, rubbing my shoulder. “What was that for?”

“Howoldis that bra? It looks aged.”

Pooja contributes, “Everyone has a favorite cotton bra, but did I just see that yours is oatmeal colored?”

“Dirty oatmeal,” adds Jyoti.

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