Page 47 of The Match Faker

My second is up. “Smart.” I set down my glass. “Let’s do this.”

My mother calls Jasmine’s name and she brightens, like how I imagine she did when her teachers called on her to answer a question in class. She’s got teacher’s pet written all over her.

Mom pats the chair beside her, near the head of the table. The seat usually reserved for Alex.

Alex’s eyes widen as we pass him, his brows shooting into his hairline.

“Are we both sitting up here?” I ask, pulling out Jasmine’s chair for her to sit.

My mom sits primly, her chin lifted. My dad, surprisingly, looks impressed. I don’t look at Jasmine because I can feel her staring at the side of my face.

“Or am I at the kids’ table again?”

“You know we don’t have a kids’ table, Nicholas,” Dad says dryly.

“Thanks,” Jasmine murmurs as I take the seat next to her, the one Robert usually sits in. I bump my shoulder to hers in acknowledgment, though I’d prefer to have a word with all the guys who never held her seat for her, instead.

My parents hired caterers for dinner tonight and the party tomorrow. Mom stopped trying to cook for all of us once two of my siblings started producing offspring and four siblings had long-term partners. It’s expensive, but she’s a lot less stressed at Christmas now. She and my dad were the ones who decided to have all these kids anyway.

The volume rises and falls between courses, first a coconut-cream soup, then a salad with goat cheese and cranberries. My siblings get up throughout the night, chasing after errant children, changing diapers or supervising a bathroom break, and putting the littlest ones to bed.

While we wait for the entrées, Tilly wiggles her way between my chair and Jasmine’s, icing Jasmine out like the nose-picking Mean Girl she is.

“Dis yours?” she asks, holding a phone up to my face. The screen’s background is a photo of Jasmine and Jade sitting on a towel on a Toronto beach on a sunny day. Jasmine wears a wide-brimmed hat, sunglasses, and a flowy beach cover-up over a green one-piece with a swooping neckline, while Jade is hatless, in a neon pink two-piece, and likely no sun protection if the burn developing on her cheeks and nose is any indication. Her hair is longer than when I met her and a vibrant, Smurf blue.

“It’s Auntie Jasmine’s, honeybuns,” Robert prompts, smiling apologetically at my fake girlfriend.

“Oh. It’s fine. I mean, I’m not…she doesn’t…”

I take the phone from Tills and pass it to Jasmine just to end this spluttering.

“It rang several times while Tilly was helping me put the baby down. We thought you may want to check.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says quickly, her spine snapping straight and her cheeks flushing. “I hope it wasn’t keeping him awake.”

“It’s fine.” Robert rests a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It just seemed like someone really wanted to get in touch with you.”

If possible, she tenses further. “It might be Jade.” But she doesn’t stand or even look at her phone because god forbid she be impolite even while she’s probably imagining worst-case scenarios.

“It’s fine,” I assure her, covering her hand with my own. To play the part, because that’s what good boyfriends do. And for no other reason. “Go take the call.”

With a tight smile, she excuses herself and hurries to the stairs, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.

13

JASMINE

Downstairs, the Scotts talk and laugh, and wine glasses and cutlery clink. But the sounds are muted, filtered, and not just by Nick’s closed bedroom door. The moment Chloe answered the phone, it’s as though someone popped a fishbowl on top of my head.

The gas fireplace was on when I was down there, the low lighting making the room cozy and warm. Up here? I’m freezing. So frozen I can’t even get up to find my sweater, a blanket.

A can of gasoline.

“Jasmine?” Chloe asks, her tone laced with concern.

“Sorry,” I say. “I need you to repeat that.”

Chloe pauses. I get it. This will be her third time through. “Is everything okay?” she asks.

---