Page 65 of Fauxmance in the City

Everything for the special has come together perfectly, but when I glance at Charles, he has a cynical smile, and I wonder if he knew all along Max was faking it.

We wrap, and the crew packs their equipment, everyone buzzing from the success. Sam disappears upstairs to change out of the stuffy clothes he had on for the shoot. I want to run after him, to make things right with us. But this thing will never be right with us again.

David detaches the mic pack from my clothes, and Max sits next to me in the kitchen. I eye the back stairs, waiting for Sam to reappear. The anxious knot in my belly grows bigger the longer I wait to tell him.

David heaves a large container out the back door, and Max stands, helping him bring it around the side of the building to where the van is parked out front. After all the chaos, the kitchen is silent, and my ears ring from the lack of noise.

Through the quiet, there’s muffled sobbing. It’s coming from the laundry room. I knock lightly and open the door. Jess is there, quietly crying.

“I’m sorry.” I go to shut the door, but she stops me, swiping her wet eyes with her sleeve.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Seeing Max brought up a lot of stuff.”

Jess takes a deep breath, then lifts her thin lips into a smile.

“Was it fun to film all this?” Jess asks, blinking back the tears. “You must be used to it.”

“Not really. I mean, I typically film stuff in the studio. This type of filming was all new to me.” I tap my fingers on the open door behind me. “I think they got some good shots of Max skating today.”

“Ice-skating? He hasn’t done that in years.”

“He’s very good,” I say. “But he did, um, have an episode. Does he suffer from PTSD?”

Jess crumbles into sobs.

“What’s wrong, Jess?” I ask in alarm, patting her shoulder, unsure if she wants my comfort.

“Max has been through so much.” Jess shudders. “I don’t want to pile more on him.”

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“Have you ever dreaded telling someone you love something terrible?” Tears drip from her lashes.

Gooseflesh prickles my skin. “It’s the worst.”

Jess glances over my shoulder, and when she’s assured we’re alone, she continues. “No one understands what Max has been through better than I do, because I went through a lot of it with him. The suicide bomb. Our friend dying. Flying into his arms for comfort." Jess rubs her eyes. “Our emotions were heightened, and it fast-tracked our relationship. When he took the assignment in Greece and we gained distance, I realized we’d made mistake. I was about to tell him when he got hurt and lost his memory. And suddenly, his story went viral—thanks to Gillian, I’m sure—and by the time he got his memory back, he left to film this, and Gillian was begging me to be a part of it and I wanted to help Max.

“Seeing him now…I thought he’d be a mess, but he looks good. Shaky, but getting on with his life. We’re meant to be meeting friends for a ski holiday, but the truth is I’m with someone else now. Another man from my unit.” Jess stops, focusing back on me. “Am I a horrible person?”

“It would be horrible to stay with Max out of obligation. You’re doing the right thing.” It feels wrong to be giving her advice about her love life when mine is falling apart as we speak.

Jess claps her hands once, clearing the air.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laid all that on you. I’m exhausted.” Jess slings her bag over her shoulder.

“I get it. That’s a big burden to carry,” I say, my heart going out to Max and her. I have no idea how he’ll take it, but since he never mentioned her before today, I’m hopeful that he’ll agree that they moved too fast and it’s time to part ways.

“I need to find Max. It was nice to meet you.” Jess leaves, and I sink against the dryer, my insides rotting as my new reality hits me again. There is nothing else to do but find Sam.

Halfway up the stairs, I pause. Starting tomorrow, I won’t have a job. All those little lies have caught up to me. I’d been one step ahead, the truth nipping at my heels, and now it’s swallowed me whole.

When I was seven years old, I stole a cat-shaped pencil sharpener from a neighbor’s kitchen counter. As we drove away, I pulled the little object out and showed it to my mom, telling her it had magically appeared in my pocket. Immediately seeing through my lie, she demanded to know where it had come from. Too embarrassed to tell her the truth and face the neighbors, I told her I took it from my dance studio, which had lots of little figurines and trinkets on shelves around the studio. I thought she’d drop it, but she drove straight to the studio and made me give it back to Ms. Taul, my ballet teacher. As I approached the teacher, my cheeks burned. Trapped by the situation I’d created, I whispered in her ear that I’d brought her a present and slipped it into her hands, running out of the studio and into the hot car. I was too humiliated to face Ms. Taul or the studio again, so I quit dancing altogether. Dance was never a great passion of mine, but a few little lies made the consequences worse than if I’d started with the truth.

I knock lightly on the door of the master bedroom, which we used as the dressing room today. Sam isn’t there, and all his belongings are gone. Water is running in the bathroom. Natalie stands over one of the sinks, rinsing her face.

“Where’s Sam?” I ask.

“He left.”

---