Page 16 of Fumbled Into Love

“I agree,” my mom chimes in, her bright pink hair nearly blinding me as she leans over Gracie’s shoulder and takes over the screen. “When can I meet him?”

“New hair color?” I deflect. A month ago, it was a dark orange, and two months prior, it was a bright blue. I can’t remember a time when my mother’s hair was a traditional color.

Gracie shoves her away.

“I was talking to her first,” she whines. “You can interrogate her later; this is my time.” My mom pulls on Gracie’s hair before she sticks her tongue out and walks out the door. When it clicks shut, Gracie continues. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

My stomach churns at the hurt in her voice.

Every romantic milestone I’ve had, I’ve shared with Gracie. My first kiss in high school. When I lost my virginity in college. She's heard about my awkward hook-ups. My sister is one of my best friends, and if this was real—if this was the love story I’ve always hoped for, one full of grand gestures and loud declarations of love—I would tell her.

But what I have with Deon is none of those things.

It’s not the anticipatory butterflies before a first date or the giddy sensation right before they lean in for a kiss.

None of this is real, and I can’t tell her the truth, so I offer a half-truth instead.

“It’s new.” Her eyes narrow slightly. “I promise I was going to tell you; I only wanted to make sure it was going somewhere first.”

Gracie looks unsure, but she lets it go.

“My friends are going to flip when they find out.” She pauses, a small blush creeping onto her cheeks. “Aaron especially. He loves the Mavericks.”

I chuckle at the mention of the boy she’s had a crush on since high school. Three years at the University of Washington, and she still hasn’t made a move because she’s afraid to ruin their friendship.

My monologue about love fell on deaf ears when I tried to convince her to confess her feelings. Everyone deserves a grand love full of declarations and gestures. When I tried to gently shove them in the right direction—into each other’s arms, obviously—she iced me out for a week until I begged for forgiveness.

It’s not my fault my brain is wired to identify a problem and fix the problem. I’m the eldest daughter. Problem-solving is in my DNA. She should have known I would try something.

“How is Aaron?”

“Still clueless.”

“You should tell him, Gracie.” The look she gives me could cut glass. I laugh. “I think you may be surprised by his response.”

She grunts, dismissing my advice. It’s not the first time I’ve suggested it, and it won’t be the last.

One of us deserves a spectacular, once-in-a-lifetime love, and that’s not in my immediate future now that I’m the proud owner of a closed-off, anti-love fake boyfriend.

“No more secrets,” Gracie declares.

I swallow the guilt that rises to the surface before I nod. “No more secrets.”

“I already said I’m sorry,” Declan whines, his voice filtering through the phone.

“Why would you suggest me?!” My voice jumps an octave. “You date women all the time, why not mention one of them?”

“Because you’re nice…” He trails off, “And Deon needs someone kind.”

I accept the compliment, knowing Declan meant well. Those are the consequences of becoming friends. He offers my fake dating services to his teammates.

At least he chose an attractive one.

“I’m sad I’m missing family dinner,” he sighs, and I roll my eyes. So dramatic.

By some miracle, Declan has wormed his way into our weekly family dinners. He can’t always make it, but my father loves it when he does. No one devours food quite as well as Declan, and as a chef, my father loves that.

I swear Declan squealed when he found out my dad is from Spain and makes an outstanding paella.

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