Page 45 of The Boyfriend Swap

I tried to picture Jake as a father. Once, before we broke up, I’d told him I’d be up all night finishing a paper. This was when I was a law student at Colombia and he was still at Cornell getting his Masters. Jake drove from Ithaca to the city—a five-hour drive—with a Turkey Hill B.L.T. on ciabatta with melted cheese from Collegetown Bagels and corn nuggets from Glenwood Pines in a cooler. These were our go-to study foods as undergraduates and the gesture was sweet on so many levels. Only I’d been too focused on making law review to appreciate it, and after a snack and a short break for sexy time, I pushed Jake to go home so I could finish my assignment. I wasn’t a heartless wench during the entirety of our five-year relationship, but I’d reached that threshold eventually. If Jake’s performance as a boyfriend was any indication, he’d make a great dad, and, although it pained me to think about it even after all these years, a loving husband too.

Suddenly craving the sound of Lisa’s voice and nostalgic for someone who knew me before there was a JD at the end of my name, I sent her a text: “You up?” Then I tried to justify how texting someone well after midnight was acceptable. As a pastry chef for a Michelin-starred restaurant in Chicago, Lisa was accustomed to late hours. And, if not, hopefully she’d put her phone on silent so I wouldn’t wake her.

Before I could add to my list of defenses, my phone sounded to the ringtone of Destiny’s Child’s “Independent Woman” and Lisa’s name flashed across my screen. Either she’d been awake or I was about to be on the receiving end of a tongue-lashing from my very tired and angry best friend. “Merry Christmas,” I said gleefully into the phone.

“There are only three reasons you’d text me this late. Someone died, you’re working late, or you’re drunk. You wouldn’t be so giddy if someone kicked the bucket, so I’m guessing it’s one of the others.” She didn’t sound pissed—thank goodness.

“That would depend on whose leg did the kicking,” I said dryly.

Lisa chuckled. “Ah, yes. I forgot who I was talking to. So which is it?”

“None of the above, actually. I can’t sleep and thought you might be up. And you are.”

Lisa yawned. “Just barely. I spent hours preparing pies and was about to settle in for a few hours before I have to wake up and put them in the oven. I want to get to my dad’s early enough tomorrow to witness my nephews’ faces when they see the Christmas tree.”

“How is Frank these days?” Frank was Lisa’s father, and after a brief stint as a deadbeat dad after her parents’ divorce, he’d rediscovered his paternal instincts with the help of his second wife. Lisa and her younger sister eventually forgave him for those lost years and now alternated spending the major holidays with him and their mother, who was also remarried.

“Typical Frank. Trying to fix me up with his newest protégé.”

“Is this one promising at least?” Mr. Salinger was old-fashioned and wanted both of his daughters married by thirty. He didn’t seem to connect the fact that his own first marriage, at the age of twenty-three, had ended in divorce. The owner of a meat-distribution company, Frank liked to keep his matchmaking attempts close to home and pushed Lisa into many dates with his employees. None of them had led to a second date, probably because the so-far incompatible men likely only agreed to the first date to avoid termination.

Sounding weary, Lisa said, “I’ll find out tomorrow. Frank invited this one, a new vendor specializing in halal goat, beef, and chicken, to dinner.”

“Good luck with that,” I snorted, picturing a guy wearing a bloodstained butcher’s coat sitting at the head of her dining room table with a freshly slaughtered cow in front of him.

“And what about you? How’s Will? You’re still seeing him, right?”

“Yes, we’re still dating. But I brought someone else to the Bellows’ Christmas spectacular this year.”

Lisa gasped. “It’s not like you to cheat, Sid. Why not let him loose if someone else is tickling your fancy? And, yes, I am using ‘fancy’ as a euphemism.”

Laughing, I said. “I’m not screwing around on Will.” Even if I was bored with Will, as maddeningly perfect as Perry was from a purely superficial standpoint, I’d rather practice my swiping skills on Tinder than fornicate with him. “I borrowed someone else’s boyfriend for the week.”

“Come again?”

I explained the boyfriend swap to her. “Spending time with this guy is the equivalent of listening to the theme song ofOrange is the New Blackon repeat.”

“Yikes.” Lisa hated the song too, so I knew she’d get it.

“I don’t want to talk about him though. Other than him grating on my nerves, the swap is working, at least on my end.” Since the idea had been my creation, I wanted her to know the plan was solid—as solid as Perry’s pecs.

“Whatdoyou want to talk about?”

Jake. “Nothing specific. Just stuff. Any gossip to share?”For instance, Jake. Is he married with children?

“I’ve got nothing. Ask me again tomorrow. At least I’ll be able to shed light on Meat Guy.”

“Meat Guy? He sounds like a porn star.”

“If he has a mustache, I’m going home, and I’m taking my pies with me.”

I yearned to ask her what she knew about Jake, but my lips wouldn’t cooperate. She didn’t need to know I stalked him. I could say I saw his picture under “people you might know” on Facebook and noticed the twins. It wasn’t really lying as much as avoiding unwanted follow-up questions. I’d been so certain I made the right decision when I let Jake go, and I only looked back sometimes—like now. It wasn’t that I had regrets; I was just curious. So why couldn’t I ask the question? It was four words—is Jake a dad? I rolled my eyes up to the ceiling and let a stream of air out of my mouth. “So, I—”

“I love you, Sid, but do you mind if we table this conversation until tomorrow? I have to wake up in about five hours.”

I leaned back against my headboard and closed my eyes. “Sure thing. Get some sleep. Merry Christmas to the Salinger clan and give my best to Meat Guy.”

“Will do. Don’t kill Perry.”

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