Page 6 of The Boyfriend Swap

“If you have a personal relationship with Jimmy Choo and can bring him to B&B, the money is yours. Otherwise—”

“I’m here,” my mom’s voice called out, sounding out of breath. “My phone was all the way at the bottom of my handbag.”

My dad raised a finger to his head and made a circular motion. “Honey, I’ve got Sid with me.”

“Great. I have you together,” my mother said excitedly. “You there too, Sidney?”

My dad rolled his eyes at me and mouthed, “Isn’t that what I just said?”

I chuckled and shifted my chair closer to my father’s desk so she could hear me better. “I’m here, Mom.”

“The count for Christmas is now thirty-nine people. I want to finalize the seating chart. We’ll probably get some last-minute guests and a few will cancel—”

My dad interrupted, “Who’s going to drop out? Unless someone has an aneurism or a last-minute stroke, assume everyone who said yes will be there. It’s the party of the year.”

I silently disputed his statement based on my attendance at the party for most of my twenty-eight years, during which I counted the minutes until it was over almost as soon as it began.

With an impatient edge to her trademark “Kathleen Turner” throaty voice, my mom said, “Fine. So we’ll assume minimum forty people. I need to know if you’re bringing a date, Sidney.”

Wincing, I clicked the notes application on my phone to my running to-do list. “Plan double date with Robyn to discuss the boyfriend swap” was second on the agenda after “schedule appointment for underarm laser” and before “read through last three issues ofPeopleandOK!magazines in preparation for conference call with CAA.” I’d been severely intoxicated when I transformed Anne Marie’s throwaway comment about swapping boyfriends into a full-fledged plan, but five days later and sober, I still thought it was brilliant.

Before I could answer, my mom said, “Because if you’re attending alone, I think we should seat you next to Aaron Davenport. He finally broke things off with his latest young trophy girlfriend. You can keep him entertained for a couple hours.”

I didn’t need her to clarify what she meant by “entertain.” My mother was not the madam of a brothel. She was merely a real-life society Westchester housewife whose most important role the last quarter of every year was to plan, as my father called it, “the party of the year.”

My dad yawned before saying, “Aaron hasn’t cut Ashley loose yet. He just manages his dates with her more carefully. Someone mentioned the politician Bill Boner over Thanksgiving dinner at the country club and apparently Ashley asked if he was ‘that guy from the porn movie,Ram Me in St. Louis.’”

I snorted. “Priceless.”

“At least Sidney manages to be charming even when she’s inappropriate,” my mom said.

“It’s my gift,” I said.

“So?” my mom prodded.

“Sorry, but you’ll need to find someone else to stroke Aaron’s ego for the evening. I’m bringing someone.” One way or another, I was bringing a plus one. Only time would tell if it would be Will or Perry.

My dad leaned forward in interest. “Potential client perhaps? Or someone with connections to the next big thing?” he asked, his face shining with hope.

“I don’t think he’ll be of interest to B&B, Dad.”

His face dropped as if the only reason I could possibly have to date someone was to add to B&B’s bottom line.

“Can you spare a tiny morsel of your life with your dear old mom? Is this ‘someone’ anyone special? A boyfriend? A friend? A plaything?”

Usually, I didn’t break a sweat over my mom’s desperate inquiries into my love life. She was used to them going unanswered ever since I broke up with my last serious boyfriend, Jake. We met in college, but our coupling didn’t make it past my first year of law school. That was entirely due to my determination to graduate at the top of my class, leaving me little time to spend with him, even on the weekends he came to visit me. Ivy League educated with more than a splash of Midwestern charm, Jake was the son my folks never had, and they took our split badly. It was years before we could get through a family gathering without his name coming up in conversation. Ever since, I worked hard at keeping my love life close to the chest. But even though I kept the information to myself, I always knew the answers. This time was different. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and looked down at my J. Crew suede kitten heels.

If I brought Will as my plus one, the answer was “some of the above.” Will fell somewhere between “plaything” and “boyfriend.” We were exclusive, which suggested “boyfriend,” but at only four months, we were still in the honeymoon phase. Our relationship was mostly sexual in nature so far. Not that either of us were complaining. If Perry accompanied me, on the other hand, the answer was “nothing special.” His only role was to be of as little interest to my parents as possible so we could all eat our baked ham, roasted artichokes, and apple pie in peace.

“Well, can you at least give me a name? I have an appointment with the calligrapher tomorrow,” my mom said when I failed to provide the desired response.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Perry.” I should have asked Robyn for a picture so I’d know what I was getting into. I was usually more on the ball. If he was unattractive, at least I wouldn’t have to actually sleep with him.

“Perry what?” my mom asked.

I gulped the rest of my coffee and winced from the stale cold flavor. After tossing the empty paper cup in my dad’s trash can, I stretched my neck from side to side to work out the stress-induced kinks while simultaneously wracking my memory for Perry’s last name. Did Robyn even mention it? If I’d asked, I could have stalked him on social media—party fail. Having stalled long enough, I said, “Perry…” just as a reminder showed up on my phone for my 8 o’clock dinner plans with Will at The Smith restaurant. It would have to do. “Smith. Perry Smith.”

Robyn

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