Page 32 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
Isabel doesn’t let our hesitance bring her down. “Dev, ask him if he’s free.” She holds her hand up when Dad opens his mouth. “This is a good thing,” she tells him.
“I don’t think that’s—” I start.
“Come on, Dev!” Isabel interrupts, nudging my arm. “We’re talking about your boyfriend. You should feel comfortable inviting him over.”
“He’s just…really busy…with college prep stuff…” Killed it.
“Too busy to eat dinner?” she asks with a raised brow.
I chance a peek at Maya over Isabel’s shoulder, silently begging her to find a way to get me out of this mess. All she offers me is a shrug.
“O-okay.” I finally give in, and Isabel cheers.
My hand shakes as I open up my thread with Julian, scrambling to find a way to word the text without looking like I’m sending a Tolkien-length message.
My stepmom wants you to come over for dinner tomorrow
I don’t bother to phrase it as a question. Isabel’s made it clear that she’s not going to let this go. Still, I hold on tothe hope that he can think of a way to turn down the invite. Julian’s response comes a few seconds later.
Sure.
I’m sorry for the way things went down today.
So much for him putting up a fight. I don’t have time to process Julian’s apology. Isabel’s still waiting for a response, so I give her the most eager thumbs-up I can muster.
“Perfect!” She beams, turning to the others. “And we’ll all be on our best behavior, right?” She stomps her foot when no one responds. “Right?”
“Right,” Dad, Andy, and Maya mutter.
I wish I could sink down beneath the floorboards and spend the rest of my life as a spirit haunting the crawl space with the possums instead of live this painfully awkward existence.
Maya shoots me a discreet wink while Isabel rattles off plans for tomorrow’s dinner. Knowing her, she’ll find a way to spin this as a good thing. Get the enemy on our turf, show him what they’ll be taking from us if they win, try to get the weakest link on our side. The framed pictures of Mami on the mantel, the smell of her still lingering on her favorite couch throw pillow—the type of mementos that could tug even ice-cold heartstrings.
We can try to do the impossible: give a Seo-Cooke a conscience.
CHAPTER NINE
Somehow, I become an even more strung-out, nervous wreck than I already am. I can’t so much as glance at Dad without feeling the truth crawl up my throat like bile, only stopping myself when I catch Maya glaring at me.
Strangely enough, our home renovations become a welcome distraction. I don’t have to talk to Dad about my fake boyfriend when I’m busy wiping gunk out of the crevices in the living room windows. For now, anyway. Maya’s half of the deal doesn’t kick in until I’ve made it through an afternoon at the Seo-Cookes. Cosmetology may be her passion, but she’d make an excellent, and very ruthless, lawyer.
After morning training, I barely have enough energy to lift a pencil, let alone work on my mentorship piece. Not when all of my extra energy has to go toward renovations. The lack of time for productivity actually has me looking forward to my first day at the Seo-Cookes’. Desperate times.
Dad takes a certain pride in sprucing up the house before dinner. He pauses replacing the wood on our dock in favor of dusting the living room mantel so we can hang up the stockings Mami knit for us. They’ve seen better days, especially next to Andy’s and Isabel’s new ones, but the message is clear: this home is rich with memories. Our names, written in dull red yarn, have become too frayed by time to still be legible, the edges chewed on by moths. But we don’t have the heart to put them back in the closet. With just a few small changes, our cabin begins to feel like a living museum. A memorial to the life we used to have.
It should feel comforting, watching our cabin revert to the holiday haven it used to be, having all these pieces of Mami, of her story, out proudly on display. Maybe it could even be better than the cabin we knew. With all the changes, it’ll start to look like the place Mami always dreamt it could be. But running my fingers along the edges of my moth-eaten stocking just feels like a stark reminder of everything we stand to lose.
Once Julian texts me that he’ll be over in ten, my hands start trembling so hard I can’t button my shirt.
“That’s what you’re going to wear?” Maya asks when I storm into her room half-dressed.
“Does it really matter?” I cross the room to check myself out in her full-length mirror. “It’s not like he’s actually my boyfriend.” I may not have any experience in the boyfriend department, but my paint-splattered jeans and gray flannel aren’t going to offend anyone.
“That doesn’t mean you can get away with looking like you got dressed in the dark,” she replies, rolling off her bedwith a sigh. “C’mon, let’s find something we can work with.” She sticks her fingers through my belt loops and drags me toward my and Andy’s room.
I groan for the sake of appearances, but I’m secretly grateful for her help. Being forced to reevaluate my entire wardrobe for fifteen minutes will at least keep my mind off dinner.
Maya wrinkles her nose as she sorts through my shirts, pinching the sleeve of a yellow plaid shirt. “We seriously need to go shopping before you leave.” She tosses the shirt straight into the hamper. “It’s a miracle the Californians haven’t eaten you alive yet.”
