Page 35 of Caught in a Bad Fauxmance
Julian’s smile falls, his brows knitting together. “Princeton?”
All the tension we’d chipped away comes rushing back as Dad turns to glare suspiciously at Julian. “Your dad said you’re enrolled for the fall.”
“He still has to interview at Yale, so it’s all up in the air,” I blurt. “Such an overachiever, isn’t he?” I wrap my arm around his shoulders, giving them a reassuring squeeze.
Julian nods, patting my hand. “That’s me.” He lets out the world’s saddest chuckle.
We’re quite possibly the worst liars in the entire state of Florida. I’ve managed to sweat through any semblance of style Maya worked into my hair, and Julian has gone as pale as the tablecloth. Maybe I should call this whole thing off, tell everyone the truth now and beg for forgiveness.
Isabel swoops in to save the day before we can dig ourselves into an even deeper grave.
“Well, if the whole Ivy League thing doesn’t work out, you should seriously consider culinary school. Because this”—she points her fork at the bowl—“is so good. I have no idea what a currant is, but if you can make it taste like that, I’ll eat it every day.”
The change of topic calms Julian down enough for some color to return to his cheeks. She takes the praise one step further, doling out servings onto everyone’s plate.
“Try it,” she says to the table. It’s a command, not a suggestion.
I happily let go of Julian, smiling gratefully at Isabel before slicing one of my parsnips in half. My eyes widen around my first tentative bite, much like Isabel’s had. I can’t say it’s like anything I’ve had before. Autumn flavors bloom on the tip of my tongue—crisp November air and the sweet smell of pumpkin and apple cider–flavored treats wafting from the kitchen. I’ve never had such a visceral, emotional experience with food before, and definitely not with somethingas mundane as parsnips. This must be what that critic fromRatatouillefelt like.
“Whoa,” Maya whispers after she takes her first bite.
“Julian, this is amazing,” I say, and it’s not even a part of the performance. A milestone: my first genuine compliment for a Seo-Cooke. The boy may be dull as a rock, butdamn,can he cook.
Julian ducks his head with a shy smile, toying with his sterling-silver cuff links. “It’s just a recipe I found online.”
I tune out the rest of the conversation in favor of trying to snag seconds. Maya grabs the bowl first, grinning triumphantly as she claims the last of the parsnips. Right when I go to swipe some off her plate, she leans in and gives them a good lick, marking her territory.
“Bitch,” I mutter, earning me a warning slap on the wrist from Dad. I turn my attention to Andy’s plate, where his parsnips are still untouched. “Andy, give me yours.” I reach my fork across the table to take them myself.
Andy bats me away. “No, they’re mine.”
Isabel sticks her arm between us when I go to poke Andywith my fork. “Andy, eat your parsnips or give them to Devin.”
I reluctantly lower my weapon, watching Andy prod his parsnips limply before closing his eyes and taking a bite. “Dude, this is the best vegetable I’ve ever had,” he says to Julian with delight. “Like, ever.” He scarfs down the rest of his parsnips in two wolfish bites. I’m not as annoyed about the loss now that Julian doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up anymore.
“Andy doesn’t just compliment any vegetable,” says Maya.“He’s forty-five percent dinosaur chicken nugget.” Andy nods, cheeks full as a chipmunk.
Julian straightens up, accepting the praise with pride and a nervous smile. For a few seconds, it’s as if this isn’t the weirdest thing in the world. We’re just a group of people getting to know one another. But Dad, the only person who hasn’t fallen under Julian’s cooking spell, brings the tension back with full force.
He waves his fork at me and Julian. “So, when exactly did this happen?”
It takes me a second to process the question. Julian’s newfound confidence quickly deflates. We exchange fleeting, harried expressions before we both turn to answer.
“Last week—” I begin the exact moment Julian says, “Two months ago—”
Dad’s brow wrinkles as he narrows his eyes at us. “Was it a week or two months?”
“We made it official last week, after seeing each other in person,” I answer quickly, shoving my elbow into Julian’s ribs. “But we started texting two months ago.”
Julian adds, “It’s been such a whirlwind, it all blends together.”
Dad hums, a deep frown still set on his face. “It’s odd, though. You two didn’t even seem interested in being friends last week.”
“I figured you might be upset, so we wanted to wait before breaking the news to everyone.” I laugh as I turn to Julian, using this as an opportunity to communicate “shut up and let me handle this” with my eyes. “Guess I’ve always had a soft spot for him.”
“You called him a dipshit three days ago,” Andy interrupts.
I give him a strained smile, taking Julian’s hand. “But he’smydipshit.”
