Page 18 of Win You Over
“Sure, sure.” She one hundred percent doesnotbelieve me. “Why then did you suggest bringing your dude-bro Finn as a date?”
My sister misses nothing and I curse myself for the hole I’m digging. God, why didn’t I say girlfriend and then I could have invited Leann. She’s nice, they’d like her.
Think Remington, think.
And maybe it’s because he’s never very far from my mind, his brand of surly attitude, my kryptonite, but Holden’s name is the only one on my lips.
“His name’s Holden. It’s still new. I figured a family wedding would be too much, too soon. Because it’s new. This thing between us. Really new.”
“You said that already,” Nadine snarks before she opens her eyes wide, comically looking around the room.
“Is he here with us now?”
Rupert chuckles at my sister's ridiculous behaviour. I guess that's what happens when you're in love.
“Oh, fuck off, Nadine. He’s real. Mom met him.” I wave my fork in my mom’s direction.
All eyes turn to Mom, who is looking at me.
“I thought the two of you were just working on an assignment?” Mom asks, her eyebrows knitted together. “I didn’t realise there was more going on between you.”
Why is it so fucking hot in here? Lying. This is what lying does to me. It makes my body act up. I am the most honest person you’ll ever meet and now I’ve upset my own equilibrium.
“It’s still new,” I sayagain. “Can we eat now?” I shove a forkful of food into my mouth and circle the utensil in the air to signal they do the same. I need the conversation to be over before the hole I'm digging is deep enough to be my grave.
“Wellboetie,” Nadine starts, using the affectionate Afrikaans word for brother. “I look forward to meeting your new man.”
Great. Now all I have to do is convince the boy who hates me to pretend to be my boyfriend and fly across the world with me, to sit through days of family time and a lavish wedding.
Easy.
Chapter 8
Holden
“Bro, haven’t seen you in a while. Catch up soon, okay? I gotta fly.” My housemate, Rory, claps me on the shoulder as he barges out the front door, right as I’m walking in from a night shift at the grocery store where I pack shelves and take inventory. It’s Saturday, so Theo is at work, and I plan to catch a few hours of sleep before the fight tonight, once I’ve had something to eat.
Opening up my designated cupboard, I frown at the contents. Half a box of salted crackers, a shitload of ramen packets and peanut butter. Taking the crackers out, I place them on the counter and open the fridge where my eyes scan my shelf before coming to land on a box I know I didn’t place there.
Leftovers from the cafe. Enjoy. T
My heart warms with affection for my best friend, who’s made it his job to take care of me. Opening the box, my mouth waters at the slice of cheese and bacon quiche inside. Not even bothering to warm it, I tuck my box of crackers under my arm, and with a glass of water and my takeaway box in hand, I make my way down the corridor.
In my room, I take my phone out of my pocket, throw it on the bed and then sit down and tuck into my food. The quiche is soft and cheesy and utterly delicious. My stomach grumbles with gratitude as I inhale it in four bites. I could kiss Theo for this.
Next to me, my phone lights up. It’s another text from Remington. I ignore it, like I have all the others that he's sent today, choosing instead to eat a few crackers, taking my time. Then, dusting the crumbs from my top, I stand and stretch.
Giving my underarms a cursory sniff, I decide to shower before climbing into bed. Gathering up my toiletries and towel, I hurry down the hallway and into the small bathroom, and make quick work of cleaning myself, keeping my gaze off my body as usual. By the time I’m back in the room, my eyes are heavy and sleep is calling me.
A small, old radio sits on my bedside table, next to a photo of my mum and my twin sisters and a framed, tattered copy of a poem I wrote for Mum when I was sixteen. Turning the radio on, I pick up my phone, then pull back the duvet and climb into bed, looking around the space that Theo and I call home. It’s small, but comfortable and, most importantly, it’s ours.
There’s a poster we bought at a tribute concert last year hanging above our desk, two pot plants on our windowsill in pots we made at a pottery class Theo dragged me to, and an old record player on the floor in the corner of the room. I found it in a thrift store a few months ago, a bit beat up and not working, but I have plans to repair it. Theo has offered to help. Not thateither of us know how, but there’s a video for everything online these days.
Unlocking up my phone, I bury myself deeper into my blanket. The sheets smell like the softener Theo picked – floral and fresh – my pillow, though thin, is comfortable and as I sink into the mattress and pull the blanket higher, I release a deep, contented breath.
On the screen, I see I have one message from my mum reminding me to send birthday wishes to my stepdad tomorrow. I count seven messages from Remington. The first is asking if I’m coming over this afternoon to work on our assignment. The second and third, variations of the same question. I don’t reply because I honestly don’t know if I’m going to go.
Not only am I annoyed at his over inflated ego and buckets of self-assured smugness – one day I will knock him off his high horse – his persistence at building some form of relationship between us is chipping away at my resolve, just like the fucker hoped.
