Page 12 of Fake As Puck
I put both bottles in my cart because I’ve lost any ability to make rational decisions.
This is what my life has become. Twenty-four hours ago, I was a normal person with normal problems, like whether to order Thai food or pizza for dinner. Now I’m spiraling in a Target, overthinking toiletries for my fake girlfriend who’s arriving tomorrow to help me lie to everyone I know.
My phone buzzes. Text from Reed.
Reed:Dude, can’t wait to meet your girl tomorrow! Chelsea’s so excited to have another girl in the group.
I stare at the message, panic rising in my throat like acid reflux.
This is really happening.
West:Yeah, she’s excited too.
Which is probably a lie. Liv’s probably dreading this entire weekend. She’s probably already planning her escape route and calculating how much therapy she’ll need after pretending to be attracted to me for forty-eight hours.
Another buzz. This time it’s from the group chat.
Hurley:West bringing the girlfriend to Jake’s wedding too?
G:Better be. He can’t be third wheeling with us all summer.
Reed:Couples group chat is planning a wine tasting double date next week.
My hands start sweating. Wine tasting. Double dates. These people think I’m domesticated now. They think I’m the kind of guy who knows about farmers market schedules and home decor.
I am so fucked.
I push my cart toward the grocery section, trying to focus on the list I made this morning. The list that started as “food for weekend” and somehow devolved into “everything a fake girlfriend might need to not hate me immediately.”
Greek yogurt. Because girls eat Greek yogurt, right? It’s healthy and sophisticated.
Almond milk. In case she’s lactose intolerant. Do I know if she’s lactose intolerant? I should know if she’s lactose intolerant. We’ve known each other for fifteen years.
Organic apples. Because organic means I care about the environment and her health.
Fancy cheese. Because who doesn’t like fancy cheese?
Wine. To lighten the mood.
I’m reaching for a bottle of Pinot Grigio when my phone rings.
“Hey, Tessa.”
“Please tell me you’re not spiraling,” she says.
“I’m not spiraling.”
“You’re absolutely spiraling. I can hear it in your voice.”
“I’m grocery shopping. For Liv. Who’s arriving tomorrow to pretend to be in love with me in front of all my friends. This is totally normal behavior.”
“West.”
“I’m buying three different types of bread, Tess. Three. Who needs three types of bread?”
“Put the bread down.”
I look at my cart, which has somehow accumulated sourdough, whole wheat, and brioche. “How did you know I was spiraling?”
