Page 40 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
Less than three weeks into this fake engagement, and I can’t wait for it to be over.
Chapter10
Juliet
Iwake up early, already dreading the day. A message from my mother pings on my phone.
Mom:Juliet Eloise Monroe! I just read a news article that says you are engaged?? Is this true??
Mom:????????????????
I sigh. My mom knows. She’s a corporate lawyer, spending every spare hour at the office. My entire childhood consisted of being told to sit in her office and do my homework while she attended a very important client meeting. Even at home, she was always fielding calls and sending texts. She is always neck-deep in her latest case. Like my dad, she’s a serious workaholic.
I guess part of me hoped that Melissa and Tom Monroe would just not notice. After all, they didn’t know about my breakup with Patrick until two months later, when I called to let them know my plans to move back to Seattle. Only then did my mom even think to ask about my boyfriend of five years.
Mom:Tell me you didn’t let your family find out on the internet. Your grandparents will kill me, Juliet.
Ah, so that’s what she’s worried about. Not me, but how my uptight grandparents will react.
Yes, it was probably inevitable that my mom would find out about Hunter and me being ‘engaged’. We appeared in public together often enough, holding hands and staring into each other’s eyes, which led to countless sports news articles about us. That, plus Patrick’s mud-slinging contribution to the news cycle.
So what lie am I going to tell my mom? I think for a second before I type out my answer.
Juliet:Sorry. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing.
Mom:I think we should meet and talk about the engagement.
Juliet:We’re talking right now.
Mom:I’ll make us dinner reservations somewhere nice. I wanted to catch up with you, anyway. You know, your LSAT scores are still valid for another two years. It’s not too late to pursue a law degree.
I roll my eyes. It wouldn’t be a conversation with Melissa Monroe if she didn’t bring up law school, how I’m running out of time, and how I just need to apply to Stanford, her Juris Doctorate alma mater.
Juliet:
That’s it. No congratulations on my engagement, fake or otherwise. No mention of the fact that I’m currently the most talked-about woman in Pacific Northwest sports news. Just a reminder that Mom still doesn’t think this path is good enough for me.
I stare at the text for a long moment. Then I slowly flip my phone face-down on the nightstand and try to breathe.
This isn’t the future she wants for me. Not PR work. Not the sports industry. She wants me in law school, following the path she’s laid out since I was in high school. But this is what I want, even if it means fake engagement schemes and damage control meetings. I’m building something real here, something that matters to me. Even if no one else sees it that way.
I drag myself out of bed and into the kitchen, already bracing for whatever mood Hunter’s in this morning.
He’s leaning against the counter, shirtless and smirking, holding two mugs of coffee. His hair is still messy from sleep. There’s something almost boyish about his expression that catches me off guard. He offers me one mug as though he’s being charming.
“Sleep well, future Mrs. Chainsaw?”
I snatch the coffee mug. I’m not in the mood for his jokes this morning.
“Why are you so fucking cheerful?”
Hunter blinks, caught completely off guard by my tone. His smile fades as he takes in my expression.
“Damn. Who spit in your kale smoothie?”
I set the coffee down harder than necessary. He watches me closely now, all traces of humor gone.
“What’s going on?”
