Page 91 of Knocked Up by My Fake Fiancé
"Hi, Steph. It's lovely to see you too. How are you?"
"Oh, wonderful as ever. Thanks for the gift—it was beautiful. Such a sweet thought. I'm so glad Grayson chose you, even though he doesn't deserve you." She brushes a kiss on Jenna's cheek and winks at me, devilishly pleased with herself.
I shake my head. She's incorrigible.
Meanwhile, my mother glances between the two of them. "I didn't realize you two were so close."
"What do you mean?" Steph asks, sliding into the seat next to Jenna.
"Does that mean you knew about their engagement before we did?"
I'm about to shake my head, but Steph beats me to it. "Yup. I knew all about them dating. I didn't tell you guys for obvious reasons."
I raise an eyebrow at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me. I can't tell if she's covering for me because she wants to help Jenna—or because she wants to help me sell the ruse. Then again, she's not supposed to know it's a ruse at all.
Honestly, I'm not even sure whether Steph thinks my relationship with Jenna is real or fake. I've never managed to get a straight answer out of her—and I can hardly ask without giving the whole thing away.
"We have lunch all the time," Steph says breezily. "Well, whenever Jenna has time for me, that is. She's a busy woman, you know—important head of a company and all that."
"That's what worries me," my mother says. "How is she going to have time for a family with the amount of work she does?"
That one hits Jenna. The tiny twitch of her eyebrow gives her away.
"That's enough," I say to my mother.
"I'm just saying, Grayson. These are the kinds of things you need to think about before you have kids?—"
"I said enough, Mother. This isn't the 1950s. Women are allowed to work, or not work, or have kids—or not have kids—if that's what they want."
Shit. That last part was the wrong thing to say.
My mother chokes on her wine.
Jenna gives me a wide-eyed stare.
Even Steph coughs like I've just committed blasphemy.
"What are you saying, Grayson?" my mother demands. "That you don't want children?"
"That's not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying it's our business—if and when we have children—and it's also our business how we choose to raise them. Understood?"
"But—"
"But nothing. You've interrogated Jenna enough for one night, and I've let it go on too long. We're not coming to these dinners anymore if you're going to make it uncomfortable for my fiancée. Now, let's please change the subject."
Having said my piece, I shoot my mother a stern look before picking up my knife and fork again and going back to my meal.
My mother quiets down after that—but she's not done. She's never known when to quit.
It would be hard for anyone not to like Jenna, I would've said. But Mom has always excelled at being difficult. The sad thing is, I think she actually would like Jenna if she gave her half a chance. They have plenty in common—especially when it comes to art and fashion—but of course, Mom's too stubborn to see it.
"I could have handled it," Jenna whispers, leaning toward me as the servers bring out the first course.
"I don't want you to."
"I thought the whole point of picking me to be your goddamn fiancée was that I don't need your help. I can handle this myself, if you'll just get out of my way and let me."
She's right—that was why I chose her. But now I'm not so sure the whole plan was as foolproof as I thought. Maybe not doubting exactly, but realizing how much we underestimated what it would take for me personally… I never anticipated how much I'd hate watching my mother talk down to her.
