Page 105 of Maybe We Can Fake It

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BRENDEN

Aftermymeltdowntheother day, I can see the concern in Travis’s eyes every time he looks at me. Like now, at the diner. He’s trying to be subtle, but I know he’s watching me as I sit here with May, picking at my Reuben. We still haven’t talked more about why I was so upset. But what’s the point? I can’t explain it.

All I know is I haven’t felt normal ever since Elise and Grant showed up. I’m lying to them, and my guilt about it keeps growing the longer they stay. I’m forcing May and Travis to lie to them too, which also sucks. But at the same time, they’re making me feel like I’m not a good enough father or business owner. And whether intentionally or not, they’re digging up feelings about losing April that I painstakingly buried long ago.

I can’t go on like this much longer. If it weren’t for having Travis around, to calm me with his thoughtful gestures and distract me with the incredible orgasms, I would’ve already lost it completely.

Though I won’t say May’s grandparents have been entirely awful. Sometimes my brain tries to convince me they’re being that way, but actually, for the most part, they’ve been kind ofgreat. Much less uptight than I expected. They’re clearly happy to be here, spending time with May. And me too, I guess, by proximity. But that’s also what makes it hard.

Because this thing—the four of us, and even Travis—is almost starting to feel like a real family. But it’snotreal. It can’t last. There has to be an end date, right? They have to go home sometime.

And then Travis will stop pretending to be with me, and May and I will be all on our own again.

I look at my daughter, watch her ripping apart pieces of a buffalo chicken tender, and I smile despite the painful thoughts going through my head. It’s been just me and her since she was two. She’s always been more than enough for me. But it’s not fair to assume I’m enough for her.

Maybe Elise was on to something when she said she wished May had two parents. I’d be blind not to notice how easily May’s bonded with Travis, how she enjoys having him around as much as I do.

Travis.

What are we doing?

He’s at a table nearby, using a pitcher to refill someone’s water. As if he can sense my stare, he glances over mid-pour, and we exchange brief smiles. But then he cuts his eyes back to his task just in time to not overflow the glass.

We’ve fucked twice now. I know what he tastes like, know what noises he makes when he comes. I know the intimate way he watches me as we move together.

And I just don’t know how I’m ever supposed to give that up. I don’t want to go back to the way things were between us, where all I know are his grunts and occasional smiles and his skill at changing a flat tire.

It’s dangerous to hope, but I can’t help it. I’m hoping that there’s some way I can keep him.

“I need to ask you something,” May says, disrupting my thoughts. “And I think it’s going to upset you, but please just listen.”

“I’ll always listen to you,” I assure her, a bit hurt that she’d ever think I wouldn’t.

She picks more of the breading off her chicken, her fingers covered in dark orange sauce now. “Grandma and I were talking when we had brunch...” she starts ominously. And while I have no idea what she could possibly be gearing up to ask me, I’m guessing she’s right in that it’s going to upset me. “It’s just kind of weird that we never talk about my mom. You and me, I mean.”

My heart sinks like a stone to the pit of my stomach. Of course we don’t talk about April. Because for one thing, I don’t think I’m capable of talking about her without breaking down. And for another, I always thought it would hurt May to hear about what she lost. In a way, I thought she was better off than I was by not being able to remember.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I tell her, “I thought I was doing what’s best for you.”

“I know,” she says quickly, attempting to clean her hands with a napkin, but they’re too messy. Travis appears out of nowhere with extra napkins, and after he walks away, she turns back to me. “I’m not blaming you, Dad. I love you.”

“I love you too, kid.”

She smiles. “I know you do. And I’m sure you don’t talk about her because you don’t want me to be sad. But I thinkyou’resad. You try to hide it, but I think maybe letting yourself talk about her will help. And I... I think I deserve to hear about my mom.”

“You do,” I choke out. Because she does. Maybe it was selfish of me to hold my memories back from her.

“Grandma talked about her a tiny bit at brunch the other day. And we were thinking maybe it would be nice to have a sort of memorial where we could all talk about her.”

“A memorial?”

No.My gut reaction is to say no. Because I don’t want that.

But May pushes her plate aside and gives me a gentle yet imploring look. “Dad. We both lost her, but I didn’t even know her. I think it’s harder for you than it is for me, and I think you’re holding in a lot of stuff that you might need to let out. I can handle it. I don’t want you to be sad, but I can handle it if you are.”

“I’m not... I don’t...”

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