Page 108 of Maybe We Can Fake It

“So I made the cookies, and we ate them together right at the kitchen table, and we talked about the silliest things. And... maybe it didn’t mean anything to you. You just thought it was cool I was letting you have cookies for dinner. You probably don’t even remember it now. But it felt like your mom was there with us, and it was one of the best nights of my life.”

There’s an excruciatingly long moment of silence after I stop talking. Then May says, “Of course, I remember.”

She gets out of her seat and comes around to me, bending down and throwing her arms over my shoulders. I hug her back like she’s a lifeline.

And as soon as she steps away, I break. A wretched sound rips from my throat, and she spins back around, looking concerned. I quickly insist I’m okay, but the tears have escaped now.

“Dad?”

Waving my hand frantically, I say, “It’s fine. I’m fine. All good. Please ignore me.”

“Dad.”

“No, no. Don’t let me ruin the party. Everyone can keep talking.”

I have no idea what I’m saying. Words are just spilling from my mouth, anything to trick them all into looking away from me as I fall apart. Because I’m supposed to be strong for my daughter,damn it. And how can I do this to her? How can I let her see me so weak?

As May reluctantly takes her seat again, she gives me the saddest smile. “Thanks for telling me that. I didn’t know the part about my mom, but I do remember how much I loved that night with you.”

It takes everything I have not to sob out loud. It’s like I finally wrenched open a rusty valve, and now that the tears are flowing freely, they may never stop.

Elise offers me the slightest saving grace by continuing the conversation, drawing eyes to her. And as much as I want to be ignored, I can’t help adding some more of my own anecdotes about April to the mix. But I’m crying silently the entire time.

Stop it, stop it, stop it, I beg myself.This is not me. This isn’t what I do. I smile and laugh and make people feel good. I don’t drag down the mood.

Right when I’m about to get up and flee, because I can’t stand to let everyone witness this any longer, Travis scoots his chair even closer so that it’s jammed up against mine. He puts his arm around my shoulders, tugging me to his side. I go willingly until there’s no space left between us.

It feels like that’s exactly how it’s supposed to be. And with him supporting me, rubbing my back, kissing my hair, I make it through this.

Bythetimeeveryone’sready to go, I’m so emotionally wrung out, I’m not sure I can move. There are a lot of pancakes left on the table. There’s a big mess left on the table, actually. I want to help clean it up, but all I do is sit in my chair as if I’ve been permanently fused to it. I live here now. At least I know I’ll always be well-fed.

I’m aware of Elise and Grant saying goodbye. Aware of Travis telling me and May to wait for him to take care of the mess and then he’ll drive us home. I’m aware that May gets up and helps him, the two of them talking quietly while they clear the table.

The dried tear tracks on my cheeks make my skin feel tight. I need a warm shower. Or maybe an exorcism.

When it’s time to go, May comes over and gives my hand a squeeze. I’m afraid to look at her, but then she says, “Thank you for being so strong for me,” and my eyes shoot up to hers. The words don’t make sense, but she looks so sincere. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I say, my voice raw and scratchy.

It’s not until Travis grips my side and urges me up that I realize I’m supposed to stand. I follow him outside like a puppy and climb into his truck after May. The drive to my house only takes a couple minutes, but I spend each of them silently bemoaning the fact that my daughter is sitting between me and him.

I need to be closer to him again. Feel the press of his body against mine and just know that he’s there.

And because he’s Travis, he doesn’t even make me ask for that. After pulling into the driveway, he leads me into my own house with an arm around my waist. May disappears, and he takes me up to my room.

At least I’ve finally stopped crying. He’s not a fan of emotions, so dealing with me like this must be hard for him. “I’m sorry,” I tell him as he helps me get undressed.

“What in the world for?” he asks.

I gesture uselessly at myself. “For me. This. You didn’t sign up for taking care of me.”

He gives me an odd look and steps closer, one hand curling around the back of my neck and gently bringing my forehead to his. “I think I did. In case you haven’t realized it yet, there’s not a single part of you I don’t like. You bring so much sunshine into my life, but don’t think I can’t handle the rain too. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“I... um...”

What could he possibly mean by that? I was saying that him having to take care of me wasn’t part of the fake dating or fun hookups deal. But it sounds like he’s talking about something more than that.

Not a single part of me he doesn’t like?

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