Page 34 of Maybe We Can Fake It

While I was living in Boston and sharing an apartment with Christian—my ex, and the longest relationship I’ve had—Dad never questioned anything. Didn’t find it at all strange when we went on a trip to Cancun, just the two of us.

As he complains to me about something else, I’m distracted by the idea of coming out to him. Which is crazy. Keeping this part of myself from him has always been my reality, simple as that. It’s something I came to terms with long ago, and until mytalk with Brenden about it the other day, it wasn’t taking up any space in my brain. Now it’s hard to talk to him and not think about thewhat if.

What if I told him the truth?

Would he hate me? Would it ruin our relationship for whatever time we have left together?

I mean, he’s not dying. It just seems like, since he’s pushing sixty and I’ve gone this long without telling him, there might not be a point to doing it now. Maybe it would be harsh to force him to confront that I’m not who he thought I was all this time.

Or maybe, again, I’m nothing more than a coward.

It’sstillveryearlywhen I sneak my way back into Brenden’s house, carrying a bag of ingredients to make breakfast. After I got the diner set up and ready to go for the day, Benji arrived to cover for me, and I slipped out right as he was flipping the sign on the door fromclosedtoopen.

May’s grandparents strike me as early risers, but I’m hoping they’re still asleep. Although I guess it’s not really suspicious if I left to open my business. Even if Brenden and I were really dating, that would still be something I needed to do. This whole lying thing just has me paranoid. I don’t want to be the one who messes it up and gets us caught out.

As I open the unlocked door and close it behind me, I try to make as little noise as possible to avoid waking May. Of course, my big dumb ass has to go and whack my knee on a table as I’m crossing behind the couch, and I let out a curse before I can stop myself.

“Shit!”

There’s some noise and movement from the couch, so I freeze, feeling stupidly like a teenager about to get caught sneaking in after curfew. Then May slowly emerges from a nest of blankets and sits up, peering at me while rubbing her eyes.

“Sorry,” I say quietly. “Go back to sleep.”

“I’m not like my dad,” she tells me, with a sleepy smile. “Once I’m up, I’m up, but it’s okay.”

I set the bag on the floor and move around to the front of the couch. “I’m guessing Brenden has to be dragged kicking and screaming out of bed?”

“Sometimes. Usually when he needs to get up and do something he really doesn’t wanna do.”

I chuckle, because I can picture her forcing her dad to get up, even though it should be the other way around.

As she stands, I notice her pajama pants are printed with little pictures of books and coffee cups, which fits her perfectly. She immediately starts folding her bedding, so I jump in to help. When we’re done, I tell her I need to put some things in the fridge, and she follows me into the kitchen.

It’s no surprise that she heads straight for the coffee maker. While she starts a pot, I get to work setting out the things I’ll need to make breakfast for everyone. We navigate around each other with ease, and that makes me happy in a way I didn’t expect.

Over the years, I’ve spent plenty of time alone with Brenden, but me being alone with May is much rarer. I like that she seems perfectly comfortable having me here in her space with her.

“You don’t have to cook us breakfast,” she says, eyeing me as she stirs sugar into her coffee.

“I’m trying to make a good impression.”

Her brow furrows thoughtfully. “But you don’t need to try this hard. You’re doing enough just by being here.”

I shrug. “It’s for Brenden.”

After a few beats of silence, she says, “I dunno what my dad told you about my grandparents, but they’re not that bad.”

“I’m sure they’re not. Your dad is just...”

“A mess?” she finishes for me, amusement dancing in her eyes.

“Something like that,” I mutter fondly. He may be a mess sometimes, but he’s also pretty incredible.

“I know I was too young to understand what things were like between them when he first adopted me,” she says. “But I don’t think he needs to be so worried about everything around them. They don’t hate him.”

As I begin preparing pancake batter, I tell her, “He worries because he loves you so much. He doesn’t want anything to hurt your relationship with them. And I think it’s a bit more complicated than just not wanting them to hate him.”

“Eh. Sometimes I think adultsmakethings more complicated than they need to be.”

---