Page 35 of Holiday Love
He scrunches his nose. “Yeah. Is that okay?”
I laugh, relieved he’s asking. Some people don’t.
“It’s fine. I’ve learned the difference between curiosity and judgment. My mom’s Irish and Scottish. My dad moved here from China in seventh grade. They met at UCLA. He was in med school; she was studying drama. I never really understood what pulled them together since their interests are so different, but six months later they got married. I was born the next year.”
Teddy stays quiet, his gaze steady on mine, warm with interest, not the idle kind, but the kind that says he’s really listening. Like he wants to know. It’s that openness in him, that natural empathy, that keeps me talking, revealing more than I normally would.
“Mom’s diagnosis has been really hard on my dad. Can you imagine it? He’s an oncologist, and his wife is dying of breast cancer. He doesn’t have the luxury of not understanding exactly what her prognosis is.” Quieter, I add, “Neither of us do.”
Teddy whispers, “Shit. That’s awful.”
“Yeah.” I sniffle as my throat tightens. “Can we talk about something else?”
Silence stretches for a few seconds. Then I blurt, “I’m sorry I let her think we’re together.” I wring my hands. “It’s just that she was so happy, Teddy. I haven’t seen her like that in months. She thinks I’m incapable of connection. Of relationships, and then you—you show up with your smile and your tattoos and your robe, and suddenly I’m not a total failure.”
He gazes at me, something soft in his eyes. “Hey.” He reaches out and gives my hand a quick, soft squeeze. “You’re not a failure, and, for the record, your mom’s kind of awesome.”
“It’s true, she is,” I admit, then hesitate as my nerves kick in, tightening in my stomach. “Which is why…” I take a breath. “I can’t believe I’m asking this, but will you be my pretend boyfriend?”
His brows lift, and then, to my surprise, a slow grin tugs at his mouth. “I can’t believe I’m actually saying yes.” He tilts his head, giving me a sideways look. “This is going to be weird, isn’t it?”
“So weird. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind the fake boyfriend thing,” he says casually. A pause, then he grins. “Do I get a backstory?”
“A what?”
“For Thanksgiving. Fake boyfriend stuff. You know, how we met, our first kiss…” He trails off with an exaggerated romantic sigh.
“Oh my God.” I bury my face in my hands, then peek at him through my fingers.
“I just think we should be prepared,” he says, shrugging like this is completely reasonable. “What if your dad asks what my favorite thing about you is? Or your mom pulls out baby photos and demands to know which ones I think are cutest?”
“She’ll do that.”
“Exactly. So.” He scoots closer, grabs my sticky notepad off the coffee table, and flips it open. “Let’s build this relationship.”
I stare at him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I really am.”
I should be mortified. I am mortified. But watching him sit there in my robe, pink gel pen in hand, about to take notes on our fake love story? It might be the most ridiculous, and somehow most comforting, thing I’ve seen in weeks. I didn’t realize how badly I needed this lightness until now.
“Fine,” I say, flopping back against the couch. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”
Teddy grins. “Fake dating rules?”
I point at him. “No tongue.”
He gasps. “You wound me.”
“Also, no fake cuddling.”
“Debatable. I’m a hugger,” he mutters, but writes it down anyway.
I bite back a smile. “We’re going to regret this.”
“Oh yeah,” he says cheerfully. “Until then, let’s make it convincing.”
