Page 78 of Play Along With Me
"Mom," I interject, "Audrey has work tomorrow, remember?" I glance at Audrey, silently communicating that this is her out if she wants it.
"Actually," Audrey says, surprising me, "I could probably switch shifts with Marcus. If you're sure you want to include me again."
My mother practically vibrates with delight. "Of course we do! Jake, text us the details later? Nothing too fancy, just a nice family dinner."
Family dinner. The implication isn't lost on me, nor on Audrey, judging by the slight widening of her eyes. But she recovers quickly, smiling at my mother with apparent sincerity.
"I look forward to it," she says, and somehow sounds like she means it.
Outside the hotel, I offer to walk Audrey to her car, desperate for a moment alone to process what just happened.
"I can't believe you agreed to dinner tomorrow," I say once we're out of my parents' earshot. "That's above and beyond, Audrey."
She shrugs. "Your mother would make an excellent criminal mastermind. She has this way of asking questions that make 'no' seem like an impossible answer. Besides, I wasn't lying about being able to switch shifts."
"Still," I insist, "you've already done more than enough. This fake relationship was supposed to be a one-night thing to avoid awkwardness with Jessica, not an extended performance for my parents."
"Consider it my good deed for the year," she says lightly. "Plus, your father promised to show me photos of the mullet era. That's simply too valuable to pass up."
I groan. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"Not as long as I'm around," she confirms cheerfully. "Which, according to your mother's ten-year plan for us, will beforever."
Despite myself, I laugh. "I'm sorry she's already planning our future children's college funds."
"Bold of her to assume I'm college material," Audrey quips. "My children will clearly be artistic free spirits who open sustainable kombucha cafés instead of pursuing higher education."
The casual way she plays along with the absurdity of it all—discussing our fictional future children as if this is a normalconversation to be having—makes something tight in my chest loosen. Audrey approaches everything with such unflappable humor, finding the absurdity in situations that would make most people uncomfortable or angry.
She stops beside a battered Honda Civic that's seen better days. "This is me," she says, pulling out her keys. "Chariot awaits."
"I'll text you about tomorrow," I say, suddenly reluctant to end our time together. "And really, Audrey, if you want to back out, just say the word. I can make up an excuse."
"And disappoint your mom? I wouldn't dream of it," she says with a smile. "Besides, someone has to save you from your mother's matchmaking. Consider me your designated buffer. I am the best fake girlfriend."
"You are my hero," I say, only half-joking.
She unlocks her car, then pauses, looking up at me with an expression I can't quite read. "This is weird, right? This whole situation?"
"Definitely weird," I agree.
"Just checking," she nods. "Sometimes I need reality confirmation. Hazard of spending too much time in fictional worlds."
"If it helps, I keep expecting to wake up and find this was all some bizarre dream brought on by too many post-game protein shakes."
She laughs, that full, genuine laugh that I'm quickly becoming addicted to. "Glad to know I'm not the only one questioning reality here."
There's a moment—brief but unmistakable—where something shifts between us. Standing in the parking lot ona perfect fall day, Audrey looking up at me with amusement dancing in her eyes, I'm struck by the strangest urge to lean down and kiss her. Not for show, not for the benefit of maintaining our charade, but simply because I want to.
The realization is jarring enough that I take a small step back, breaking whatever momentary spell had formed.
"So, tomorrow," I say, my voice sounding strangely rough to my own ears. "I'll text you details?"
"Tomorrow," she confirms, seemingly unaware of my internal turmoil. "Try to contain your mother's enthusiasm until then. And remind her that while I'm flattered by her interest in my reproductive timeline, I prefer to keep my ovulation schedule private."
And just like that, the tension dissolves into laughter. That's another thing about Audrey—she never lets a moment get too heavy, too serious.
"Drive safe," I tell her as she gets into her car. "And Audrey? Thank you. Again."
