Page 52 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
A dab of eye cream.“Manifest, Win.Visualize.Breathe.Vision board the fuck out of this.”
I layer moisturizer with the same intensity as someone frosting a cake for judgmental bake-sale moms.“Fix your life in three steps: hydrate, lie convincingly, and figure out how to disarm your mother without crying or spontaneously combusting.”
She will want answers.She will have questions.She has screenshots.
And I ...I need lip balm and maybe divine intervention.
But mostly lip balm.
Once I’m ready, I head to the kitchen with my phone, bracing myself.Because if anyone can dismantle my life faster than me ...it’s my mother.
Mom: What do you mean brunch is canceled?If you go with that woman, you’re dead to me, Fred.
Dad: Sweetie, answer your mom’s texts.She’s not dealing with this well.I hope this is one of your lies, like when you pretended you wanted to be a baker.You can’t marry a Thorn.
Mom: Where are you?
I haven’t replied.Not because I’m ignoring her—okay, yes, fine, I am ignoring her—but because there is no proper emoji response for “I had a boyfriend, then replaced him with a fake boyfriend, who I might actually like, and now there’s a baby blanket involved.”
I shuffle around the kitchen, looking for breakfast.My plants look concerned.The basil is judging me.The succulents, smug.They know I’m fucked.I pour myself coffee like it’ll fix my reputation.
It doesn’t.
I carry it back to the couch and curl up like a guilt-stricken croissant.My phone is on the table, glowing with potential doom.
I could lie again.Reinvent Chad.Say we broke up, which we did.Say he joined the Peace Corps.Say he’s fictional but emotionally supportive.Say he’s a wellness coach who decided to move to another country.Since I was heartbroken, I used Soren as my rebound.
Or—I could tell the truth.
Ha.Cute.That’s hilarious.Let me just peel off my clothes and parade around in vulnerability while I’m at it.
Still, I grab my phone and dial.
It rings twice.
Then—
“Winnifred Wendolynn Wolfcraft,” my mother answers, calm in that deadly way she weaponizes vowels.“I was worried.”
“No, you weren’t.”
She sighs.“No.I was furious.But I’m also worried.”
I press the heel of my palm into my forehead.“Mom?—”
“You were in Winterberry Cove.You were seen.With him.Soren Thorn.At an engagement party.”
“Is this going to be one of those conversations where I talk, and you accuse me of ruining your trust and your cousin’s wedding photo aesthetic?”
“You could’ve just told me, Win.”
“Told you what exactly?”
“You were going to a vineyard with your boyfriend.”
“Yes, vineyard, boyfriend,” I say, trying to figure out how to follow it and then realize that I was so busy enjoying Soren’s company that I never uploaded the freaking pictures.“That did happen.We were in Mass, at a vineyard.Then learned that his sister had an engagement party, and you can’t just skip those events, Mom.I had to go—not because we planned it.”
There’s a pause.“His name isn’t Chad.”
