Page 12 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
Two delusional souls: one rewriting her love life in Photoshop and the other cosplaying land ownership in Glacemont.
Which, for the record, he doesn’t own.He’s full of shit.
But who am I to ruin a fantasy?
Winnifred clears her throat.“Well, there’s this vineyard?—”
My phone buzzes, and before I interrupt what might be a magical wake-up call, I get back to my house.It’s Mom, of course, it is.I’ve been dodging her since Daisy announced her engagement.
I only need to avoid her for a few more days.How hard can it be?
ChapterFive
Soren
“Areyou screening my calls again, Soren Grey Thorn?”
My mother doesn’t wait for a greeting.Not even a passive-aggressive hello.She just launches straight into interrogation mode like I’m on trial and forgot my alibi.
Just like earlier today, I respond with the I-am-too-fucking-busy-for-your-nonsense tone I inherited from my late father—dry, clipped, and barely caffeinated.“Mom, I can’t answer right now.”
“You’re not at the office,” she fires back, already intercepting the first excuse before it even leaves my mouth.“I already spoke to Gretchen.You don’t have a business dinner.No client lunch in another country.Not even your monthly poker game.”
Of course, she called Gretchen.I wouldn’t be surprised if she had my assistant on retainer.I should call HR and try to figure out how to ensure that Gretchen stops infiltrating my personal information to my mother.
“Mom, there are things I don’t tell my assistant,” I say, pinching the bridge of my nose like I’m holding back a migraine—or a scream.I can practically hear her flipping open my calendar.“I really have to?—”
“The engagement party is this weekend, and you better be here, Soren Gregory Thorn.”
Full name.Middle name.Guilt level: Advanced Placement.Every syllable dipped in disappointment and polished with decades of maternal weaponry.
“Daisy deserves better than a half-assed brother who ignores his family half the time.”
Ouch.Direct hit to the sternum.
“I’m not ignoring anyone,” I lie as smoothly as possible.“I’ve just got ...plans.”
And I do.Plans to avoid all Thorn family events where I’ll be expected to drink overpriced wine while dodging intrusive questions like, ‘Have you finally worked through your intimacy issues?’and ‘When will you settle down with a nice girl?’
Spoiler: I’m not.And I won’t.But thanks for the emotional audit.
There’s also the bonus round: “Can I borrow money for a new car?”
Which, again—no.My wallet isn’t a nonprofit organization for the Thorns, and if you want new wheels, maybe consider a job that doesn’t involve ‘manifesting abundance.’
Look, I adore Daisy.Truly.If I could attend just for her and not the full Thorn experience, I’d be there with a gift and a toast and maybe even a monogrammed napkin.
But the rest of my family?
Let’s just say I’d rather get a root canal in front of a live studio audience.
Simply said, I’d take a bullet for Daisy, but I will not endure an entire evening of matching outfits, catered finger foods, and the smell of maple-scented tension just to prove I’m still part of the Thorn family.
Seven years next to a wildly creative, chaos-brained neighbor have taught me something valuable: when you can’t get out of something ...bend the truth like overworked sourdough.
“Mom, my girlfriend and I already have plans for this weekend,” I say, tone casual.Breezy.So breezy, I should be wearing linen.“We’re going to Napa.”
There’s a pause.
