Page 17 of Things We Fake
“Passion doesn’t stop your biological clock,” Mom muttered.
“Neither does nagging,” Dad retorted.
I could’ve kissed him.
I should have known my ovaries would be mentioned. I was only thirty, for Heaven’s sake! She made it sound as if I were in my fifties. And that crack about Neil, seriously? How could she think I wanted Sally’s cast-offs? He’d probably done to her what the two of them did to me.
I huffed out a breath, straining my brain for an excuse not to have dinner with good old Neil.
“Besides,” Mom went on before I could speak, “five for dinner is such an awkward number.”
It’s funny how the brain works when you’re panicked. There is the fight, flight, freeze response. And then, there is the lie response.
My mouth started talking before I had a chance to control it. “It’s okay, we’ll be six.”
“Six?” Mom repeated, pleased. “Oh, you mean Nikki? That’s sweet, but Easter dinner should be family.”
Then why the hell invite Neil?
Because Neil had always been her dream son-in-law. A born charmer, he had always sucked up to her, knowing my family was my weak spot. They had their little inside jokes; they messaged each other on social media and exchanged silly memes. Mom was determined to have her version of the past repeat itself. She wanted to see me settled and married in Warwick, where I would soon be barefoot and pregnant, providing her with copious amounts of grandchildren. Over my dead body! Maybe one day I’d give her one or two grandchildren, but not now, not yet, and definitely not Neil’s.
Desperate, my own four walls closing in on me, I fleshed out the lie that I hoped would save my life. “I didn’t mean Nikki. I was going to mention this later, but I… I’ve met someone. We’ve been seeing each other off and on.”
“Susanne, that’s wonderful!” Her voice went up three decibels. “Tell us all about him.”
This was the tricky part. I had been forced to lie about imaginary boyfriends before, but I always hadtime to prepare the details of the lie. Now my imagination was being shoved onto the stage naked. What the hell was I supposed to say? My list of available men was pitifully short. Fred from school, who had a bad heart and lived with his mother. Mark, the trainer at the gym who spent more time admiring his own muscles than anyone else. Julio, the cute guy from the Brew Shack in the subway station who was maybe twenty years old.
I hadn’t had a date in months, except for Sam. I pictured Sam trying to show his Ted Bundy spoon to my dad. I actually winced. I couldn’t bear to have him even as an imaginary boyfriend.
I had to get creative… Instantly, Cam popped into my head, and my mouth started talking with absolutely no assistance from my brain. What was the harm if I indulged in a little fantasy? No one would ever know.
“He’s new in town,” I said dreamily. “His name is Cam.”
“Cam what?” my brother asked, his tone suspicious. “Cameron Diaz?”
I frowned, annoyed. “It’s Cameron Jones, but he goes by Cam. He’s from Denver.”
“What’s he look like?” Michelle asked.
I heard my brother in the background. “He looks like the invisible man.” He made that weird whirring noise he used to make when we were alone in the dark, and he wanted to scare me.
Jerk! Grow the hell up.
The tips of my ears grew hot. Paul could always get to me, even now when we were adults. Well, at least Iwas. Just to spite him, I dug myself a deeper grave. I described Cam well enough for a sketch artist to draw.
“We met at school,” I finished, knowing how Mom felt about where nice girls should meet boys. I was pretty sure she still believed I was a virgin, but Neil had popped that cherry—among God knows how many others.
“Well, he sounds just lovely,” Mom said. “We can’t wait to meet him.”
Her skepticism was fair, since I’d invented at least three boyfriends before. They had to suspect by now, but my pride would never let me admit I was lying through my teeth, so I let my fantasy dig me a little deeper.
“You’ll love him, Mom. He’s so sweet and considerate. He carried my groceries the other day.”
I wasn’t even lying.
Until Easter arrived, I would pray for a hurricane or an earthquake—something that would gobble up both myself and New York City. In the meantime, I would run with my imaginary romance, keep my mother off my back, and Neil at bay.
“Well, well… It looks like you caught a live one,” Paul said.
