Page 34 of Things We Fake
The waiter launched into the menu as though he was reciting poetry. Oysters Rockefeller, Escargots au gratin, Scallops Pernod with seasonal greens… lobster, filet mignon, crème brulée, cheese, wine. Six courses, or in other words, six opportunities to make Sue smile.
I watched her face as he spoke. She started off amused, then she looked slightly alarmed. No doubt she was calculating how many hours she’d need on the treadmill afterward. I could almost hear her inner monologue.
“What do you say?” I tried to encourage her to voice her thoughts.
She hesitated, then gave a casual shrug that didn’t fool me. “Why not?”
I grinned. “Good choice. I appreciate a woman who eats and doesn’t just pick at her food.”
I confirmed the order with the waiter, and watched him disappear with the promise of indulgence trailing in his wake.
As the clink of glassware faded into the background, I reached across the table and took her hand again. I’d noticed the ring earlier—an elegant, delicate band on her fourth finger that had fooled me too before Sebastian set me straight.
“I noticed this ring before.” I brushed my thumb gently over the amethyst. “At first, I thought it was an engagement ring. When I asked Sebastian about you, he assured me you weren’t seeing anyone—as far as he knew. Is this something you wear to keep unwanted men at bay?”
She smiled. “If only it would work.” Then her eyes dropped to the ring and her tone softened. “It is an engagement ring, but not mine. My grandfather had it made for my grandmother on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. He couldn’t afford to give her one when they were young. She left it to me in her will. I keep meaning to have it enlarged so that I can wear it on my right hand.”
I let the words settle between us. That was the kind of love story that had made me not give up. Fifty years of old-school loyalty was mind-blowing. If that stuffexisted, maybe anything was possible. I was sure I wanted to have that with the right woman.
“It’s beautiful,” I said. “But I’m glad it’s not your engagement ring.”
That prompted a little chuckle. “My mom’s desperate to change that.”
“She sounds… determined.”
“She’s scary as hell.”
I laughed at the fear-tinged conviction in her voice. “What about your dad? Is he like that too?”
Her expression changed, turning fond and wistful. “Not like that, no. He’s an old-fashioned Italian winemaker who values family above all, but doesn’t push me to do anything I’m not comfortable with. He was the only one who supported me when I decided to move to New York and become a teacher.”
I liked her dad already. “He sounds amazing. I can’t wait to meet him.”
“That’s going to be interesting,” she murmured. “So, how come you chose MIT?”
I wasn’t usually one to spill personal history on a first date, but something about Sue inspired honesty. Not the kind of forced vulnerability you cough up for sympathy points, but the kind that made me feel I wanted her to know the real me.
I smiled into my glass. “Because I was a nerd with no social life and an unhealthy obsession with circuit boards.”
She laughed. God, I loved her laugh. It was genuine, open, with no trace of fake amusement one uses just to be polite.
“No social life? Hard to believe,” she teased. “You don’t exactly radiate awkward loner vibes.”
“Don’t let appearances fool you. I was one hundred percent that kid who spent Friday nights building robots and watching Star Trek reruns.” I leaned in just enough to keep the tone conspiratorial. “I applied to Stanford too, but when MIT sent me the acceptance letter, my mom cried. I think she was more excited than I was. She helped me make my choice.”
Her expression turned soft, a warm smile brushing her beautiful lips. “Sounds like she had a lot of faith in you.”
“She still does. She raised us pretty much on her own after… well, after my dad passed.”
I could hear the weight creeping into my voice again. That damned shadow that still wiped out my smile most of the times I thought about him. It was so unfair, because my father had been so much more than his illness. He’d put his fingerprint on me through genetics, education, through the things I’d watched him do for us and which taught me to be a man. He’d been a handsome, athletic, vibrant man who would dominate a room just through his presence. I hadn’t forgotten his smile or the million jokes he knew. But somehow the bad memories were a lot more powerful than the good ones.
I looked down, letting my thumb trace the stem of my glass.
She sucked in a quiet breath, a wave of sorrow softening her voice. “I’m so sorry, Cam. Was it a long time ago?”
“Yeah. Fifteen years.” I didn’t look up right away. “Lung cancer. By the time they caught it, it was already stage four. He passed away six months later, the day I turned seventeen.”
I had never celebrated my birthday again. It wasn’t the day of my birth anymore; it was the anniversary of my father’s death. And still the most painful day of the year.
