Page 70 of Faking It Right
My sister looked far too entertained by Maylin’s outrageous tales. “I’m thrilled we could meet under less fiery circumstances this time around.”
Harley, the traitor, was having entirely too much fun at my expense. “That’s fascinating, Maylin. What other past lives have you shared with Ryker?”
Maylin set down her fork beside her barely touched dinner. “Oh, where do I even start? There are so many lifetimes to choose from.” She tapped her chin before her eyes lit up.
“Ryker, surely you remember our tragically romantic incarnations during the French Revolution?” When I shook my head, she pressed on. “You were a surprisingly sensitive executioner with an immaculately maintained guillotine, and I was an aristocrat renowned for such impressive wigs that it made Marie Antoinette herself jealous.”
When nobody responded, she continued her outrageous retelling. “Our eyes locked as I approached the platform, and you whispered that my neck was ‘the most elegant you’d ever had the honor to sever.’ You even positioned the basket to ensure my head would land at my most flattering angle for the crowd. You always show such thoughtful consideration.”
Harley gripped my thigh so hard it almost hurt. I shot him a desperate look, but he was too busy stifling laughter to notice my silent plea for help. He raised his fork to his mouth before lowering it again, too amused to eat.
“How could I forget our adventure on theTitanic? You were a ruggedly handsome but broke artist, and I was a miserable first-class passenger stuck with my dreadful fiancé. You saved my life, only for us both to die when the ship sank. It was so romantic.”
“Isn’t that just the plot ofTitanicwith a worse ending?” Harley whispered, making me bite my lip to stay silent.
Maylin still heard him and gave a disdainful sniff, pushing her mashed potatoes around her plate. “The movie was obviously based on us, but they got the details all wrong. Typical Hollywood.”
“Were there any lifetimes where we didn’t die tragically?” I asked, desperately searching for a glimmer of positivity amid such a bizarre saga.
Maylin’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m particularly fond of our passionate incarnation in Edo-period Japan. Tell me you didn’t forget that one!” When I apologized, she shook her head with a disapproving tut. “You were a talentedshungaartist?—”
“What kind of artist?” I interrupted, instantly regretting my curiosity.
“To put it in contemporary terms, you were a woodblock artist who specialized in pornographic artwork. Your work was renowned for its audacious anatomical ambition.” She paused to take a dainty sip of water. “I was your devoted model who you enjoyed drawing being violated by tentacles. I still flinch whenever I see an octopus! Although eating them does feel like sweet revenge.”
Harley, Sawyer, and Gia fought to maintain their composure. Even Dad and Mom struggled to suppress their amusement as they continued their dinner.
“That’s, uh, quite the eclectic history we have,” I managed. I tried to eat, but it was challenging to focus on food when it felt like I’d stumbled into an alternative reality. I pushed a smallmountain of mashed potatoes around my plate. How could I eat when so much what-the-fuckery was unfolding?
Sawyer decided to up the ante on my discomfort. “Have you two ever been animals in your past lives?”
“Oh, absolutely! Our alpaca phase was particularly unforgettable.”
Gia’s voice strained with disbelief. “Alpacas?”
“Yes! Ryker was a magnificent stud alpaca with the fluffiest wool. Herders would trek for miles just to breed with him.” She shot me a nostalgic smile that made my skin crawl. Sawyer nearly choked on her water. “You were quite gentle with me during breeding season, even though you were rather rough with the others. It was my honor to bear your cria.”
I stared at Maylin, my brain stalling like a nervous teenager attempting to unhook a bra for the first time. “Mywhat?” I asked, wondering if I’d misheard her through the sound of my soul making a dramatic exit.
“Your cria,” she repeated with that same dreamy smile, as if that somehow cleared things up. “That’s what baby alpacas are called. I bore your children, Ryker. Fifteen stunning alpaca babies blessed with your luxurious wool.”
The chicken I’d been attempting to swallow nearly lodged itself in my throat. I coughed as Harley patted my back. “You’re saying Ibredyou? Like, alpaca-style?” The mental image made me want to dive under the table and strangle myself with the tablecloth.
My sister seized on the information. “Well, well, well. Who knew my little brother was such a stud? Tell us, Maylin, did he make that weird alpaca humming noise afterward?”
“Sawyer!” I hissed, my face burning hotter than the oven my mother had used to cook the chicken.
My sister feigned innocence. “What? I’m just trying to understand my brother’s romantic history. All of it. Including the four-legged, spitting parts.”
Harley shook with laughter beside me as Maylin nodded, oblivious to my mortification.
“Yes, he was quite the gentleman alpaca,” Maylin continued, unfazed by my near-death experience as she cut another piece of chicken. “The herders called him ‘El Conquistador,’ but I only knew his softer side.”
“I didnotconquer you as an alpaca!” I protested, my voice cracking. “Can we please discuss literally anything else? The weather? Politics? The slow death of the universe?”
“Don’t be embarrassed, biscuit,” my mother chimed in. “It sounds like you were a very considerate alpaca partner.”
“We weren’t—I didn’t—” I stammered, looking at Harley for help, only to find him wiping tears from his eyes.
