by Max Monroe
Instead of responding, I wait patiently for Ava to work through her thoughts and come to a decision—one I’m pretty sure involves me going to Vermont.
Ava: Hypothetically speaking, if we do this, how exactly am I going to explain to my family that one day we’re in a relationship, and then we’re not?
And there it is. I grin.
Me: You’re overthinking this.
Ava: Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, tell me how I’m supposed to be thinking about this.
Me: We’ll just pretend we’re in a relationship while we’re in Vermont for the holidays, and then when we get back to New York, you can just tell them we decided we’re better off as friends.
Or she can tell them the truth. Maybe after two weeks of pretending to be in a relationship with me, I’ll actually be able to convince her that’s the best option.
Ava: Do you really think it’s that simple?
Me: Do you really think it’s more complicated?
Ava: Okay. Can you get off work?
Me: Yes.
Ava: You’re really serious about this? You want to help save my ass by coming to Vermont with me and being my fake boyfriend? You want to follow me? Deep sea, baby, into my treacherous web of holiday lies?
A laugh jumps from my throat.
Me: Ride or die, babe.
Luke
After a thirty-minute delay getting back from Miami, I finally make home it to my building around nine in the evening, and my key is barely in the lock when Ava’s door swings open from behind me.
I glance over my shoulder to find her carrying notebooks and colored highlighters and a pen tucked behind her right ear. “Sheesh! I thought you’d never get home!”
I unlock my front door, and she just barrels in past me. “We have so much to go over, Luke, but I think I’ve nailed down most of the details.”
“Nailed down the details?” I question. “What are you talking about?” I set my keys, phone, wallet, and duffel on the kitchen island, and Ava plops down on my sofa and sets her three notebooks out across the coffee table.
Flashbacks of college hit me right in the face.
This is work-mode Ava. Which, during events like college finals, is a meticulous, not-messy-at-all, very organized version of herself.
Truthfully, it’s a rare occurrence. Most of the time, my best friend has her head in the proverbial clouds, leaves piles of dishes in her kitchen sink, and lets her laundry go until she’s completely out of clothes. It’s not unusual for me to sneak over to her place and run the fucking dishwasher and water Teddy 12—the small plant in her living room that’s sole reason for staying alive for the past two years is all thanks to me.
“Have you forgotten that you offered to be my fake boyfriend for the holidays?” She rolls her eyes and blows out a breath. “We literally just had the conversation this morning.”
“I remember the conversation, but that doesn’t explain why you’re in my apartment, acting like we have a deadline on an econ project.” I nod toward the notebooks and highlighters she’s organized in record time.
“Luke, we have to go into this with a plan, or else it will end in disaster when my family starts asking us all sorts of questions about our relationship.”
“What kind of plan are you talking about?” I question with a tilt of my head. “We’ve known each other for fifteen years. You live across the fucking hall from me, and I see you every day. I feel like we’ll be able to handle any questions your family or old high school classmates throws at us.”
She narrows her eyes. “Okay, so when my aunt Poppy asks you how we started dating, what are you going to say?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “It just sort of happened.”
She barks out a laugh. “That’s a shit answer! It doesn’t even make it sound like you want to be in a relationship with me. It’s more, like,” she continues on, dropping her voice a few octaves to mimic mine, “Oh, I don’t know. One day Ava said she was my girlfriend, and I figured I’d just roll with it.”
My lips quirk up in amusement.
“This isn’t as simple as a trip to Vermont and telling my family we’re dating now, Luke. We have to have a plan.”
I sigh and drop my shoulders. “And I take it we’re figuring out that plan tonight?”
“Time is a ticking, buddy.” She taps her wrist with two fingers. “And at this point, we barely have a month to get our shit together,” she retorts, picking up a yellow highlighter and begins swiping it over notes she’s apparently already taken in one of the notebooks.
This is going to be a long night.
I rub a hand down my face and pick up my cell phone off the kitchen island.
“What are you doing?”
“Ordering some dinner,” I respond and pull up UberEats to order a pizza from the joint up the street. “I’m starving, and I have a feeling you’ve been too busy mapping out our fake relationship plan to eat dinner.”
She grins at that. “No sausage on the pizza this time.”
“How’d you know I was ordering pizza?”
She flashes a look my way. “Because it’s your go-to.”
“See?” I retort. “This is exactly what I’m talking about. If you know me so well that you know what I’m going to order for dinner, then I think we can wing the whole fake-relationship thing.”
She snorts. “You know, the sooner you order the pizza, the sooner we can get this all figured out…”
“Christ,” I mutter and submit my order on the online app.
Instantly, I receive a notification that my order is in process and will be delivered in thirty-five to forty minutes.
Once I grab two bottles of water from the fridge, I slip off my blazer and shoes and head over to sit down by the Detail Queen.
And it’s no surprise she wastes no time diving in.
“Okay, first things first, the Best Friends Don’t List.”
“The what?”
“This.” She taps her highlighter on the notebook page. “Read through it, and see if there’s anything else you want to add.”
And, sure enough, there is actually a fucking list.
The Best Friends Don’t List
1. Kiss.
2. See each other naked.
3. Have sex.
4. Catch feelings.
“If our friendship is going to come out of this pretend relationship unscathed, we have to have some rules,” she adds just as I finish reading through it. “Obviously, this is just a start, and we’ll have to add more—”
“Nope.” I laugh my refusal. “This is ridiculous.”
“What?” Her eyes go wide. “Why?”
“We don’t need a list of rules, Ace,” I retort on another laugh. “I’m pretty sure we both know the boundaries.”
“Luke, we need a list.”
“Ava, we don’t need a list.”
“Yes. We. Do.”
“Are you planning on trying to have sex with me?”
Her eyes turn wide and shocked. “Of course not.”
“Then we don’t need a fucking list that says not to.”
“Luke—”
“Look, I offered to go to Vermont with you and be your fake boyfriend for the holidays. And trust me, I’ll play that part well. I’ll hold your hand, do cutesy shit for you in front of your family, but I’m not going to sit back and let you write a million fucking rules that I’m supposed to remember.”
“I wasn’t going to write that many. There are four so far.”
“Ava, c’mon,” I say through a laugh. “When you’re in crazy detail mode like this, your to-do lists have to-do lists. You become the queen of neurotically plotting out every single damn detail. And I know this list will be no different. Four items is just the beginning. Trust me, I’m saving us both a lot of headaches.”
She stares down at the page.
“You already have another thing you want to add to that damn list, don’t you?”
“Of course not.” She shakes her head and dig
s her teeth into her bottom lip.
I grin. “Liar.”
“I can’t help it! When I’m stressed out like this, planning everything out makes me feel calm!”
“There’s no need to stress, okay?” I wrap my arm around her shoulder and tuck her close to my side. “This trip is going to be a good trip. We’re going to have fun together, and we’re going to make everyone think we’re in a relationship while we’re doing it. We can even map out a basic plan if it makes you feel better.”
“How basic?”
I sit up, snag the pen from behind her ear, and write it down.
Go to Vermont.
Enjoy Christmas.
Go to Ava’s high school reunion (and tell Callie she’s a bitch).
Dance, drink, eat cake at Kate’s wedding.
Come back to New York.
“That’s a sad excuse for a plan.” She rolls her eyes, but then giggles. “Well, besides the telling Callie she’s a bitch part. That’s pretty good.”
“We’ve been best friends for years, Ace. I know you better than I know anyone. Hell, sometimes I know you better than I know myself,” I respond, take the highlighter out of her hand, shut the notebooks, and shove everything to the side of the coffee table. “Trust me on this. This is the only plan we need.”
“And if your plan goes up in freaking flames?”
“It won’t, but if it does, then—”
“Then I’ll put it out, just like the infamous hot plate.”
I chuckle. “Okay. Yeah.”
I smile at her hard-earned acquiescence. Honestly, I’m just looking forward to spending time with Ava before I have to leave New York for good.
Which you still haven’t told her about…
Internally, I cringe. I will tell her the NASA news, but not tonight.
For now, I just want to focus on reassuring Ava that we’re going to enjoy ourselves in Vermont and she has no need to be stressed out over the little shit.
November 18th
Ava
Nearly simultaneously, my laptop pings with a new email and my phone chimes with a text notification. On a sigh, I click out of the Excel spreadsheet I’m currently working through and check my inbox first.
From: Callie Camden-Baccus
Subject: Change of plans!
Ava,
I know you’ve already put the order in at the bakery, but I’ve decided we need to go with a vanilla cake instead of chocolate. And I think our additional desserts need to be a little fancier than simple cupcakes. I mean, this is our fifteen-year high school reunion we’re talking about. I’m thinking something like macarons or eclairs or miniature cheesecakes.
XOXO, Callie
For the love of everything, it’s just desserts.
With the way she keeps flooding my inbox with bullshit like this, you’d think we were planning for the Queen’s arrival. Pretty sure the people we went to high school with will give exactly zero fucks about what flavor cake we order. If there’s free booze, which I’ve already ensured would be there after Miss Planner Extraordinaire tossed that onto my plate the other day, then I’d say we’re good. No doubt, the alcohol is the most important part for just about anyone who is forced to attend their high school reunion.
Luckily, I kind of, sort of, definitely forget to order the desserts from the bakery. I called. I even got prices. But I didn’t exactly follow through. Whoops.
I make a mental note to actually call the bakery later today and put in the order, and I take a page out of Luke’s book and send Callie a short email back that consists of one thumbs-up emoji.
When I check my text messages, I’m blessed—not really—to find that my mom and aunts are up to their usual pestering business.
Mom: It’s been FOUR days since you told me you have a boyfriend, and you’ve yet to tell me ANYTHING about him. I don’t even know his freaking name!
Aunt Poppy: What’s the story, Ava?
Aunt Lily: Ava has a boyfriend??? Oh my goodness, if this isn’t the best news I’ve heard all week!!!!
Sweet Lucifer.
Technically, I never told her I had a boyfriend. I just never told her I didn’t.
But now you can actually say Luke is your boyfriend…
A deep sigh escapes my lungs as I think about the consequences of dropping that fictional bomb. Obviously, they’re going to find out soon, you know, when you bring him with you to Vermont…
My fate decided, I hesitantly type out a response.
Me: You actually already know him.
Mom: Who????
Mom: Oh, wait…don’t tell me. ARE YOU DATING LUKE????
Aunt Poppy: Oh, please say it’s true! Say you’re dating that sexy pilot! Say you’re dating that hot-piece-of-pilot-ass, and you’ll make me the happiest old woman on this side of the Mississippi!
Aunt Lil: I’m on pins and needles over here, Ava! Tell us already!
“God help us all,” I mutter to myself as I type out my next response.
Me: I am, in fact, dating Luke.
Mom: YES! YES! YES! FINALLY, YOU TWO REALIZED YOU’RE MEANT TO BE TOGETHER!
Wait…what? What in the hell is she talking about?
Aunt Poppy: !!!!!!!!!!
Aunt Lil: I FEEL LIKE CHRISTMAS CAME EARLY!
Aunt Poppy: BECAUSE IT DID, LIL!
Mom: OH MY GOODNESS, I AM SO EXCITED, AVA!
Holy caps lock.
With my phone vibrating like it’s turned into a freaking sex toy, I click out of the chat and drop the device back onto my desk with a soft thud. They are insanely excited, and it only makes me feel guilt. And shame.
Ugh.
I just hope it all turns out to be worth it in the end.
“Knock, knock.” My boss Daphne peeks her head into my office, and I smile up at her, but also tilt my head to the side in confusion as I slip my phone into my pocket.
“I thought you had a meeting over at MoMA?”
“I do, but I wanted to let you know the newest Darrin Seals piece is up in the West Wing.”
My eyes light up like Christmas. “It is?”
Darrin Seals was a famous artist who died a few years back. His impressive fifty-year career ensured that his pieces don’t sell for less than seven figures.
Yes, seven figures.
The price of art can be truly mind-boggling. Especially after you’re dead.
And needless to say, it took a lot of wheeling and dealing for me to get one of his pieces in our museum. I’m talking nearly a full year of work.
“It is.” She nods, shrugs on her cream fake-fur jacket, and slips her black Chanel purse over her shoulder. “Ava, darling, you did good with this one,” she adds with a wink. “It’s absolutely fantastic, and I demand you see it before you leave today.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” I answer and hit save on my Excel spreadsheet, a long, dull list of prospected investment pieces for the Met. “In fact, I can take a break from boring numbers and go look now.”
“Enjoy.” Daphne grins and offers a little wave before turning on her heel and walking down the long hallway that leads to the elevators.
Without delay, I stand up from my chair, smooth down the wrinkles of my pale pink pencil skirt, retuck in my cream silk blouse, and head out of my office and toward the West Wing of the museum where my latest curation hangs proudly on the wall.
Ten minutes later, I’m standing in front of it, staring up at the massive work in awe.
This artist, Darrin Seals, even after his untimely death, is considered one of the most prominent artists in the world. His take on surrealism is unsurpassed.
Damn, there’s just something about art like this that makes all the blood, sweat, tears, and money worth it.
It just…touches you.
My eyes scan the incredibly large canvas, taking in every minute detail.
A painting of a ballerina inside a clock, one hand reaching toward the twelve and one toe pointed toward the nine. Not only is it one of Seals’ most popu
lar works he ever created, it’s the brightest and most confusing.
Which, when it comes to surrealism, is just par for the course.
This form of art expression is supposed to surpass realism by taking real objects and placing them in unreal situations. It’s free of consciousness and convention. It’s like living in a dream.
Frankly, in my personal opinion, surrealist art is better than drugs.
And while I’m more of an impressionist-style painter, my appreciation for this style of expression is immense.
Daphne was right. This is fantastic.
Once I note that a large group has entered the room, I step away from the painting, out of the way of their view, and find a small bench from which to watch their reactions to our newest piece.
And I’m not disappointed.
Like moths to a flame, everyone is drawn to this piece.
I smile to myself and watch as a thirtysomething man and woman walk toward the painting, their hands interlocked in a way that shows they’re together. Sleek suit, expensive but casual designer dress, and shoes that probably cost more than most people’s cars, their appearance is straight off the Fifth Avenue runway.
No doubt, they come from money. Lots of it, in fact.
The light-brown-haired woman’s mauve-painted lips form a small “O” as she stands in the very same spot where I was just moments ago. And then, her mouth morphs into a big smile as she moves her eyes away from the painting and looks up toward her guy.
He leans closer to her, his lips nearly brushing her ear as he whispers something I can’t perceive, and her grin only grows and it’s her turn to stand up on her tippy-toes and whisper something back into his ear.
Whatever she says, he likes, his eyes heating up with something that resembles love and warmth and passion.