by Mariah Dietz
Caleb’s in the kitchen, scrounging through our mostly empty fridge. We need to go grocery shopping. I need a fucking beer.
“Do we know what we’re doing with all this shit?” I ask, nodding in the direction of the table.
Caleb opens a Tupperware container and sniffs at it before frowning and setting it on the counter. “That entire container needs to be dumped. No way that thing is salvageable.” He turns back to the fridge. “And Poppy said she’s coming over to pick up the decorations after her class.”
“Bottom right, there’s some spaghetti I brought home from my Mom’s,” I tell him.
“You sure?”
“Absolutely. What’s mine is yours.”
He grabs for it. “Thanks. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything but cupcakes since Friday morning.”
“Candace is on her way over,” I tell him.
He spins to face me, the glass bowl with leftovers gripped tightly in his hands. “You invited her?”
“She wants to talk.”
“You should see if you have any more of her shit here and send it home with her. The symbolism might make her finally understand since she doesn’t seem to be catching on to what you’re saying.” He reaches for a plate and empties a large portion of pasta onto it.
There’s a knock on the door that makes my stomach sour. We’ve already volleyed hurtful words and accusations at each other, blaming the other for our circumstance, and I don’t have the energy or patience to go another round.
I consider the facts that I’ve gone over in my head for months, reasons we have to get off this damn merry-go-round. I pull open the door, prepared to suggest we stay on the porch, but instead, discover Poppy, her long red hair pulled back in a ponytail, lips painted a muted red.
“Hey,” she says, her green eyes straying from mine. “I just came by to grab the decorations. I have no idea what we’re going to do with them, but we’re struggling to part with them. Although, if we keep them, Rae may want to host another Halloween party next year.” She frowns at the idea.
“Want me to throw them in the trash and blame it on the cleaning company?”
“The trash doesn’t come until Wednesday.”
“I can put them in my trunk until then.”
“I’m not hearing this,” Caleb yells from the kitchen.
Poppy smiles. “Don’t worry. I’m taking them.” She looks at me. “Maybe not all of them,” she whispers.
A car stops in the driveaway that pulls both of our gazes to the source: Candace.
Poppy turns her wide eyes to me. “On that note, maybe I’ll come back for them…”
“Caleb’s in the kitchen. Go hide. I’m going to talk with Candace, and then I’ll help you load them into your car.”
“I’m sorry to ditch you,” she says before slipping inside the house.
I pull the door shut behind her and take a couple of steps down to the short walk that leads to the driveway to meet my ex. Candace is beautiful in a way that often turns me stupid. Long, dark hair, light blue eyes, swollen lips, and a turned-up nose, she could likely model or go into acting, not necessarily because she’d be good at it but because it’s difficult not to stare at her. As if her looks alone weren’t enough, she has confidence in her step and her stare that is ridiculously sexy.
“Hey,” her voice is like melted butter, so damn familiar and comforting. But it ends as quickly as it began when she looks past me at the house with a deep scowl. “Why’s Poppy here?” The tinge of jealousy and resentment that has her staring at the house for too long is a quick reminder of why things need to be over between us.
“Why are you here?” I ask, skipping pleasantries and excuses.
Candace leans back on her heels. Everything about her is small and petite. It’s probably absurd, but her size always made me feel a need to protect her, and in turn, she made that need seem like a reality by constantly getting into questionable situations. She swallows, her gaze shifting between mine. “I’ve been thinking, maybe we should try going to counseling? I mean, we’ve been together for three years. We don’t want to throw all of this away, do we? No one is ever going to know you like I do. And after all that we’ve been through, my dad, your parents, your sister… We share so much.”
Her words prod at the grave I’ve been working tirelessly to dig. One big enough to fit our entire relationship. “We tried going to counseling,” I remind her.
She shakes her head, her perfume dancing around me like a cloud. It brings forth a hundred memories, half of them good and the other half bitter. “No, we didn’t.”
I nod. “We did. You just never showed up.” I study her, waiting for guilt to flood her features, but like always, it never comes. That’s the thing about Candace that is both alluring and incredibly detrimental: she doesn’t care. About anyone, except for herself.
“Let’s try again.”
“Candace, I can’t do this. We’ve broken up a hundred times in three years, and we just need to be done.”
She pulls her head back; eyes narrowed with anger. “Are you serious right now?”
“I’ve been serious,” I tell her. “I don’t want to keep doing this. I don’t want to make up and then break up again in two weeks.”
“Then let’s not. Let’s get married.”
Her words hit me like a sack on the field, knocking the air out of me. I chuckle because words refuse to form in response to that fucking insane idea.
“Why are you laughing?”
“Are you hearing yourself?”
Her fists swing to her hips. “I can’t believe I wasted three years of my life with you.”
This was the side of her I’d been expecting from the get-go—the angry, belligerent, accusatory one that often sparks my own defenses and leads to a war of words and allegations.
“Do you know how many guys would kill to be in your shoes? How many guys have begged me to leave you for them?”
“Yes, because you’ve thrown every one of them in my face.”
“Forget you. I can’t believe I cared enough to worry about you. In five years, you’re going to be a washed-up, has-been alcoholic, and I’m going to be thanking my lucky fucking stars that I was smart enough to dump your ass.”
I don’t mention that I broke up with her this time because I caught her making out with some asshole in the back of a club. The details seem as irrelevant and useless as putting a Band-aid over a bullet wound. “Are you done?” I ask.
Anger burns in her irises, and before I can register her intent, her palm smacks flat against my cheek, leaving a burn that I have no doubt I’ll be feeling each time I think about her. “I hate you! You’re dead to me,” she yells as she walks back to her car.
Movement catches my attention as I start to turn toward the house. Coach Baker is leaning against the back of his car, which is mostly hidden from view because he parked on the street behind me.
Shit.
Of all the times for him to randomly show up.
Candace shrieks and throws something at the yard before she slams her door shut.
Coach Baker moves as Candace pulls out of the driveway with too much speed, causing her wheels to skid. She lays on her horn before she floors the engine and disappears down the road.
Coach Baker walks toward the house holding a weighted plastic bag. “You didn’t answer your phone.”
I run a hand over my hair, knowing this likely looked worse than I’d prepared for it to be, but it was short and relatively untheatrical for Candace and her customary temper.
He shakes his head. “I keep hoping you’re going to wake up and be that star player you were last year. The one who I could depend on and know you were going to lead our team to victory. But every time I look up, you’re fucking up. This shit can’t keep happening, Lawson. Screaming matches in the driveway are the kind of shit that gets you passed over by pro teams. They don’t want that drama.”
“I know, Coach.”
“Then why in the hell are you forcin
g me to have to tell you this? Again.”
“I know it looked bad,” I tell him. “But it’s not what it looked like.”
“It looked like your girlfriend trying to audition for Jerry Springer.”
I shake my head. “We broke up.”
“I caught that. I’m pretty sure all of Seattle did.” Disappointment rounds his shoulders. “You’re a damn good player. Sometimes, I just want to shake you and make you realize what you’re throwing away.” He rubs his fingers across his forehead. “I can’t have you bringing your drama into the locker room or out onto the field. This can’t continue. I’ve been hearing rumors about your girlfriend for years, and we could bear them then, but not now. Not with you being caught on camera getting wasted and high. This is it—"
“Coach, I haven’t had a drink since that picture came out. I haven’t even been to a party except for the Halloween party that the team and my sister threw—a dry party if you can imagine.”
Coach Baker stares at me, indecision pursing his lips. “I know you’re trying. I’m just not sure it’s enough.”
The front door opens, and Poppy peeks out. She looks between Coach Baker and me. I can’t tell if she recognizes him. “Sorry to interrupt. I just want to remind you that my parents are expecting us soon.” She flashes a smile, filling me with silent assurance—she knows exactly what she’s doing. Everything about Poppy is warm, and safe, and wholesome. She is the epitome of the girl next door with bright, friendly eyes and a smile that seems wholly genuine.
Coach Baker turns his attention to me, eyebrows raised with a silent question before turning back to her. Poppy’s smile only broadens. “Who’s this?” Coach asks.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were out here. I was hoping to play interference.” She makes a conspiratorial face. “I thought you were Candace.”
“No. But I saw the fireworks,” Coach says.
Poppy scrunches her nose. “Yeah. She’s been taking the news of Pax and me dating pretty hard. I think this is the last we’ll hear from her, though. You know how things can get, especially with us girls. We’re all emotions and tears.” She laughs. “Sometimes people just need that closure.”
I stare at her, waiting for her to catch on fire for what she’s just said because the Poppy Anderson I know would rather eat a gym sock than say that females are inferior because of their emotions.
Coach Baker tentatively looks back at me. “I do.” He looks back at Poppy. “So you guys are … dating?”
Poppy smiles another theatrical smile. “We’re taking things slowly, but we’ve been friends for years. We just want to make sure we have a good, solid foundation and ensure Pax has enough time to dedicate to football before adding anything like labels or obligations. My parents are big supporters of education and football. They’re both Brighton alumni, so our team spirit runs deep.”
Coach Baker nods once, and then shocks the hell out of me when he plasters a wide grin across his face. I’ve never seen him full-out smile. Even last year, after we went undefeated and won our bowl game, he wasn’t this elated, which gives me hope that it’s because he’s feeling relief over my future for the first time in weeks. “Well, I’m really glad to meet you, Poppy.” He nods again. “Really glad.” He releases a long breath. “You seem like a nice young lady.”
She beams. “I appreciate that.”
Coach Baker hands me the plastic bag he’d carried over. “I brought you the tapes for the next couple of games.”
“Thanks, Coach. I appreciate you bringing them by.”
He looks at Poppy again. “Not as much as I do.” He pats my shoulder. “I’m glad you’re working through things, son. You have yourselves a good day.” He pats me again and then turns and ambles down the driveway back to his car.
“You just saved my ass,” I tell her.
“I need to wash my mouth out with soap after what I said.” She makes a look of disgust. “If you tell anyone I said any of that…”
I hold up my hands. “I’ll take it to the grave.”
She sighs. “I figured this was the least I could do after you saved me yesterday with Mike.”
I stare at Poppy, the wheels churning in my head, so fast I skip past all of the warning and hazard signs. “We should do this,” I tell her.
“Do what?”
“Pretend we’re dating.”
She laughs, a dry sound of disbelief that sounds more like a scoff. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“I could help you make Mike jealous, and in turn, you could save my reputation and get my teammates and coaches off my back.”
She shakes her head. “No way. No one will believe it.”
“Why wouldn’t they?”
“Because you’re Rae’s brother. Even Mike struggled to believe we were dating, and he barely knows you. Imagine anyone who actually knows us. We barely talk. If we’re in the same room together, you don’t even look at me.”
“How would you know?”
She rolls her eyes and avoids the question. “Besides, I can’t lie to Raegan. Not only is she my best friend, but she knows all of my tells when I’m lying.”
“We’ll tell them the truth. Caleb and Arlo won’t believe it either, but everyone else will. This is perfect. We can both get what we want.”
8
Poppy
Paxton telling me his friends would never believe we’re dating is bouncing around my thoughts like a weighted pinball that wants to find a pocket of self-consciousness to fall into. I have no doubt that pocket would guarantee hours of self-deprecating thoughts because as hard as my therapist of a mom has worked to impart that I don’t let people’s opinions or views of me frame who I am, they occasionally do.
“I don’t have any idea what I’d be helping you with or what you’d be helping me with? The exchange is done. We did it.”
Paxton shakes his head, his eyes bright like they get when he’s talking about football. “My reputation took a couple of haymakers this fall.”
I know. Mostly deservedly. I don’t say this aloud because it’s been apparent to even me, who doesn’t have many conversations with Paxton, that he’s been stuck in his own pocket of self-deprecation.
“Everyone’s watching every single move I make, waiting for me to fuck up, and Candace is pissed today, but she’ll be back with another ultimatum because we both always come back to each other, and I have to break that cycle. Dating you would change it all.”
I shake my head. “How?”
“Because you’re a good girl.”
“That’s never sounded quite so insulting or boring.”
Paxton’s shoulders round as he drops several inches in height. “You know I don’t mean it like that. I mean, your parents are alumni. Your mom’s a doctor. Your dad owns half of this city, and what he doesn’t own, he built. You’re smart and polite, and people like you. Drama isn’t your shadow, and being mean isn’t your weapon.”
“Everyone’s going to assume it’s fake,” I remind him.
“Bullshit. I would bet there are side bets about which guy on the team you start dating.”
The idea of this being a possibility shocks me more than I care to admit as I begin to wonder who they’d pair me with. “Yeah, but it definitely wouldn’t be you,” I point out. “You’re my best friend’s brother.”
“So? Lincoln’s one of my best friends.”
“Exactly. Which makes the chances for us to have the same circumstances be like point zero, zero, zero, zero, zero, one. It would be like getting hit by lightning and bitten by a shark in the same day.”
He grins. “Am I the shark or the lightning?”
“How is fake dating me going to keep you from going back to Candace?”
“Because if there’s one thing in my life that I’m still good at, it’s being a good friend, and I would not screw you over. And, I saw the way you looked at Mike and the way he looked at you, and I could tell things weren’t ove
r between you.”
I want to shove his words out of my head, down the block, and straight into the Pacific Ocean, where they can sink into the many secrets of the ocean that Rae likes to share with me. “He has a girlfriend. A girlfriend who moved all the way from Arkansas to be with him.”
Doubt pulls at Paxton’s eyes and paints his mouth into a frown. “We all do things we regret.”
I hate how much I want to believe his words and how much hope they offer me. “She’s nice. I couldn’t … I wouldn’t.”
Pax smirks. “I know because you’re a nice girl, and you don’t do that kind of shit. And you wouldn’t have to. You saw how jealous he was just because I was standing next to you. I guarantee if he saw you with me a few more times, he’ll be breaking up with her and groveling at your feet.” He stares at me, his blue eyes bright as they try to bore this idea deeper into my head.
I should tell him that this would be horrible and awful and potentially hurtful to so many, and that Candace scares me a little too much to play this role, but fourteen months of wondering what would have been—what might have been—with Mike are currently running laps in my head. “How would we even pull this off?”
I regret my question and answer as soon as Paxton flashes a grin of victory that makes my stomach fall. What have I just agreed to?
“Wait, so you’re going to be dating my brother?” Rae’s face puckers as we sit in my room and I tell her about my afternoon and Paxton’s suggestion.
“Fake dating,” I clarify.
She shivers. “This is weird.”
Offense climbs each rung of my insecurities. “Because it’s me?”
“Yes. He’s using you, and I want to strangle him.”
“What if he’s not?” I ask.
Rae pauses from where she’s pacing in front of my bed and looks at me. Her eyes are a lighter shade of blue than Paxton’s, but they both have the same trademark dark, long lashes that leave me envious. My own lashes are a dark russet color, making applying mascara almost mandatory. “What does that mean?”