Fake It Till You Make It

by M. Ullrich

  Genevieve waited again, knowing he couldn’t misinterpret that. She was prepared for any reaction except the laughter that bubbled up from him.

  “You’re breaking up with me because we don’t talk every night? That’s ridiculous. Do you want something to drink?” He walked into the kitchen. His nonchalance shocked Genevieve.

  “That’s not why. That’s just evidence that it’s the right decision.”

  “Then why?” Jeremy said when he came back with a beer and sat down. He still appeared unfazed, as if this was just another argument where he’d call Genevieve irrational and they’d walk away from an unresolved problem and be back at square one.

  “Because we’re different people now,” she said, looking around the disheveled home. “This is you. This isn’t me.”

  “Are you too good, is that it?”

  “No, I’m not too good for anyone or anything.” Genevieve dropped her head momentarily, thinking she might not be good enough for the future she was hoping for. “Our lives went in opposite directions.” Genevieve struggled to keep her hold on what little patience she had left.

  “You’ve changed,” Jeremy said, pointing an accusatory finger. “I haven’t.”

  “After ten years, don’t you think that’s a problem?”

  “Is there someone else?” Jeremy placed his beer on a small wooden side table with a loud thud. “It has to get lonely in Jersey all by yourself. Is that it? Little Genevieve Applegate spread her wings and her legs?”

  “Excuse me?” Genevieve’s nostrils flared. “Don’t you dare talk to me like that.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me I’m wrong.”

  Genevieve stared back into Jeremy’s eyes, eyes she barely recognized. “I didn’t look for someone else,” she said against her better judgment.

  “You’re avoiding the question. Is there someone else?”

  Genevieve clenched her jaw. No more lies. “I have feelings for someone else, yes.”

  “Who?”

  “I’m not answering that.”

  “Tell me who, dammit!” Jeremy shouted. “Who is he and how did you meet him? You tell me how busy you are, but you had time to go out and meet someone new?”

  “I didn’t go looking—”

  “Well, you couldn’t have met him at work because you’re surrounded by a bunch of homos.”

  “Jeremy, stop.” She took a deep breath, trying her best to rein in her anger and tamp down her nerves. She felt dizzy, her palms were sweaty, and she started to shake.

  “Unless he’s a switch-hitter.” Jeremy laughed at his own joke. “Or maybe a lezzy swooped in to steal you from me.” His punch line went unacknowledged, but the silence was thick, and Genevieve never looked up from her lap. “Holy shit.”

  “I didn’t expect it.”

  “Get out.” Jeremy walked to the door and opened it before Genevieve had the chance to get her coat on.

  “Despite what you may think of me, I am sorry.”

  “I said get out.” Jeremy’s face hardened.

  Genevieve gathered herself and fought to keep her tears at bay. She knew the breakup wouldn’t be easy, but she hadn’t planned for this. She stepped onto the front porch and welcomed the fresh, biting air against her wet cheeks. Before she made it to the steps, Jeremy spoke up.

  “You’re throwing away everything we had and everything we planned for some dyke.”

  Genevieve paused and closed her eyes. She spun around and got in Jeremy’s face. “She’s a part of the life I always dreamed of, a life that’s so much bigger than anything you could’ve given me.” She wiped away a stubborn tear. “Good-bye, Jeremy.”

  When Genevieve went back to her car, she smiled at the freedom she felt. Instead of a broken heart, Genevieve felt open to endless possibilities.

  *

  She traditionally celebrated Christmas Eve at her mother’s house, and she was expected to arrive in an hour. Genevieve took a deep breath, knowing that she’d have to be her most creative self to avoid a conversation about why Jeremy wouldn’t be joining them. The prospect of a holiday with family explaining a breakup seemed much more daunting than the breakup itself. Genevieve had no idea how her mother would react to the news. Sandra wasn’t the one in the relationship with Jeremy, but Genevieve cared about whether her mother approved of her biggest life decisions.

  Genevieve considered all the ways she had changed since moving to New Jersey. She had fallen easily into an independent life, she felt inspired every day at work and even at night when she wrote for more personal reasons, and she had acknowledged and accepted this dormant part of her heart. That was the most exciting and surprising, not because she was recognizing a new facet to her sexuality, but because she never knew she was capable of this desire to be with another person.

  She finally understood what romance writers drabbled on about and how romantic movies were always such a hit. Those feelings were real and addicting. Genevieve also realized why writing engagement announcements never came easily for her. In her mind they were fiction. But love and romance and truly being gaga for your significant other wasn’t fiction at all. It was just a matter of finding the right person to fawn over.

  Genevieve parked and sat quietly in her car while she gathered her thoughts. Her mother stood on the front porch waving to her, wearing the same reindeer apron she’d worn for every other Christmas Genevieve could remember.

  “After the holidays I’ll tell Harper everything,” she said aloud. “I’ll tell her I lied to get a job, but that it doesn’t matter now because it turned out to be the truth.” Genevieve closed her eyes and counted to ten before climbing out of the car, wholly unprepared for Christmas with her family.

  Step Seventeen

  In with the New

  Genevieve survived Christmas. She was both surprised and delighted by how easily the two days passed. Sandra had asked about Jeremy only once and didn’t say anything when Genevieve told her he had his own family gathering to attend. Sandra seemed to be more interested in Genevieve’s Jersey life and the job she was so fond of. Genevieve spent most of her time home talking about how much she enjoyed both her life and position at Out Shore. She even went as far as mentioning the title of the publication multiple times, no longer caring if someone discovered it was a gay magazine. They’d all find out soon enough.

  Now, as the final hours of the year dwindled away, Genevieve was home typing away on her keyboard. She could’ve done anything for New Year’s Eve, but she’d opted to spend as much time on herself and at home as possible. The New Year was going to bring big things for Genevieve Applegate, good or bad, and she was set on preparing for it.

  Her phone chimed and distracted Genevieve from the piece she was working on. She was trying to capture her and Chloe’s night out at a local gay bar as honestly as possible. She was writing a seemingly innocent piece, but the raw emotion poured from her as she recounted the way she compared every face there to the one person who captured her attention, the one person who also happened to be unattainable at the moment. Her phone chimed a second time and Genevieve grumbled as she reached for it.

  Harper had messaged her twice. Genevieve’s eyes went wide at the six-letter name lighting up her screen. The first message was a short greeting, but the message that followed made her smile.

  Any big plans for New Years?

  No, Genevieve typed out. Home alone and working hard to satisfy my boss.

  That sounds terrible. Someone should have a talk with this boss of yours. Genevieve smiled at her phone, and before she could type out a response, another message came through. I’d offer to do it for you, but I’m busy tonight.

  Genevieve frowned at her phone. Why would Harper message her just to brag about her plans for New Year’s Eve?

  Genevieve?

  Yes?

  Please open your door.

  A knock followed Harper’s last message and Genevieve jumped. She checked her appearance briefly. She was wearing a tank, zip-up hoodie, and yoga pants,
hardly an appropriate outfit for entertaining company on New Year’s Eve. But she didn’t have a choice. Her heart was speeding and her stomach was doing the funny flips she had associated with Harper. She opened the door. Genevieve smiled so brightly, her cheeks hurt.

  “Hey,” Harper said.

  “Hey.” Genevieve fiddled with the hair piled haphazardly atop her head. “I obviously wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  “You look perfect,” Harper said, holding up a large, stuffed plastic bag. “May I come in? I brought dinner.”

  Genevieve stepped aside. “Of course. What’s in the bag?”

  “A lot of Chinese food.” Harper laughed and set down the bag before removing her jacket. “I hope you’re hungry, and I hope you don’t mind company. I figured it was the perfect time to return the favor for Thanksgiving. Except this is definitely not homemade.”

  “I would never mind your company,” Genevieve said. “But I am surprised that you don’t have actual big plans.”

  “I gave up New Year’s parties a long time ago,” Harper said as she set out their dinner, “but I didn’t want to be alone tonight. Not because I’m lonely or sad, but because I knew there’s someone I’d rather be with.” Genevieve blushed as Harper smiled.

  “Smooth talker.”

  Harper smirked. “A little bit of everything? Let’s see, we’ve got General Tsao’s chicken, moo goo gai pan, pork egg foo yung, fried rice with shrimp, lo mein, and my favorite—mixed vegetables in brown sauce, extra mushrooms.”

  Genevieve shuddered slightly in obvious disgust.

  “Not a fan?”

  “I used to be, but my grandmother served us a feast of wild mushrooms one time and almost killed us all. I’ve never been so sick in my life, and I haven’t enjoyed a mushroom since. Not even on pizza.”

  Harper stayed silent and just smiled at Genevieve softly.

  “What?” Genevieve said.

  “Nothing, I just—” Harper licked her lips and looked almost nervous. “I’m just really happy I decided to do this, to come here, I mean.” She cleared her throat. “You have plates and knives and forks, right?”

  Genevieve had never seen Harper so unsure and bashful. This side of her was so endearing, Genevieve fell even harder for the other woman. She was afraid that an awkwardness would come between them, and she was terrified Harper would dismiss their kiss as holiday tradition rather than something bigger.

  “Me too,” Genevieve said. The simple words seemed to appease Harper, who finished plating their takeout feast.

  Harper and Genevieve ate in companionable silence. Genevieve flipped through the channels on her TV, grateful she had decided to keep her cable hooked up in spite of rarely using it. They had decided against the usual New Year’s Eve programs, not interested in popular music groups and young personalities rambling on about how wonderful the city was in the winter.

  “Keep the city and give me the beach any day,” Harper said around a forkful of lo mein.

  “Keep the city and the country.” She picked up her empty plate and stood. “Need anything?”

  Harper handed over her plate. “Please take this from me. If I eat another bite, I’ll have to resolve to lose twenty-five pounds.”

  Genevieve carried their dishes into the kitchen and cleaned up slowly. She grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and walked back to the living room, indulging in the sight of Harper lounging casually across the sofa.

  Harper’s sleeves were rolled up to mid-forearm, and the button of her jeans was undone—showing exactly how much she had enjoyed her meal. Harper’s shoes were off, showing her bright patterned socks, and she was yawning widely.

  “Do you want this or will it put you to sleep?” Genevieve teased.

  “Thanks.” Harper took the beer and settled back. “I’m not young like you. Midnight is a foreign concept for me at this point.”

  Genevieve settled into the corner of the couch, noticing how Harper had managed to occupy more space. She was either getting very comfortable or trying to get closer. “You really need to stop talking about your age like that,” Genevieve said. “You’re not old, and I’m not a baby. We’re just…us.”

  “Us,” Harper said, turning turned her head to Genevieve. A strand of strawberry-blond hair had escaped Genevieve’s bun, and Harper tucked it behind her ear. The delicate touch sent a shiver down Genevieve’s spine. Harper rested her head on the back cushions, her eyes never straying far from Genevieve’s face. She yawned again.

  “What can I do to help keep you awake?” Genevieve hadn’t meant for her words to be so suggestive. “A movie?” Genevieve said quickly.

  “A movie sounds perfect.”

  Genevieve checked her cable guide and selected the first one that caught her eye. “I love this one.”

  Harper squinted at the bright screen to read the title. “Thongs of the Undead? Are you serious?”

  “What? It’s a cult classic. I used to watch this at every sleepover I had in high school.”

  “And parents were okay with that?”

  “What they didn’t know didn’t hurt them.” Genevieve winked and tossed the remote onto her small coffee table. The mindless film was more of a comedy than a horror movie. Harper laughed and made comments about the film’s poor quality. Genevieve loved sharing something so ordinary with her.

  Approximately an hour before midnight, Harper fell asleep against Genevieve’s side. Harper’s slightly parted lips and twitching eyelids made her look peaceful. Genevieve could either wake her up for the final seconds of the year or enjoy resting beside her. Genevieve fell asleep.

  Genevieve didn’t wake up until close to one in the morning. First, she opened her right eye and surveyed her dark living room. Genevieve opened her other eye and struggled to focus, but when her vision cleared, she had a lot to take in.

  Harper was stretched out on her back along the couch, pressed against the cushions. Genevieve was also lying down fully, but she was on her side, one leg over Harper’s. Genevieve could smell Harper’s laundry detergent from the shirt her face was buried in. Genevieve’s hand rested on Harper’s abdomen, just at the hem of her thermal. Her pinkie danced along the fine line between soft material and bare skin. Genevieve wanted to feel Harper’s skin and decided to lift her shirt and place her hand flat against the sleeping woman’s stomach. Harper’s abdomen was all taut muscle and soft skin, and Genevieve’s breathing grew shallow. She didn’t move her hand or her body, and she closed her eyes to lose herself to everything around her.

  Harper stirred, but Genevieve continued to fake her slumber. Harper put her hand over Genevieve’s wandering one and held it briefly. Genevieve felt momentarily ashamed, as if she had crossed a line, but Harper didn’t move her hand. Instead, Harper pressed her lips to Genevieve’s forehead and whispered her a Happy New Year.

  Genevieve moved slowly, feigning the sluggishness that accompanies awaking unexpectedly. She looked up at Harper, batting her eyelashes as if they were coated in molasses, and smiled brightly. “You’re comfy.” She pulled her hand away and rubbed at her eyes.

  “How long have we been out for?”

  “A little over an hour, I think.” Genevieve sat up and Harper followed, stretching out her long limbs. “You missed the end of the movie.”

  “We missed the ball drop.”

  Genevieve felt a flash of guilt for not waking her, but she wanted this moment, not an awkward countdown and inevitable “should we or shouldn’t we” as they watched couples on TV kiss. This intimacy was so much more rewarding than anything forced. Their first kiss had been in response to a stupid holiday tradition, and Genevieve didn’t want their second to be the same.

  Harper stood. “I should get going.”

  “You can stay if you’d like.” Genevieve nearly jumped from the couch and rushed to Harper’s side as she pulled on her boots. Harper gave her a slow, sleepy smile that brought back every rapid heartbeat Genevieve felt when she placed her palm against Harper’s bare skin. “I can sleep out
here.”

  “I don’t live far from here. Besides, I don’t have a change of clothes.” Harper shrugged on her coat and stood within inches of Genevieve. She brought her hand up to Genevieve’s jaw and cradled her face gently. “If I’m spending the night, I’m going to do it right.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” Genevieve said. Before she could say more, Harper ran her thumb along her full bottom lip.

  Genevieve’s knees started to give out. Every time Harper touched her, her body responded with more intensity than it would to a directly stimulated erogenous zone. Genevieve puckered her lips and kissed Harper’s fingertip.

  “Harper, kiss me. Please.”

  Harper kissed her so firmly Genevieve had to grip the front of Harper’s jacket to remain standing. They had no audience this time. Genevieve kissed Harper’s upper lip, and then the lower. Harper combed her fingers through the fine hairs that danced along Genevieve’s neck while she kissed her back gently. Harper traced the bow of Genevieve’s upper lip with the tip of her tongue and Genevieve moaned quietly, her throat tight with growing desire.

  Genevieve felt along Harper’s upper chest and shoulders for anything to keep her steady, grazing Harper’s breast through her winter jacket. The touch wasn’t intentional or firm, but Harper’s breath caught, and she cradled the back of Genevieve’s head as she kissed her more forcefully.

  Genevieve backed up slowly, remaining connected to Harper as she found purchase against the edge of her sofa. She pulled back from the kiss to take a few necessary deep breaths, and Harper kissed her neck. Moving her hands away from Genevieve’s disheveled hair, Harper’s fingertips danced along the column of her neck down to the collar of her shirt, tugging it open and nipping at Genevieve’s collarbone.

  “Harper,” Genevieve whimpered. She spread her legs as she leaned back onto the couch, hoping Harper would give her just a little pressure where she throbbed between her thighs, but Harper stood her ground and kept the assault centered on Genevieve’s sensitive neck and upper chest. Genevieve squirmed against the back of the couch, trying to guide Harper’s attention lower and lower, knowing Harper’s hands would be on her breasts at any moment. But she misjudged her balance and tumbled to the floor with a yelp.