by Lauren Rowe
“Aw, come on now, Josh—don’t go changin’ to try to please ’em. You just do you, baby.” I pause. I really shouldn’t say what I’m thinking. But I can’t help myself. “So are you thinking you might wanna meet my family one of these days?”
Josh’s cheeks flush. He swallows hard. “Um. Yeah.” He busies himself with our drinks again, his body language suddenly verging on robotic. “Maybe.”
I laugh out loud. This man is a raging head case.
“No pressure, Josh,” I say, genuinely amused by his suddenly anxious body language. The man is visibly twitching. “I brought it up just to watch you squirm. No worries.” I should leave it at that. I really should. But, no. When it comes to Joshua William Faraday, I simply can’t help myself. “But, um, actually,” I begin, trying really, really hard to sound easy-breezy-Cover-Girl. “Colby’s birthday is next weekend. My mom’s gonna make her famous spaghetti and Dax is gonna make carrot cake—Colby’s favorite meal.” I clear my throat. “Super chill. Just the fam. You’d be welcome to join us for dinner, if you... happen to be... in Seattle. But if not, then no pressure, of course.” Oh shit. What am I doing? Even as the words tumble out of my mouth, I know they’re a horrifically bad idea. I should know by now: Josh is perfectly fine when we’re enjoying each other in the here and now, but the minute I start talking about the future, he breaks into a frickin’ cold sweat. I quickly wave at the air like what I’ve just said is the stupidest thing I’ve ever said. “Actually, pretend I never said any of that,” I mumble. “I’m just kidding. Again.”
Josh remains focused on the drinks he’s making. Notably, he doesn’t turn around and say, “Don’t be silly, Kat—that’s a great idea!” He just continues silently mixing our drinks, his back to me.
Holy hell, this is awkward. Why did I say all that? I really should know by now that pinning Josh down to anything even remotely relating to the future is a nonstarter.
“A twist of lime?” Josh finally says, his back still facing me.
I look down at my hands, heat rising in my cheeks. After everything I just said, that’s what Josh asks me? If I want a lime in my drink? I really should have known. I’m such an idiot.
“Um. Sure,” I say. “A twist of lime would be amazing.” Oh boy, that last bit came out way bitchier than I’d intended.
But Josh seems to be unfazed by my bitchiness (which seems to be par for the course with him, thankfully). He turns to face me and clears his throat. “Colby’s birthday dinner sounds great,” he says, his jaw muscles tight. “Thanks for the invitation. I’d love to go.” He tries to smile. He’s not successful, but he’s trying.
My heart leaps into my mouth.
Holy I Think I Just Harpooned a Whale, Batman.
“Tell the truth,” I say. “The only reason you wanna come is Dax’s carrot cake.”
Josh laughs. “How did you know? Yeah, I’ve always had a soft spot for carrot cake.”
“And cheesecake,” I say, remembering our scarf-out the night we helped Henn in Las Vegas.
“You remember.”
“Of course. I remember everything you’ve told me, Josh.”
There’s a long beat.
“Actually, Daxy makes a great cheesecake, too. It’s just as good as his carrot cake. I’ll see if he’ll do both.”
Josh’s blue eyes darken to sapphire. “No, don’t. I’ll bring one from a bakery. No reason to make him think I’m a pain in the ass right from the get-go.” He bites his lip. “So, hey, now that I’m coming up to Seattle next weekend, how about we check off one of your fantasies while I’m there? There’s one specifically I think I could pull off better in Seattle than here.”
My heart is absolutely racing. “Great,” I squeak out, trying not to sound as thrilled as I feel. “Sounds good.” I cross my arms over my chest and quickly uncross them. Crap. I suddenly don’t know what to do with my hands.
“Cool,” Josh says. He turns back around to face the drinks on the counter. “Just let me know the date so I can put it on my calendar.”
“Yeah, I will,” I say, my heart pounding in my ears. “Colby’s birthday is the fourth. Not sure if we’re doing it on his actual birthday or another night. I’ll let you know.”
“Cool. Sounds good. Assuming I don’t have a work commitment that night, of course.”
“Oh, of course.”
Josh lets out a long exhale and then glides across the kitchen and hands me my drink. “Here you go, Party Girl.” He flashes a megawatt grin, relieved of his earlier inability to maneuver his mouth into a smile. “I added just a touch of cranberry to the soda for you. Hope that’s okay.”
“Great.” I take a sip. “Yummalicious. What else is in there?”
“The tiniest splash of grapefruit juice, just to take the edge off the cranberry.”
“Oh, kinda like a Sea Breeze plus soda.”
“Exactly.”
“I like it. Thank you.” I take another sip. “Ooph. That’s a strong drink.”
“Go big or go home, I always say.” He winks. “Come on, PG. Let’s go chill out in the living room.”
Chapter 24
Kat
We amble out of the kitchen, drinks in hand, into the living room—and I settle myself onto the black leather couch while Josh chooses some music for our listening pleasure.
“So how long have your parents been married?” Josh asks, fiddling with his laptop.
“Thirty years this August.”
He looks up from what he’s doing, obviously astonished. “Wow. That’s crazy.”
“Yeah. Pretty crazy.”
A song begins playing through Josh’s sound system—a male vocalist backed by an acoustic guitar.
“What is this?” I ask, somewhat surprised by Josh’s song selection. I’d have pegged him to play us something with a thumping beat.
“James Bay,” he says. “‘Scars.’ Jonas had it on the other day when I was with him in New York and it slayed me. I bought the guy’s whole album on the spot and every song is phenomenal.” Josh sits down next to me and puts his hand on my thigh. “This James Bay guy sings with his soul.”
“That’s a great description.”
Josh sips his drink and listens to the music for a moment. “So, thirty years, huh? Are your parents happily married?”
I’m shocked he’s asking questions about my family. “Definitely,” I say, my skin suddenly buzzing.
“Even after thirty years?”
“Well, I’m sure they’ve both wanted to murder each other more than once over the years. But, yeah, they’re still totally in love. More so than ever, I think. I like being around them—they’re nice to each other. They still laugh at each other’s jokes.”
“Wow.” He looks deep in thought.
I take a deep breath. I shouldn’t ask the question rolling around in my head—I really shouldn’t. But I can’t help myself. “So, are you gonna be like Reed, you think? Are you gonna ride off into the sunset alone and unencumbered by messy human emotion?”
Josh looks taken aback by my question. “Uh, wow.” He makes a weird face. “Is that what Reed said? I didn’t interpret it quite that way.” He makes a face. “But, um, yeah, I don’t really envision myself getting married, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I sip my drink. Why did I just ask him that? I really didn’t need to hear him say that so starkly, even if I already knew that’s what he’d say.
“I don’t have anything against marriage, mind you,” Josh continues. “I’m totally happy for your parents if it works for them—kind of in awe of them, actually—I just don’t see the logical point of marriage as an institution,” he continues. “I mean, if you wanna be with someone, be with them. If you don’t, then leave. No need to get a piece of paper from the government that forces you to stay if you’d rather go.”
I sip my drink quietly, listening to the music, wishing I could rewind time and un-ask the question. If I were my own life coach, I’d be slapping myself across the face right now and
shouting, “Fucking idiot!”
“You disagree with me?” he asks, studying my face.
“No,” I say. I sip my drink. “I most certainly do not disagree.” I really, really should leave it at that. Definitely. That would be the wise thing to do.
“But?” he prompts.
“No ‘but.’ I don’t disagree with you in concept one little bit.” I sip my drink again. Damn, that’s a strong drink. And, damn, I wish I hadn’t asked Josh about marriage of all things, for crying out loud. I’m truly an idiot, not to mention quite possibly a masochist, too.
“But?” he repeats.
“But...” I say, drawing out the word. Oh hell. Keeping a lid on every frickin’ thought that flashes into my head isn’t my strong suit, especially when it comes to Joshua William Faraday. “But watching my parents through the years—the way they’ve stuck it out through thick and thin and how strong they are because of it—how strong our whole family is because of it—I think there’s a bit more to marriage than just, you know, ‘I can’t leave your sorry ass because that goddamned piece of paper forces me to stay.’” My cheeks burst with color. Why am I saying all this? “But,” I continue, trying to appease the shrieking voice inside my head telling me to press the eject button, “I definitely hear you—marriage certainly isn’t for everyone.” I clear my throat. “I’m not sure it’s for me, honestly. I was just saying it’s worked out well for my parents.” Oh God. I wish I could jump into a time machine, go back to three minutes ago, and say, without elaboration or qualification, “Oh, I totally agree. One hundred percent.”
Josh makes a face I can’t interpret. “Maybe marriage might make sense for people who want to have kids.”
There’s an awkward pause. Did he just backtrack? Are we meeting in the middle? Hmm. I do believe we are. Which therefore means I should leave it at that. But, oh God, I can’t. “Well, actually,” I begin, ignoring the warning bells going off in my head, “if you think about it, marriage makes less sense if you’ve got a kid with someone.”
He looks at me like I’ve just shouted, “Justin Bieber for President!”
“Because,” I continue, pissing off my internal life coach even more, “whether or not you’ve got a piece of paper from the government, once you have a kid with someone, that person’s gonna be in your life forever and ever, regardless. I think it’s more meaningful to choose to be with someone just because you want to make a life with them, not because you plan to make them a vessel for your mighty spawn.”
There’s an awkward silence.
I seem to have rendered Josh (and myself) speechless. What the fuck am I doing? If I were my own life coach, I’d be throwing my hands up in disgust saying, “You’re obviously completely un-coachable.”
James Bay’s voice fills the room for a very long moment.
“That’s kind of the flipside of what my dad always used to drill into Jonas and me,” Josh finally says. “He was obsessive about it, actually.” He puts on a booming, paternal voice, clearly imitating his father: “‘Boys, when you’ve got Faraday money, women will try to trap you into marriage with an ‘accidental’ pregnancy right and left—every goddamned time you fuck one of ’em. Don’t you dare let me catch either of you ever making an accidental Faraday with a woman unworthy of our name or I’ll get the last laugh on that gold digger’s ass and disown you faster than she can demand a paternity test.’”
My jaw drops. What the fuckity fuck?
“That’s why I’ve always been obsessive about wearing condoms,” Josh continues softly. “Way before I’d ever even gotten to second base with a girl, I was already freaking out about unwittingly creating an ‘accidental Faraday’ with some random woman who was ‘unworthy’ of my name and bank account.”
I clutch my stomach. I feel physically sick. What kind of father says all that to his young sons? Preaching safe sex is one thing, sure, I get that—especially when you’ve got a kajillion dollars to your name, I suppose—but a father conditioning his pubescent sons to think every girl out there is a gold digger and telling them he’d disown them if they ever knocked someone up is pretty fucked up, if you ask me. “Your dad sounds like he was a real peach,” I mumble.
“Oh, you have no fucking idea,” Josh says between gritted teeth.
A sudden panic rises up inside me. “Josh, I’m on the pill—you know that, right? I would never, ever do that to you—”
Josh looks ashen. “Oh, God, I know that. I didn’t mean—”
“I’d never, ever try to trick you into anything. In fact, we can go back to using condoms, if you want, every single time—”
“Kat, please. Stop. I know you’d never try to trick or trap me. I’m sorry I said—”
“We can use condoms,” I persist. I’m totally freaking out.
“Kat, please. Pretend I never said anything. I didn’t mean to imply...” He takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Jesus, my dad is the gift that keeps on giving, isn’t he? Listen to me, Kat, I know you’d never do that to me. The only reason I felt comfortable enough to tell you the fucked-up shit my Dad said is because I know you’d never do that.”
Oh, jeez. I’ve never been so relieved not to be pregnant in all my life. Last week, after losing sleep for two nights over that birth control pill I’d missed, I finally traipsed down to the all-night drug store and bought myself a pregnancy test. And when I peed on that little stick and it came back with only one little pink line, I let out the longest exhale of my life.
“I’m definitely not gestating an accidental Faraday,” I say, trying to sound light and bright but obviously not succeeding. “I’m a mill-i-on-aire now, remember? I don’t need to trap you for your stinkin’ Faraday money.”
Josh runs his hands through his hair. “Kat, please forgive me. I was just telling you what my dad said because... I don’t even know why I said it. I certainly wasn’t implying you were trying to trap me in some way or that you’d even think of doing that. I think I was just trying to reveal one of the many ways I’m fucked up to you—trying to explain why I might be unusually high-strung or weird about certain things.” He shakes his head and exhales. “I think I was just trying to... you know... take a stab at... emotional intimacy.” He makes a face that says, “I guess I still suck at it.”
I chuckle. I can’t help it. He’s so frickin’ cute.
Josh exhales. “The truth is I’m actually pretty fucked up, Kat. I’m just really good at hiding it.”
I grab his hand. “No you’re not, Josh. Not at all.” I grin. “You’re actually horrible at hiding it.”
He bursts out laughing and all tension between us instantly evaporates. He grabs the back of my neck and pulls me into him for an enthusiastic kiss. “You’re awesome, Kat,” he mumbles into my lips. “So fucking awesome.” He pulls back and looks into my eyes for a moment, his blue eyes sparkling. “I’ve never told anyone about all that. My dad was so fucked up, you have no idea—he said the craziest shit all the time. Sometimes, looking back, I can’t figure out what shit was normal father-son stuff to say and what shit was just, like, you know, totally out of line. It all jumbles together.”
“I’m glad you told me. I really like the Josh who can’t hide he’s fucked up.”
“But your family sounds so normal. You must think I’m a ticking time bomb of crazy.”
“Oh, please. My family has its crazy, too. Not necessarily in the same league as your father, but crazy nonetheless. And, hey, why would I care if you’ve got crazy in your family? Since I have zero desire to make a Faraday with you, I’ll never have to worry about passing your crazy-genes on to my offspring.”
Josh bristles. Shoot. I shouldn’t have said he has crazy-genes. That was pretty insensitive, given what he’s been through with his father and brother.
“You have zero desire to make a Faraday with me?” Josh says.
I’m astonished. That’s what offended him?
“Not even a little bit?” he asks, shooting me a charming smile.
“Not even a little bit,” I say. And it’s the truth.
“Well, shit, Kat,” he says, pouting. “I’m genuinely offended.”
I throw my hands up. “You’re offended I don’t wanna make a baby with you? What the fuck? Do you have a split personality?”
“Quite possibly. I do have crazy-genes, after all.” He makes a “crazy” face.
I chuckle. “I thought you’d be thrilled I don’t want to make a Faraday with you.”
“Well, yeah, sure, from a practical standpoint, I’m elated. But from an evolutionary standpoint, I’m deeply offended. You should be chomping at the bit to snag my fabulous genes, crazy or not. Look at me. I’m an ideal sperm donor.”
I laugh. “Oh, really? You’ve got a pretty high opinion of yourself, huh?”
“I’m saying from an evolutionary standpoint. Our only purpose as a species is to reproduce. There’s no other reason for existence. You’re born. You reproduce. You die. That’s the game of life—finding someone to give you hearty spawn so you can live eternally through them.”
“Wowza.” I’m speechless for a moment. “Well, I think I’m gonna have to disagree with you—it sounds to me like you’re not as ideal a sperm-donor as you think. I’d prefer my spawn to have a father who wants them, first of all—that’s always nice—plus, I’d want my spawn to inherit a little bit of humility along with their chiseled cheeks and rock-hard abs.”
“No, no, no. You’ve got it all wrong. From an evolutionary standpoint, humility is completely counterproductive. Does a peacock say, ‘Aw, shucks,’ about the feathers on his tail? No, he’s genetically engineered to flaunt his tail. Why? So he can attract the best peahen in the flock.”
“Peahen?”
“The female version of peacock. The name for male and females together is actually ‘peafowl.’”
“And you know this factoid because?”
“Because I grew up with Jonas. The dude’s got so much weird shit trapped in his brain, it’s bizarre.”