She's Faking It

by Kristin Rockaway

  “I’m looking forward to it,” I said, resolving myself to suck it up and deal. It was only two days in the desert.

  Instead of goodbye, Natasha said, “They’re going to have a hot tub, so don’t forget to bring a bathing suit.” Which reminded me I needed to pack a bag. I should’ve swiped that rolling Samsonite suitcase from Rob’s storage unit when I had the chance.

  As I tore through my closet in search of an old duffel bag I knew I’d used in college, my phone buzzed with a text message from Trey: Meet outside at 8AM? I’ve got an extra board for you.

  Double shit.

  With everything else going on today—and there was a whole lot of “else” going on—I’d forgotten all about my private surf lesson. This morning, Trey was all I could think about; now he was the furthest thing from my mind. I frantically tried to figure out a way to make it work, but if the Lyft was coming for me at nine, there was no way I could squeeze in a surf lesson beforehand.

  Trey, I am so sorry, but I won’t be able to make it.

  Something came up with my sister. Totally last-minute.

  Need to be in Encinitas first thing.

  Will be there all weekend.

  No worries, I get it.

  Family first.

  Can I get a rain check? Next week?

  Absolutely.

  Hope everything’s ok with your sis.

  Disappointment settled over me like a lead blanket. I wanted to get back in the water with Trey, more than anything. The highlight of my day—my week, my year!—had been waking up this morning in the house of my dreams, with the man of my dreams cooking me the breakfast of my dreams.

  I couldn’t deny there was power to all that creative visualization. Without it, I wouldn’t have conquered my fear of the ocean, wouldn’t have waded into the waves like a fierce, fearless warrior. I wouldn’t have knocked on Trey’s door last night, either.

  Positive energy followed positive thoughts.

  So I resolved to keep my thoughts positive this weekend, and make the most of this rare and precious time alone with my close-to-perfect big sister.

  Chapter 21

  The duffel bag wasn’t in my closet. It was stuffed beneath my bed, crammed behind my box of memories in a dusty, wrinkled lump. When I straightened it out, a dust cloud exploded in my face, causing a series of violent sneezing fits. Worse still, I discovered a crucial seam had burst, so anything I put in the bag would promptly fall out the bottom.

  As I kneeled on the ground, wondering if I could roll into this retreat with my belongings in a garbage bag, I remembered my junk drawer, and more important, the electrical tape I knew was inside. Good thing I’d held on to it. A few wide, overlapping strips mended the hole in the duffel quite nicely. It certainly wasn’t #glamour or #goals, but I wasn’t concerned with impressing anyone. Not anymore.

  I did want to wear something nicer than my usual uniform of joggers and T-shirts, though, so I combed through my closet looking for outfits that would be appropriate for both farm-to-table dinners and chanting circles. Problem was, I didn’t have much. My maxidress was an obvious choice, even though it was still a bit rumpled from spending last night on Trey’s floor. There was a red body-con dress I’d worn exactly once, the night I met Rob on Garnet Street. Not exactly suitable for a retreat in the desert, but I tossed it in my bag, anyway; it’d be perfect negative energy to burn in the ceremonial firepit.

  The most promising find was a cute romper with a strappy back in a flowery print. It almost reminded me of those pink peonies—before they died, of course. I’d bought it a while ago, an impulse purchase during a rare trip to Forever 21, but the price tags were still dangling from the sleeves. There weren’t many opportunities for me to wear an outfit this adorable, but it seemed perfect for this weekend. Hopefully, it still fit.

  I wiggled out of my clothes and stepped into the legs, hoisting the top of the romper up over my hips. As I attempted to slip my arms through the sleeves, the straps in the back got all tangled up, and I realized it was on backward. My boobs protruded awkwardly through the straps that were supposed to be stretched across my shoulder blades. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror hanging on the back of my closet door and couldn’t help but laugh.

  It was all very funny until someone knocked on the door.

  A quick check of my phone revealed the time—6:38. Dan-O wasn’t due to pick up the surfboard for another twenty minutes, and he’d told me he would text when he arrived. I’d explicitly asked him to stay outside, in the alley by the garage, not climb the stairs to my apartment and knock on my door. Why was it so impossible for people to follow simple instructions?

  Well, I wasn’t gonna answer the door, especially in this state, with my boobs hanging out of this romper like some sort of BDSM sub ready for a play party. With the dead bolt firmly in the locked position, I reached for my phone. I’d simply text Dan-O and tell him to go wait downstairs, like we’d initially agreed upon.

  Except I didn’t even have a chance to pull up his number, because all of a sudden, the room echoed with the distinct scratch of a key in a lock and I watched in horror as the dead bolt handle turned to the left.

  What the hell was going on? Who even had an extra key? Was it my landlord? Had my Venmo payment for the rent not gone through because of this damn court order?

  There was no time to think it through. As soon as the front door cracked open, I dove into my closet, seeking cover behind the narrow rack of clothes. Hangers went flying off the pole, fabric collapsing in a puddle at my feet. I clutched the bodice of my high school prom dress to my exposed chest—why did I still have my prom dress in here?—and tried in vain to quiet my heavy breaths.

  With the closet door half-closed, I couldn’t see who had entered the room. Hinges creaked, then tentative footsteps hit the laminate floor. One step, two steps, pause.

  I tightened my throat, afraid the air going in and out of my lungs would give me away. Whoever it was gave a questioning hum—a distinctly male hum—and then the footsteps resumed. One step, two steps, no pause, oh, God, they were headed toward the closet. I grasped desperately for a weapon, any weapon, that platform shoe I hadn’t worn since freshman year would do. With a rigid stance, I raised it up, prepared to gouge out an eye with this heel.

  The footsteps stopped right outside the closet. I could see his shadow under the door, hear him clear his throat, smell his thick, skunky, familiar odor. It smelled remarkably like weed.

  This motherfucker.

  In a fit of unforeseen fury, I dropped the prom dress, shoe still in hand, and shoved the closet door open, throwing all my weight behind it. The force was enough to send Rob flying backward. He grunted, then lay there a moment, staring up at the ceiling. His reflexes had always been poor.

  Finally, he sat forward, rubbing the back of his head. “Ow! What the fuck, Bree?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What the fuck?’ I should be the one asking that question. What the fuck are you doing here?”

  The asshole had the nerve to smile. “I’m home, baby.”

  I couldn’t believe I hadn’t made him hand over his keys. “This isn’t your home. You left, remember? You said you were going to find yourself in the rainforest.”

  With some effort, he got to his feet, then his eyes bulged lecherously as he took in my outfit. “You getting into bondage now? I like it.”

  I was so angry I didn’t bother to cover my boobs. I just pointed to the door. “Get out.”

  He ignored my demand, instead scanning the mess strewn around the apartment. “Yo, is that my surfboard?”

  The lie came quick. “StoreSmart called me the other day and said I needed to empty out your storage unit or they’d auction it off. Said the bill hadn’t been paid in three months.”

  “That doesn’t make sense, it’s on autopay out of my bank account. Why did they call you and not me?”
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br />   “You got rid of your phone before you went to the Amazon, remember? I’m assuming you got a new number now that you’re back?”

  He nodded, as if this made perfect sense, though in reality, I doubt Rob had been smart enough to list me as a backup contact for his storage unit. “Right.”

  “Why are you here?”

  Rob’s eyes got soft. Almost weepy, really. He took a step toward me and I backed up, instinctively lifting the shoe in my hand as a threat. Don’t come closer.

  A deep inhale, a dramatic exhale. “Because I miss you.”

  Well, that was unexpected.

  I dropped the shoe on the floor at my feet, feeling cold and completely exposed. My eyes fell upon the box with the contents of my car. It had been living on the floor since Natasha brought it over. The hoodie sat on top; I snatched it up and quickly zipped it on over my backward romper. It smelled like mildew.

  If Rob had returned three weeks ago telling me how much he missed me, I would’ve fallen into his open arms and forgotten about everything that had gone down. But things were different now. I was over him.

  No, more than that. He repulsed me.

  For the first time since he’d arrived, I took a good, long look at him. He didn’t appear nearly as polished as he had in his Instagram photos. His hair was mussed, and his chinstrap was growing back, and his Pink Floyd T-shirt had a hole in it. From the bulge above his waistband, it seemed like his six-pack was gone, too.

  Though maybe he never had a six-pack to begin with. Maybe his muscles had been digitally airbrushed. Another Insta-scam.

  “If you missed me so much, then why didn’t you call me when you landed in LA?” Rob opened his mouth, ready to protest, but I said, “I saw your Instagram, Rob. I know you’ve been back for quite some time.”

  He nodded, acknowledging defeat, then carelessly pushed aside the duffel bag and sat down on the bed. My clothes crumpled beneath his weight.

  “In the rainforest,” he said, fingers stroking his chin in an approximation of thoughtfulness, “I confronted some hard truths about myself. The Divine Mother Shakti told me that at the root of all my problems was my broken relationship with my parents. So I went back to LA with a fresh set of eyes and an open heart, prepared to focus one hundred percent of my energy on healing that relationship. That’s why I couldn’t call you. There wasn’t enough space in my soul.”

  What a bunch of bullshit. “But there was enough space in your soul to start an influencer account?”

  “That was a business move. It required a totally different soul energy.”

  I clasped my hands together tightly to keep from throttling him. “So, what now? You’ve healed things with your parents and now you want to heal things with me?”

  “I didn’t heal things with my parents.” He picked at his ragged cuticles. His nails were bitten down to the quick, and for a second, I almost felt bad for him.

  “What happened?”

  “They started in on the whole college thing again, and I’m just not about that life, you know? It’s like they want me to be someone I’m not.”

  I nodded, my sympathy growing. Sure, Rob came from money, but his parents weren’t exactly warm and fuzzy. From what he’d told me, they were hardly ever around growing up, always distracted with work or social obligations or trips abroad without him. They didn’t spend much quality time with him, getting to know him or nurturing his spirit. Which was probably why he turned out the way he did.

  “But it made me realize how perfect you are for me,” he continued. “You let me be who I am, and I let you be who you are. We don’t try to change each other. We’re so good together.”

  He stood up and walked toward me, one hand reaching out for mine. I didn’t reach back. Instead, I wrapped my arms around my chest, holding myself for support.

  “That’s not a good thing,” I said. “When you love someone, you should encourage them to aim high. Challenge them to be better.”

  A lazy smile spread across his unshaven face. “You don’t need to be any better, baby. I think you’re perfect just the way you are.”

  An endearing sentiment, if it hadn’t been coming from Rob. “You told me living with me was ‘slumming it.’”

  He laughed, like this was all some big joke. “You know what I meant by that.”

  “No, I don’t. Honestly, enlighten me, because—”

  An incessant buzzing distracted me from finishing my sentence. I crossed the room, to where my phone sat amidst the clutter on my coffee table. The screen lit up with an incoming call from a 619 number I didn’t recognize. I swiped it to voice mail, but then saw I’d received two text messages from the same number.

  Hey, it’s Dan-O. I’m here for the surfboard.

  You home? I’m outside by the garage.

  “Goddammit.”

  “What is it, baby?” Rob put a hand on my shoulder, which I instantly brushed away. I needed to get rid of Dan-O, immediately. My thumbs typed frantically, telling him there was a change of plans, that he couldn’t have the surfboard tonight. But before I hit Send, there was a knock at the door.

  Rob threw me an accusatory look. “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know.” My high-pitched voice didn’t sound particularly convincing to my own ears, but Rob seemed eager to play big hero man.

  “Stay here.” Slowly, he approached the front door, his fingers curled into a shaky fist. As he turned the knob, he cocked his arm, ready to throw the first punch. I flashed forward to our twin mug shots, taken later this evening, after we were arrested for a Craigslist bait-and-switch scam.

  “Don’t!” I yelled, at the exact moment Rob flung open the door.

  Dan-O stood on the landing, his eyes filled with fear. He threw his hands up to shield his face. “I don’t wanna hurt you man, I’m just here for the surfboard!”

  Rob squinted, arm still cocked. “Yo, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

  Peering through his fingers, Dan-O studied Rob’s face. Then he lowered his hands and said, “Didn’t you work at Doobie Den?”

  “Yeah. Oh, wait, now I remember. You always ordered the Afghan Kush. Dan-O, right?”

  He sighed with relief and lowered his hands. “Right.”

  In one smooth movement, Rob transformed his fist into a high five, and these two had a touching reunion in my doorway, as if I wasn’t standing there in a hoodie and a backward romper. “Good to see you, man.”

  “Same, same. Where you been?”

  “Around. Did a little traveling down to South America, then LA for a while, and now I’m back in SD for good. Just talked to Colton, I’m gonna pick up a shift at the Den tomorrow.”

  “Just like old times.”

  “No doubt!” Rob laughed, overjoyed to begin his life again. The same life he’d been living before he’d gone to the Amazon in search of a change. So much for deep spiritual growth.

  “So, where’s the surfboard at?” Dan-O asked, rubbing his palms together.

  The smile on Rob’s face faded slightly. “What are you talking about?”

  “The Firewire. From Craigslist.” He peered over Rob’s shoulder, spotting the board propped up against the wall. “That’s the one from the picture, isn’t it?”

  Rob looked at the board, then back at Dan-O, then slowly, painfully, he turned his gaze toward me. Any hope I may have had that his pot-addled brain couldn’t put two and two together was dashed as soon as he said, “That’s the one, but it’s not for sale.”

  Dan-O made a confused sound. “But, the ad—”

  “Yeah, man. The ad was wrong.” With a smarmy smile, he swung his gaze back toward Dan-O. “Big misunderstanding with my girlfriend.”

  “I’m not your girlfriend anymore,” I said.

  Dan-O looked from Rob to me with an expression halfway between confusion and terror. “Uh, okay.”

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bsp; “Sorry about that, man. Come in tomorrow and I’ll hook you up with some Sour Kush Kids.” He extended his hand for another bro slap, before Dan-O hightailed it down the stairs. Then Rob spun around, a clarity on his face that I don’t think I’d ever seen before. “You’ve been selling my shit?” When I didn’t answer, he pressed on. “What else have you sold?”

  “Some electronics.”

  “My PlayStation?” I nodded. “My Oculus?” I nodded again. “Even my camera drone?”

  “No, I didn’t sell that.” Which was the truth; I’d given it away.

  He raked his hands through his hair. “What the fuck, Bree?”

  I knew what I did was wrong. I knew I should’ve said I was sorry and paved the way toward redemption. But in that moment, at the end of what felt like the longest day of my entire life, there was no remorse. Only resentment.

  “You left! You just picked up and moved out without caring about how it would affect me.”

  “Last I checked, we weren’t married. I’m twenty-eight, this is my time to go out and explore the world. I went on a journey to find myself.”

  “Well, you didn’t find anything new. You’re the same loser you always were.”

  “I’m the loser?” He gestured to the mess all around us. “I’m not the one selling my ex-boyfriend’s shit on the internet to pay rent on some shithole apartment.”

  “Well, we don’t all have Daddy’s trust fund to pay our way through life. Some of us have to hustle to keep our heads above water.” It was the first time I’d ever acknowledged his trust fund out loud. From the way his mouth hung open, I couldn’t tell if he was shocked or shamefaced.

  But the next words he spoke were pure fire. “You wanna talk about my father? Fine. Once he finds out what you did, I’m sure he’d be happy to see you in court.”

  My face burned thinking of his dad, the big Hollywood attorney. His money, his power. He could crush me like a bug.

  Even if things were tense between him and his parents, even if they hadn’t “healed their broken relationship,” they’d always have their son’s back. They still gave him money, still welcomed him into their Brentwood mansion every time he needed a soft place to land. The last thing I wanted to do was face them in court. I had enough legal woes at the moment.