“Why don’t you know the name of your own show?” Gab asks him.
“Yes, tell us. Why?” Granny echoes, and the two of them stick their necks out and stare at him like a couple of tortoises of the Galapagos. Seriously, they’re like a couple of bumbling elderly investigators out to solve a telly-related crime.
Nick leans down closer to the two tortoises and says gravely, “There’s a very good reason why I don’t the name of that show.”
“And what’s that?” enquires Granny, thoroughly riveted.
“I’m not on it,” he says with a shake of his head.
He’s being very patient with them, and I can’t help but smile at the way he’s handling them.
Granny and Gab both recoil from him in surprise. “So you’re not that handsome young man with all the wonderful ideas on how to freshen up kitchen cabinets?” Gab asks, and he shakes his head once more.
“And I suppose you’re going to tell us you’ve got no idea how to pep up a wilting orchid before the family comes over for dinner?” Granny asks, sounding thoroughly put out.
“Granny, that’s very specific,” I say with a laugh.
“It was on the show last week, Ernie,” she explains. “I’ve been pepping up my orchids all week.”
Nick shrugs. “I don’t know about orchids or kitchen cabinets or any of it. Sorry. Although you’re right. I am on the telly,” he replies, quoting their British name for TV, although it’s not in the least bit cruel. It’s gentle ribbing, probably for my benefit, if the quick smile he shoots me has anything to do with it. “And I do work with Ernie.”
I whip my head in his direction at the mention of my family-only nickname. Not even my BFFs use that name!
“Well, that’s a shame, because we like the man on that show. Don’t we, Betty?” Granny says.
“We do, Marlene. We do,” she confirms with a firm nod of her head.
“Well, maybe you could ask your granddaughter to date him next,” Nick suggests with a cheeky grin.
“Oh, you!” Gab bats him on the arm. She’s so little and so frail, and he’s so big and so muscular, I bet he doesn’t feel a thing. “You’re a cheeky one.” She shakes her head. “He’s a cheeky one, this one, love,” she says to me.
“Yes, he is,” I reply.
Granny crosses her arms across her chest (above her breasts, as only the elderly can with any comfort) and narrows her eyes at him.
Uh-oh.
“What do you mean by dating him next?” she asks. “Are you dating our Ernie now?”
My insides twist as I scramble for a reply. “It was just a slip of the tongue, right, Nick? Nothing more than that.” I shoot him a deploring look.
“It was my attempt at humor. Nothing more,” he replies.
“Well, dear, I think you should stick with being handsome,” Granny says as she reaches up and pats him on the cheek. “He’s very handsome, don’t you think?” she asks me.
Heat builds in my cheeks. “Hmm, yes he is.” Because the truth of the matter is Nick is very handsome. He’s got what people call chiseled good looks, with his olive skin, dark hair, and super-fit, super-buff physique.
He shoots me a questioning look, those perpetually smiling lips of his twitching. “It’s official, Ernie: Gab and Granny rock.”
My smile is one of relief and something else. He’s being so patient and sweet with my family, a small part of me wonders whether he’s not so horrible after all.
Hang on. Back up the bus here. What am I thinking? He’s an arrogant, self-interested professional rugby player. Of course he’s horrible. Isn’t he?
“I’ve got it!” Gab declares, pulling me back to the conversation. “He’s on television playing that thing.”
“What thing?” Granny asks.
“You know, the thing with the thing,” she says completely unhelpfully. When Granny simply looks at her with a perplexed expression, she exclaims, “He wears shorts and chases a ball!”
“Do you mean sports?” Granny asks.
“Yes!” she replies.
“Shall I put you both out of your misery?” Nick offers, and not a moment too soon.
“That might be for the best. Her and all her ‘things.’ Betty, you need to use the words, or no one will know what you’re talking about,” Granny grumps.
Gab waves her comment away with a flick of the wrist. “Let the man speak, Marlene.”
They do their tortoise impression once more as they peer at him.
“I’m a rugby player. I play for the Hawks, which is how I work with Erin. You might also have seen me playing for the All Blacks, too, which I did last year.”
“I knew it!” Gab announces immediately in triumph.
“No, you didn’t,” Granny huffs.
Gab raises her chin. “I did. The shorts and the ball. If that’s not rugby, I don’t know what is.”
“Betty, that’s every sport,” Granny replies. “Really, you may be twenty-two months older than me, but there’s no need to act all superior.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” I say, my hands in the air. I love Granny and Gab, but they bicker like a couple of, well, old women. Which figures, really. They’re both in their early eighties, after all. “You know where you’ve seen Nick before, and now, it’s time for us to get back to work and for you two to go enjoy your fabulous high tea.” I shoot them both an encouraging smile.
Granny pecks me on the cheek. “All right, Ernie. We know when we’re not wanted.”
“Yes, we do,” Gab agrees. “Nice to meet you, young man.”
“Gab, it’s Nick,” I say.
“Oh, you know me. I’m really quite…what is that word?”
“Forgetful?” Granny offers.
“All right. Keep your voice down. You don’t have to announce it to the whole room,” Gab protests.
I glance at Nick to see him watching the two old biddies with a smile on his face.
“We’d better get going, Ernie,” he says. “We’ve got that thing.”
“See?” Gab says, tugging on Granny’s sleeve. “Even the young ones forget words.”
I take my elderly relatives to the podium and hand them over to Sophie. Let her deal with their questions and chatter for a while.
Finally, Nick and I manage to extricate ourselves, and we walk to his truck.
I settle into the black leather seat. It’s so comfortable, I’m going to find it hard to go back to my little runaround after this. When Nick gets in his side, I say, “Thank you for being so kind to them.”
“They’re fantastic.”
I laugh. “They can be a little much. Sorry they put you through that whole home improvement thing.”
“No worries. I’ll have to find out who that guy is.” He turns the ignition and the truck begins to rumble, “Family is everything, you know.”
“Speaking of which, only my family calls me Ernie. Not even Sophie or Darcy use the name.”
“I think it suits you.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
All he does is laugh. “Tell me something. Back there when you introduced me to them, why did you tell them we worked together? Why not tell them we’re dating, like we’re telling everyone else?”
“Because they’re my family.”
“So what happens when they see us together online?”
“Granny and Gab think online is when you hang your laundry out on a sunny day, so I think we’re pretty safe on that front.”
“You know what I mean. Someone in your family or someone they know will see us online or in a magazine or whatever, and they’ll ask questions. What are you gonna tell them then?”
I chew on my lip. I hadn’t thought that through. As stupid as it sounds, I figured I’d leave my family out of the whole thing. Nick and me fake dating is a work thing, a way to help him with his image and get my fashion designs out there. Nothing more.
But of course they’re going to hear about us. They don’t live in some bubble floating up in the ether away from the
rest of the world.
“You’ll need to lie to them, just like we’re lying to everyone else,” he says.
Anxiety twists my belly. “I don’t want to do that. They’re, well…they’ve got a lot going on. I don’t want to add to that by lying to them. It doesn’t feel right.”
“What are you gonna do then?”
“I don’t know. What do you plan on saying to your family?”
“I’ve already told them I’ve got a girl.”
“You’ve ‘got a girl’?” I repeat with a laugh. “Do they live in the 1960’s?”
“What’s wrong with saying ‘I’ve got a girl’?”
I press my lips together. “Nothing. It sounds old-fashioned, that’s all,” I reply before I add, “So, you’re lying to them about us.”
“Yeah, I am. Believe me, it’s better that way. With five sisters and a mom who knows everyone, there’s no way our secret would be safe.”
“You’ve got five sisters?”
“Yup. And I’m the baby of the family, so it was virtually impossible to avoid getting dressed up in Snow White costumes and paraded around the neighborhood. Seriously, I think I’m still psychologically scarred by it all. Gilmore Girls was just the tip of the iceberg.”
“No wonder you became a rugby player.”
“Exactly. I grew up surrounded by estrogen. I needed my man time.”
“I bet you did.” I let out a puff of air and watch as we whizz through the city on our way back to the Hawks office.
I chew on my lip, lost in thought. If I tell my family I’m dating Nick, I’m lying to them, and if I tell them we’re not dating and they see some article that says we are, then what do I do? It’s a hopeless situation, and in the end all I can wish for is that this fake relationship with Nick is swift and very short-lived.
Chapter 7
A couple of days later, I arrive at my family home a few minutes before dinner time. Even though Dad didn’t give me a specific time to get here, I know it’s almost dinner because my family eats at six o’clock on the button every single day of their lives. Once, when I was sixteen and offered to cook, I missed the required time by twelve minutes. My whole family sat in dissatisfied silence for the entire meal, Bert of the mono-brow fame included (okay, he’s called plain old Tim, but man, how I wish that nickname had stuck the way mine did!). I haven’t cooked a meal for them since. True story.
“Hi, it’s me!” I call out as I push through the front door to the cottage I grew up in. I hang my jacket on a spare hook on the wall. There are five hooks: one for Dad, one for Tim, one for me, and one for a guest. The fifth hook is for Mom, and it’s stood empty for months. I feel a rush of sadness before I quickly look away.
I don’t want to think about all that right now.
“Hey, Ernie,” Tim says as he lumbers down the hall toward me in his heavy work boots.
“Shoes off inside, remember? Mom’s rule.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek.
He looks down at his boots as though noticing them for the first time. “Oh, yeah. I’ll take them off.” He leans against the wall and begins to unlace them. “I saw Mom last night. She was doing okay.”
My throat tightens. “Did she recognize you?”
He shakes his head. “Nah. Not this time. Maybe she will when we all go visit her on the weekend.”
I force a smile. “Maybe.”
Alzheimer’s is a terrible, terrible thing. It robs you of the person you know, the person you love. It happens slowly, devastatingly, and there’s nothing you can do about it. My mom’s loving smile and passion for life have been replaced by an impassive, blank person, a shadow of the woman she was. It’s heartbreaking, and although I visit her twice a week, it takes all my nerve to walk through the care home doors.
I leave Tim in the hallway and wander down toward the kitchen. The tempting aroma of lasagna has my mouth watering, and when I breeze through the door, I find my dad sitting at the table with his Mom and his aunt—Granny and Gab, the elderly criminal investigating tortoises of the Galapagos.
Dad springs out of his seat and collects me in one of his bear hugs. “Hello, sweetie. It’s good to see you. I’m making your favorite.”
I grin at him. “Lasagna. Yum.” I give Granny and Gab a kiss each and plunk myself down at the kitchen table. “How was your afternoon at Cozy Cottage High Tea?” I ask them.
“Absolutely splendid, pet!” Granny announces as Gab says, “Smashing, love!”
“I do love a good high tea. I don’t know why we don’t eat it all the time,” Granny says. “Wouldn’t that be lovely, Betty?”
“Oh, yes. I love the way you simply pop the thingies into your mouth,” Gab says.
“I can cut your lasagna up into bite sized pieces if you like, Gab?” Dad suggests from his spot by the kitchen counter.
“Oh, Leonard. That would be silly. Now if you were to make those tasty coconutty things with the raspberries, I wouldn’t say no.”
Dad looks up and smiles at her. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Our old family dog comes charging into the kitchen and immediately jumps onto my lap and begins to lick my face. Jellybean, so called not because of her unnatural color and kidney-like shape but rather because she’s a cute little Boston Terrier the size of a jelly bean, would lick my face for an hour if I let her. I don’t because eww, she’s a dog and licks her…well, it would be gross, let’s leave it at that.
“Hello, Jellybean. Hello, girl,” I coo as I pet her head. “Where were you when I came through the front door? No welcoming committee for me today.”
“She was out back,” Tim says, standing in the kitchen. “Granny, you locked her in your house, and she was barking her little black and white head off.”
“Oh, did I? I had no idea,” Granny replies.
“Oh, you’re always doing that sort of thing,” Gab grumps. “Or is it me always doing that sort of thing? I forget.”
“Why don’t we say it’s both of you and leave it at that?” Dad suggests, ever the diplomat. Like me and Tim, he’s used to Granny and Gab’s bickering. They’re a regular Lorelai and Luke from the Gilmore Girls, only without the sexual tension. Oh, and the endless coffee. Being true Brits, they’re tea devotees.
“Great idea, Dad,” Tim says. “Hey, is dinner nearly ready? I’ve gotta go out in thirty.”
“To find your own apartment?” I ask with a sweet smile. Even though Tim is only two years younger than me, he still sponges off Dad with seemingly no sense of guilt.
“I could always come and live with you and Darcy,” he offers with a glint of hope in his eye. Tim’s had a thing for Darcy for, well, all his adult life.
“Still no,” I reply.
“Pity.”
“Why are you skulking off in thirty minutes?”
“I’m meeting the guys for a poker game.”
“Well, that sounds like a good use of your money.” I channel every ounce of my older sister bossypants-ness in my tone. (And yes, that’s definitely a word, particularly where my stay-at-home-until-I’m-forty-kid-brother is concerned—and at only twenty-three, he’s got many, many years ahead of him in this house.)
He pulls up a chair. “We bet ten bucks, twenty max. It’s not a big deal.”
“I think it’s wonderful you’ve got such lovely friends, pet,” Granny says. She pats his cheek, and I throw my eyes to the sky. Even though Granny’s a fully carded member of my cheer team, Tim’s always been her favorite, right from the day he was born. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy about it. Ecstatic, in fact, although I’m not sure it’s exactly helping him transition to full adulthood. Or even partial, at times, if the packets of candy she buys him on a regular basis are anything to go by.
I wander over to the counter. “Need any help, Dad?”
He looks up at me and smiles. “You can add the vinaigrette to the salad and then sit down to eat.”
“Sure thing.”
Once we’re sitting at the table, we all tuck into the lasagna.
“Yum, Dad. This is so good,” I say.
“Almost as good as Mom used to make,” Tim says as he shuffles another loaded fork into his mouth.
I glance at the end of the table, the spot where Mom used to sit, and feel hollow inside. Although it’s been five months since she was moved into the care home, it still hurts to think of her as being gone.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Tim says between mouthfuls. “Ernie has something to tell us.”
“What?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Yeah, you do.”
I pull a face at him. “Tim, what are you talking about?”
He leans his fork on his plate and reaches into his back pocket. He takes out his phone and begins to scroll through.
“No phones at the table, Tim. You know Mom’s rule,” Dad scolds.
I hold my breath and watch Tim closely, hoping he’s not about to show everyone what I think he’s about to show everyone: an image of Nick and me together. Photos from our first “date” at Cozy Cottage High Tea are out there in cyberspace already, including some of us with the fangirls. One of them had included #OffTheMarket and a sad face emoji with her image.
Ed and I had looked at them in the office together, and he was very pleased with them. The candid shots of us sitting at the table make us look like a real couple, although it’s hard to see my outfit properly. I’ll need to rectify that on our next public outing, because the whole reason I’m doing this is to get my designs out there, after all.
“Yeah, sure, Dad. I know about the rule, but this is big,” Tim protests. He turns the phone around, and I almost spit my lasagna across the room. It’s an image of Nick and me at High Tea taken through the window. I’d not seen this one before and can only assume it’s courtesy of one of Miranda’s stealth operators. Nick and I are laughing and looking quite the couple. Comfortable, easy, like we’re the real deal. Authenticity? Check. Aspirational? It’s a work in progress.
“Care to explain what you’re doing with Nick Zachary at Sophie’s café?” Tim asks as he waggles his phone at me.
“Give me that,” I say, my hand outstretched.
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