My Big Fat Fake Engagement

by Landish, Lauren

  My feet drag down the hall, my belly filled with dread. I love my dad, and more importantly, I respect him. And my behavior today reflected poorly on him, which pains me. But I need to know if Ms. Crabtree is okay, even if he fires me in the same meeting.

  “Come on in, Courtney!” Dad calls from his office, hearing me come in.

  “Hey . . . before you start, I just wanted to apologize again about what happened with Jane Crabtree,” I tell him. I settle into the chair across from his desk, unable to help feeling like a student who just got called to the principal’s office. “I really can’t believe I screwed it up with flowers so seriously. Is she okay?”

  Dad looks at me carefully, leaned back in his chair. “She is. She was fine after a few minutes of sitting down with a small dash of forty-year-old Glenfiddich scotch. Said she’d check in with her personal doctor to be sure.”

  “It’s not even noon!” I don’t know why that matters. The woman almost died. She can certainly have some fancy scotch. It’s five o’clock somewhere, right?

  Dad hums thoughtfully. “She’s also re-thinking the deal.”

  I shake my head vehemently. I’m not letting go that easily. “No. No way. We’ve worked too hard on this. I’ve worked too hard, and it’s the right thing for us all. I have a plan.”

  I tell him my idea about a peace offering, changing the wine out for a bottle of that fancy Glenfiddich, and he chuckles.

  “You are something, daughter of mine. A chip off the old block.” He actually looks a little proud, but that can’t be right.

  “A murderous chip, you mean?” I ask sarcastically.

  He leans forward, interlacing his hands on the desk blotter. “Courtney, do you really think I have never made a mistake? Granted, this is a large and serious one. But I’ve made and lost millions on my own actions, some good and some . . . decidedly not.”

  “You don’t have to try and make me feel better, Dad.”

  There’s no way my dad has ever made a mistake remotely similar to this. He’s amazing, a sight to behold when he’s in action.

  I still remember being in my first year of business school, learning about negotiations and contract tactics. It was like a light bulb had gone off over my head, so bright that everyone could see it. Dad had been using those tricks on us for years about everything from curfew to chores. Not that we did many of those, but every once in a while, he’d get on a kick about our learning the value of hard work and assign us some gross, disgusting cleanup job. I whined at the time, but it did change how I saw the house employees who worked around our home doing some of those same jobs. It made me a lot more grateful and a lot less bratty, I think.

  Later, after I’d graduated, I’d seen Dad go from this smart guy I idolized to something real and tangible. A goal I set for myself. Every day, we worked together, and even when we argued like cats and dogs about what the right course of action would be, he could find a path through anything. If it wasn’t profitable or didn’t work as projected, he just wasn’t done yet. Like the Great Wizard of Oz, he had a grand plan.

  He chuckles. “Have I ever told you something to be kind, to make you feel better? And are you actually asking for head pats over this shitshow?”

  “No, no, and no.”

  “Exactly. I fucked up, Ross fucked up, every executive and VP up and down this hallway has fucked up. It happens. And I think you’re beating yourself up more than I ever could.”

  I’m in shock. Dad isn’t much of a curser, but he just spewed out three F-bombs like they were nothing. I still don’t believe him.

  “Ask your mother next time you see her. The first time I blew it, I was a mess.” His eyes go hazy and he smiles, even though he’s talking about a major screwup. “This was back even before Ross was born, and your mother and I had just gotten married. I thought I was a hot property, and I fell flat on my face. Your mother had to nearly drag me out of the living room to break my funk. I’d holed up in there for three whole days, doing nothing but drinking and watching TV. I smelled like stale beer, cigarettes, and body odor. It’s a wonder she didn’t leave me.”

  “You don’t smoke.” I’m looking for holes in the story, any inconsistencies that will tell me he’s lying to soothe my bruised ego.

  “Didn’t before then, didn’t after then, but those three days, I smoked like a chimney. Even learned how to blow smoke rings.” He makes a circle with his lips and does some sort of quiet puffing sound that makes me believe him.

  “Listen, you’ll make mistakes, honey. You’ll probably make fewer than me or Ross since you’ve had the benefit of learning and observing ours, and you’re smart enough to learn from our examples, both good and bad. Just keep your head in the game and learn from what happened today because today could’ve been so much worse, and that would’ve been on you.”

  I get the disappointed dad look I knew was coming, and it cuts deep because I know I deserve it.

  I nod solemnly. “I will.”

  “And send the scotch now.”

  “On it.”

  Dismissed, I go back to my office. I spend the rest of the afternoon with Jillian, making the arrangements for the scotch, presentation, and apology letter. We both double, triple, and quadruple check everything. She reaches out to Michael to confirm too, covering all the bases.

  When there’s nothing else we can do, I send Jillian home early for the day. It’s been stressful on her, I know. And I want to sit alone and lick my own wounds too.

  I barely get an hour of peace before Abi calls, my cell phone doing the ring tone she chose for herself, Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper. Abi doesn’t even like those decades-old jams like I do, but she loves to sing that song annoyingly loud with all the vocal hitches done right in my ear.

  Bitch. God, I love her.

  “Hey, Abs, guess you heard?”

  “Heard what?” she answers. We never bother with greetings, both of us so busy that sometimes she’ll call, bark something in my ear or to my voice mail, and hang up without waiting for any response. “How’d the meeting go?”

  Oh, shit, I guess she really hasn’t heard. “Well, it basically went to hell in a handbasket. Or nearly to the morgue in a casket, rather.”

  “What?” she shrieks, blowing out my eardrum. “You’d better explain yourself right now.”

  I tell her about the contract rider that we read but didn’t memorize and how the flowers caused Ms. Crabtree to have an allergic reaction.

  “Oh, my God! This is all my fault!” Abi cries, remarkably similar to me and Jillian earlier. Take three on the Blame Game roundabout.

  “It’s not. You didn’t even know about the allergy, so how could it be your fault? I had everything I needed right in front of me to put two and two together and get the four of death, but I didn’t. This is on me.”

  “That’s awful, honey. I’m sorry.” At least she agrees with my assessment. This is all my fault. “What’d Dad say? Did he run you through the wringer?”

  "Not exactly,” I start, but Abi’s on a roll.

  “No way, he fired you? Are you fired? Oh, God, Perfect Courtney is going to be out on the streets! Never worry, dear sister, you can sleep on my couch,” Abi promises.

  “I’m not fired! And I have an apartment, you know? With my own couch and a bed and everything. Maybe it rings a bell, considering you’ve been there and actually slept on that couch a few dozen times? Though I’d understand if not, because you were drunker than a sailor on shore leave.”

  “Well, you don’t have to rub my face in it. See how easy I make it on you to drunk crash on my couch next time.”

  I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Abi, I don’t get drunk like that. Neither do you anymore.”

  “Yeah,” she says wistfully. “Those were the days. Now we’re all grown up and responsible. Well, except for you, killing people on the daily.”

  She laughs, and though I fight it valiantly, after she snorts, I can’t anymore. I laugh too. Through the laughter and fresh tears, I stutt
er out, “I almost killed someone today. It’s only funny because she’s okay, I swear.”

  “I get it. Dark humor helps process the macabre. It’s healthy. Let it out.”

  The serious way she says it sends me off again, but eventually, even the release of laughter peters out.

  “Thanks, Abi. I needed that.”

  “Anytime. That’s what I’m here for. What’d Dad say about all this, though, for real?”

  I can hear her holding her breath. I have a very different relationship with Dad than either of my siblings. I think it’s because he and I are two peas in a pod in truth, where they are so different from him that wires sometimes get crossed and things get lost in translation.

  I tell her about his assuring me that he’s made mistakes and that Ross made them too. And that this will just be a lesson I learn from and a story I tell one day. But she can tell that I’m not sure I actually believe that yet.

  “I agree with him. And don’t you dare tell him that I said he’s right. But you can’t be perfect all the time, Court. And expecting yourself to be is a lesson in futility.”

  I’m silent for a moment, thinking about what she’s saying.

  “Court, you there?”

  “Yeah, just marking down the date you said Dad was right,” I tease.

  “I hate you,” she snaps.

  “Love you too. You want to hit the gym with me tonight? We can give Ross shit together.”

  “I would love that, you know I would, but I’m working late.” I hear her shuffling papers around in the background and then a crash. “Ugh, just dropped a whole stack of old orders I’m going through. I’ll talk to you later, ’kay? Mwah.” She sends an air kiss over the line.

  We don’t start with hellos or end with goodbyes, so she just hangs up.

  Chapter 7

  Courtney

  Walking into One Life, I wonder how I’d let the hours get away from me. I told Jillian to leave around four thirty, and she’d packed her saggy, carpetbag Mary Poppins purse and virtually ran for the door after the rough day.

  But I didn’t follow. Four thirty became five thirty, then six, and finally, it was nearly eight before I realized that I’d been staring at my screensaver for hours and not working.

  So I’d packed it in and headed to the gym. Unfortunately, I’m way too late for a Zumba class, and honestly, I don’t need feel-good booty shaking. I need an aggressive workout that will make my body ache to ease the pain in my head.

  Pick up heavy shit and put it down. Repeat.

  That’s the only thing that has any hope of helping me tonight. So I head to the back, where the powerlifters play, and get to work. I set my bar up to do some deadlifts, using an empty bar to stretch and get everything loosened up. My music is bumping in my earbuds, loud and growly and angry to spur me on and match my sour mood.

  I’m just about to lift when I feel a tap on my shoulder. My first instinctual response is bitchy, thinking some bro-dude is doing his ‘let me help you’ spiel, assuming I’m interested in him, not in working out.

  Thankfully, I don’t go full-on crazy bitch too quickly because when I look over my shoulder, I see AJ. I pull an earbud free and stand up. “Oh, hey, AJ.”

  “Hi, Court, not used to seeing you out here on Tuesdays. No Zumba tonight?” AJ asks, his smile bright.

  How does he know that I do Zumba? Am I that much a creature of habit? I laugh internally, knowing the answer is absolutely yes.

  “Nah, had a rough day and needed some badass, alpha grunt work instead.”

  “Whatever it is, I’m glad to see you out here. Cardio needs to be mixed with strength training and flexibility work. I saw those half-ass stretches you were doing.” He dips his chin, giving me a ‘don’t deny it’ look that makes me cringe, feeling as busted as a can of biscuits.

  “Guess I just wanted to get to it.” I shrug.

  “Safety can’t be rushed. Follow me. From the window . . .” He reaches his hands high, toward the skylights in the ceiling, and I do the same. “To the walls.” Both of us spread our arms wide in a T.

  “If you say a word about sweaty balls, I’m out,” I tease, laughing. It feels good, or at least incrementally better.

  Jillian’s directive to get some dick runs through my mind, but AJ and I are definitely not like that. He’s cute, but a friend and nothing more, especially considering I’ll have to see him again. And I’m ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure he’s completely smitten with Kayla, who returns the interest. I make a note to ask Ross if there’s a betting pool on when those two finally get together because I’d get in on that action.

  After a few more stretches, AJ decides that’s enough. “Better, but can I give you a couple of pointers?” AJ offers, pointing at the bar. At my nod, he instructs, “Get your hips back.”

  “Hips back?” I parrot, thinking I’ve been sticking my ass out pretty well as is.

  AJ eyes look me over with almost clinical precision. “Yeah. Line the bar up with your toes . . . you mind if I touch?”

  “Go ahead.”

  AJ helps me adjust, touching my knee, hip, and shoulder as he explains the proper form geometry. “Okay now, chest up.”

  “I’m not even sure what that means, AJ.”

  He shrugs. “Like if you had a logo on your shirt, show me.” I position myself the way I usually do for deadlifts. He shakes his head, stepping in front of me and dropping into a copy of my current position. Then he puts the edge of his hands against his chest and mimes lifting, like holding your boobs up to get a good cleavage shot.

  “Oh!” I say, making the adjustment.

  “Perfect. Now, take in a deep breath, take up the slack, and . . . pull.”

  The bar goes up, and I have to admit it felt faster and easier than normal. AJ watches, nodding. “You got it! Let’s try heavier now that your form is better to support the lift.”

  I’m adding a few weights when I hear the deep, dark voice of my fantasies say, “You’re going at it hard tonight. Can I talk to you for a second?” I look up to find Kaede’s jaw clenched and his lips pulled tight as though he’s been sucking on a lemon.

  Something’s wrong.

  AJ nods. “Sure, boss, what’s going on?”

  “Not you, AJ,” Kaede says, surprising both AJ and me. “You.”

  “Me?” I ask, surprised. “Of course.”

  Kaede’s face relaxes a little, and he even manages a hint of a smile, but it’s still off a bit. “Great. When you’re done here, in my office. Don’t want to interrupt.”

  Kaede stomps off, and AJ gives me a confused look. “What’s that about?”

  “I have no idea.”

  AJ claps his hands, flipping back into his usual happy cheerleader mode. “Then we’re not going to think about it right now. We’re going to lift. C’mon, you got this!”

  I do a few lifts of the new heavier weight, setting a new personal record for myself. Maybe it’s my grumpy mood, maybe it’s AJ’s precise help, or maybe it’s both, but whatever it is, it definitely worked.

  “I see you’re still trying to seduce women to the dark side,” Kayla says as she saunters over while I shake out my muscles between sets. She reaches up, resting her wrist on the weight rack next to AJ and me.

  She’s posing for AJ, I’m sure of it. And if there’s not a betting pool, I’m going to start one myself.

  I laugh. “He did okay.”

  “Hear that?” AJ says with more than a small touch of arrogant pride. “Courtney can appreciate good coaching.”

  “Yeah, well, if he ever annoys you, I’ve got a teeny, tiny little hatchet that’ll take care of him real quick,” Kayla teases, jealously playing right into AJ’s hands despite holding her thumb and forefinger about a half-inch apart.

  “You two are too much. Thanks for the help, AJ.” I start to put away my weights, but AJ and Kayla are making eyes at each other, part ‘I might kill you’ and part ‘I might fuck you’, so I back away slowly. I hate to be one of those asshole people who d
oesn’t clean up after themselves, but I’m also not looking to be a third wheel for their hate-fuck or an accomplice to murder.

  “No prob,” AJ says, eyes never leaving Kayla with a white-toothed grin flashing her way. Before I’m three steps away, he and Kayla start bickering again. Or flirting. It’s one and the same for them.

  I use some machines and complete my workout, nothing as intense as the deadlifts but still enough to make my hips and legs feel like Jell-O.

  Instead of going straight to Kaede’s office, though, I stop by the locker room for a quick shower. I stand naked in front of my locker—yes, it’s actually mine and has the embossed brass name plate to prove it. It was a ‘gift’ from Ross. I pull out the change of clothes I stuff into my bag every morning as part of my routine and get dressed.

  I wish I had something other than sweats and a tank top.

  In the mirror, I slick on some lip gloss and am holding a mascara wand when I stop.

  What the hell are you doing?

  Putting on makeup.

  Why? To go see Kaede? What happened to ponytail, dinner, and home?

  My hand lowers and I blink. My inner voice is right . . . what am I doing?

  I ignore the thoughts because I can’t very well go anywhere with one mascaraed eye and one naked. So I finish putting on a little bit of eye makeup and make sure my hair’s at least brushed out before pulling it back.

  I head through the gym one more time, finding Kaede’s office where he can look out over the entire training floor. Knocking on his door, I open it up to find him watching a training video on YouTube with his headphones in. “Kaede?”

  He pops his headphones off, dropping them to the desk. He looks tired, his hair a mess and faint purple shadows visible beneath his eyes. He probably has some young, cute thing keeping him up late at night, I think grumpily.

  It’s not that if I’m not getting any, no one should be able to. But I’ll admit that I’m jealous of this imaginary woman who’s getting some with Kaede.

  He tries to give me a smile, but it looks faker than a three-dollar bill and it seems as though the mere effort of forcing it nearly does him in. “Hey, Courtney. Come in.”