Emma and Luke Are Totally Together

by Rachel Arnett

  Luke, however, is not enthused. He just snorts a laugh and remains exactly where he is.

  “Sorry,” he says, shutting his eyes. “No can do.”

  I drop onto my back and huff out a sigh. Fine. Be difficult, then. I guess it’s probably for the best, but still, I’m annoyed. He thinks he can just—

  “Oh, screw it,” says Luke. He rolls over in the bed toward me. And then suddenly he’s right there, right up close to me, and his hand is reaching over to gently turn my face toward his.

  And then he’s pressing his lips to mine.

  The kiss is even better than the one on the beach. And it tells me what I need to know. He definitely likes me. You don’t fake-kiss someone like this.

  Luke totally has a thing for me.

  The side of his body gently brushes against mine. And I can’t help it—I think about what it would be like to feel him fully press himself against me. Not that I want that to happen. That would be ludicrous. We couldn’t possibly—

  “Happy now?” Luke says, pulling away.

  Well, he certainly doesn’t look happy.

  “That was…I…” I can’t seem to find the words.

  “You really want to know why I kissed you on the beach?” he says. “Emma, I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. It’s not that complicated. I like you. Okay? There. Now you can make fun of me all you want.”

  My heart skips a beat. Even though I suspected that he might have feelings for me, it’s different actually hearing him admit it.

  “Why would I make fun of you?” I ask. “I think it’s…sweet.”

  Luke doesn’t say anything. And, finally, in his silence, I get it. He thinks I’m going to pity him now. Because there’s nothing sadder than a one-sided crush, now is there? It’s pathetic in its own special way.

  The thing is, though…I think I have feelings for him, too. I think that kiss told me more than I was expecting. I mean, when I think about it, it all seems so obvious now. Of course we’ve wanted each other. Of course we’ve been fighting back these feelings.

  Of course it’s why I asked him to be my fake boyfriend.

  “Luke, I—”

  “It’s fine. You don’t have to say anything.” He starts to roll away. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “Luke, stop.”

  I grab his wrist, but he pulls out of my grasp. “It’s fine.”

  “I like you, too,” I blurt out.

  He freezes. He turns to look at me cautiously. I watch his Adam’s apple rise and fall as he swallows. And then, slowly, the doubt vanishes from his face. I don’t need to say anything more. He moves toward me on the bed and kisses me again.

  For the record, he’s…yeah. He’s a good kisser.

  For several minutes, that’s all we do. Kiss, I mean. And it’s wonderful and gorgeous and perfect. But after a while, my hands start to get restless—and so do his. I place my hand on his chest, feeling with hazy admiration the toned muscles through his shirt. Luke’s right hand moves beneath the sheets and gives my hip a squeeze. Then his hand drifts upward and his fingers reach the inch of bare skin that my shirt has ridden up and left exposed.

  As his fingertips press against my skin, a little zap of electricity runs up through me. I want him. With a hundred percent certainty, I want him. Is that a surefire disaster, though? If we sleep together, things will never be the same. It’s one thing for us to lock lips, another thing to…

  “Hey,” says Luke. “Everything okay?”

  “Yeah,” I say. “I just…are we going to regret this?”

  “Well, let’s see. Last time I checked, I couldn’t see into the future. But no. I don’t think we will. If you want to stop, though…”

  “I don’t want to stop.”

  “Good. Because neither do I.” He pauses, then frowns. “Now that I think about it, though, this is clearly a violation of our rules.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think we made a rule about not sleeping together.”

  “No? Well, that’s good news.”

  “Very good news,” I say.

  “The best kind of news there is,” he says.

  He begins to undress me, planting kisses as he goes. I, on the other hand, do a much less elegant job of taking off his clothes. Funny, how much more difficult it is to undress someone else, when we do so much of it ourselves.

  I’ve got a finger hooked around the waistband of Luke’s boxers when he pulls my hand away and says, “Hold on.” He slides out of bed and digs around in his luggage. After a minute, he triumphantly holds up a foil packet.

  “Wait,” I say. “You came prepared?”

  “It was already in there,” he says with a shrug.

  “Right,” I say. “That’s…not convincing at all.” I run through the possibilities in my head: that he was hoping we’d hook up, that he was hoping to hook up with someone else, that he’s telling the truth and there really was a leftover condom in his luggage from some previous trip.

  Am I overthinking this?

  I’m definitely overthinking this.

  “Look,” he says. “Do you want to argue about it or do you want to use it?”

  I look at him and all of his irrepressible attractiveness. I consider, with as clear of a head as I can, the possibilities that lay ahead. I see the beginning of something really special. I see a night of cringe-inducing awkwardness. But most strongly, I see my future self full of regret for not doing what my body and heart and head want.

  And so I give him a look, and smooth my hands over the bed covers, and say, “I want to use it, dummy.”

  15

  The next morning, when we go downstairs for breakfast, I’m convinced that everyone knows what happened last night. It’s gotta be written all over our faces, right? It feels as obvious as if the news article that Mom is reading on her tablet is titled FAKE COUPLE SLEEPS TOGETHER AND OH MY GOD IT WAS AMAZING.

  Nobody seems to notice anything, though. There’s nothing more than some scattered good mornings as Luke and I sit down at the table. There’s no snickering, no sidelong glances. So I relax—cautiously—as I shake out some cereal into a bowl. I even allow myself to sneak a glance at Luke, risking the possibility of my face flushing at the memory of the previous night.

  Those worries about it being awkward? Totally unfounded. It was the complete opposite of awkward.

  Luke catches me looking at him, and his mouth instantly curls up into a smile. My heart pounds a few rapid beats. My mind goes straight to thinking about Luke’s kisses, Luke’s hands running over my skin. About the warmth of his body kissed against mine. I think about how nice it was to wake up this morning with those lean, strong arms of his wrapped around me—

  Catherine clears her throat. I drop my eyes to my cereal bowl. Must. Not. Think. About. Last. Night. What can I think about instead? Cereal. Yes. Cereal is good.

  “So,” says Catherine. “We’ve got the portrait photographer booked this afternoon. But we have a couple different options for this morning. There’s a botanical garden that I’ve read good things about. There’s also snorkeling. Or, if you guys feel like seeing the island from above, I found a place that does helicopter tours.”

  Needless to say, when we vote, the helicopter tour beats out its competition.

  You know how, every once in a while, everything feels perfect? Today is one of those times. Everyone is in a good mood. Everyone is in sync. We even somehow all end up ready to leave the house at exactly the same time.

  And, as a bonus, my hair looks ridiculously good today. It never looks this good.

  We pile into the minivan and head to our destination. The helicopters can only seat up to four people in the back, and so, when we get there, we divvy ourselves up: Garrett, Luke, and I are in the first group, and Catherine and Kenneth and our parents are in the second.

  After we climb into the aircraft and get buckled in, Luke slips his hand into mine and squeezes. I still feel in sort of a state of disbelief about what’s happened between us, and it’s nice t
o get reassurance from him. I like you, the squeeze of his hand tells me.

  I squeeze his hand back.

  Luke leans over close to me. “Hey, are your parents really cool with paying for all of this? I feel like a total mooch.”

  I nod. “Don’t worry about it. They love treating us to things like this when we’re on vacation.”

  “Well, I’m definitely sending them a huge thank you gift after the trip.”

  I’m about to tell him that he really doesn’t have to, but then the helicopter engine starts and suddenly I can no longer hear myself think.

  Remember how I’m always convinced that the plane I’m on is going to crash? As we climb up into the air, I expect those same feelings to arise. But they don’t. I don’t know if it’s because Luke’s still holding my hand or what, but I feel utterly calm, excited even, to be up in the air. Below us, the island shrinks, while the gorgeous blues and aquas of the ocean expand.

  It’s breathtaking how much more stunning the earth looks from a thousand feet up above.

  Luke and I hold hands for the duration of the ride. We even sneak in a couple of kisses—despite Garrett’s protests to cut it out. When we land back where we started, I feel exhilarated. I feel completely at peace. I can’t imagine a more perfect day.

  After the helicopter rides, we head back to the house to eat lunch and chill out for the afternoon. When it’s time to get dressed for the photographer, Luke and I get ready at the same time, taking the opportunity to spend a few minutes alone. After I change into the top that I brought for the occasion—a white sleeveless blouse, per Catherine’s request—Luke takes me by the waist and pulls me into him and gives me a tender kiss.

  “You look really pretty,” he says.

  “Aw,” I say. “Thanks.”

  He smiles and gives me another kiss. His fingers gently graze my arm, instantly giving me goosebumps. “Think anyone would notice if we skipped the portrait session?”

  I bite my lip. “Unfortunately, yes.”

  Five minutes later, we’re all down at the beach, meeting the photographer that Catherine hired. Now, I’ve never really been one for getting my photo taken. It always feels so forced. In family photographs of past vacations, you can clearly see the reluctance on my face. But it’s different this time. It’s fun this time. As the portrait photographer tells us where to stand on the beach, I agreeably oblige.

  The photographer takes a few photos of the whole group. Then Luke says, “Hey, I’m going to step out, okay? Since it’s a family photo, I mean.”

  “Don’t be silly, Luke,” says Mom. “You’re here with us. You should be in the photo.”

  “Yeah, we’ll just edit you out if you and Emma break up,” says Garrett, and everybody laughs.

  We take a few more as a big group, and then some of Catherine and Garrett and me with Mom and Dad.

  “Wonderful,” says the photographer. “Okay. Now let’s do couples, yes?”

  He takes some shots of our parents first. Then he photographs Catherine and Kenneth—who, of course, do the obligatory him-standing-behind-her-cupping-her-belly shot, even though she doesn’t even have one yet. Cheesy or not, though, I do have to admit that it’s also sweet. As much as we don’t get along, I am excited for my sister. I am excited to become an aunt.

  “Okay. Next? Luke, Emma?” says the photographer, looking over his shoulder to find us.

  “Oh…that’s okay,” I say. “I think we’ll pass.” Watching my parents and Catherine and Kenneth take their photos has reminded me that their relationships are real and mine isn’t. Even though things feel so different now with Luke, it doesn’t feel totally appropriate that he and I should take photos like this.

  “What do you mean, you’ll pass?” says Catherine. “Go on. Let him photograph you.”

  “Come on, let’s do it,” says Luke, slipping his hand into mine.

  It feels weird at first to be so on display in front of everyone—to pose and smile and act like it’s all real. The photographer seems to sense my discomfort. He encourages me to pretend like he’s not even there.

  Luke must sense it, too. He gives my hand a squeeze. Then he moves his mouth a little closer to my ear.

  He whispers, “The photographer’s fly is down.”

  I see that Luke’s right. I laugh.

  Just then, I hear the shutter of the camera go off.

  “Sorry,” I say to the photographer. “Did I ruin the shot?”

  “No, that’s perfect!” says the photographer. He moves closer, holds up his camera again. “That’s it. Good. That’s beautiful. Just like that.” And it’s in that moment that I find myself thinking that maybe this—Luke and I—could actually work in real life. That maybe it’s not so crazy after all.

  * * *

  That night, we go out to the anniversary dinner that Catherine has planned for our parents. It’s a gorgeous restaurant, with the dining room low-lit and bustling, and the sound of live music floating through the room.

  Luke and I are sitting next to each other, but we’re engaged in two different conversations. I’m talking to Garrett about school, asking him about his courses and plans for the rest of the summer. Meanwhile, Luke is talking to Dad about his supposed startup.

  Ugh. The startup.

  Ever since Dad showed a little too much interest in Luke’s business, I’ve worried that the lie would be our undoing. But as I continue to eavesdrop on their conversation, I’m relieved to hear Luke answer Dad’s questions with ease—and then, without faltering, giving him a totally plausible reason for why his marketing software might not be the best fit for Dad’s business needs.

  Luke does it with such tact, such effortlessness, that I can’t help but feel impressed. But the longer I sit there, the more the feeling morphs into guilt. I hate that he has to lie to Dad like this. This wasn’t what I imagined when I asked Luke to pretend that he was an entrepreneur. I thought it would be simpler, less involved. Call me naive, but I thought it would impress my parents, then never be mentioned again.

  There’s something else nagging at me, too, though. It’s not only guilt I feel. I’m unsettled. Luke is so good at pulling the wool over someone’s eyes.

  What if he’s doing that to me, too?

  No. I need to stop psyching myself out. Luke wouldn’t do something like that. Besides, the fibs he’s telling Dad are ones I asked him to tell. Not in so much detail, but still. He’s doing what he needs to do.

  My thoughts are interrupted by Catherine asking for everyone’s attention. She stands up from her chair and raises her virgin piña colada up into the air.

  “To Mom and Dad,” says Catherine. “The best role models a girl could have ever asked for. Happy early thirtieth anniversary, you two. I love you guys.”

  We all give a little cheer and clink glasses. After we drink, Catherine holds out an envelope to Mom, who opens it and then says, “Oh, honey. You didn’t need to get us anything.”

  “We wanted to,” says Catherine, threading her arm through Kenneth’s.

  Mom shows off the contents of the envelope to the rest of us: it’s a gift card for a spa.

  “It’s a local place,” says Catherine. “There’s enough on there for a couple’s massage.”

  “That sounds lovely,” says Mom. “Is this the same spa that you and Luke went to, Emma?”

  Without even looking at her, I can feel Catherine’s glare trained on me.

  “Um,” I say. “I think it’s a different one.” I reach down and pull the gift I bought for my parents out of my bag. It’s been beautifully wrapped, courtesy of the shop I bought it from.

  “I have something for you, too,” I say. “Happy anniversary, Mom and Dad.”

  “Another gift?” says Mom. She shakes her head, but accepts it from me. She carefully undoes the bow and removes the paper. “Oh. Goodness. This is…this is gorgeous, Emma.”

  “Look at that detail work,” says Dad, leaning in to get a better look.

  “I’m glad you like it,” I s
ay, my chest warming.

  Later, though, after we get home, Mom pulls me aside. She’s holding the box that the clock came in, the gift paper still half-wrapped around it.

  I look at her questioningly, worried that there’s something wrong with the clock. She returns my gaze with a careful look.

  “It was very nice of you to give us this gift, Emma,” she says. “But we can’t accept it.”

  I feel a little sick. “What do you mean, you can’t accept it?”

  “It’s too much. You shouldn’t have spent so much on something for us.”

  “It’s for your anniversary.”

  “And we appreciate the gesture. Very much so. But you should return it. Save the money.”

  She presses the box into my hands. I have no choice but to take it back from her. Embarrassed, I carry it up to my room. Before Luke can see what I’m doing, I shove it into my luggage.

  “Hey,” Luke says, looking up from his phone. “There you are.”

  I smile at him, pushing away my pain. “What, have you been waiting for me or something?”

  “Guilty as charged,” he says. He sets his phone aside and waves me over to the bed. “Come ’ere, Armstrong. You look like you need a massage.”

  16

  The next morning, while Mom and Dad are out at the spa, I decide to plan a little something for Luke and I to do on our own. Half an hour of internet sleuthing later, I find the perfect thing. If I’m going to succeed in pulling it off, though, we’ll have to leave right away.

  I hurry downstairs and find Luke in the living room playing a board game with Kenneth.

  “Hey,” I say. “You guys almost done?”

  “Not really,” Luke says, moving a piece on the board.

  “Can I persuade you to put your game on pause, then?”

  “Why?” he asks.

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “What kind of surprise?”

  I sigh. “Seriously?”