Artificial Sweethearts (North Pole, Minnesota)

by Julie Hammerle

  Karen was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to Jane, who was talking a mile minute. Tinka caught the word “manicure” over the din. Karen looked like Karen, dressed in denim shorts and a plain pink T-shirt with a pen resting on one ear. Her hair had changed, though. She used to wear it in a relaxed bob, but now she’d let it go natural, puffing up around her head. The sunlight coming through the skylight above them filtered through her hair, giving her an ethereal glow that contradicted the scowl on her face. She alone had noticed Tinka.

  Tinka raised her hand in a timid wave. Karen sneered and turned away, plastering on an over-the-top expression of amused interest in whatever Jane happened to be saying about nail polish.

  “Honey!” Tinka’s mom shouted when she finally caught sight of her daughter near the door. “You’re home! Look. Karen’s here.”

  “I see that.” Tinka waved her bandaged hand to no avail. Her mom hadn’t even bothered to ask how she was doing.

  Karen folded her arms. “Your mom invited me, and my mom forced me to come. I brought a bag of books and two hundred New York Times crossword puzzles. You won’t even know I’m here.”

  Tinka’s mom squeezed Karen’s shoulder as she passed by with a carton of sesame crispy chicken. “Of course we will, dear. And we’re all so happy to have you.” She raised her eyebrows at Tinka and nodded pointedly.

  “I’m glad you’re here, too, Karen,” Tinka said. It was true. She’d been trying to figure out a way to apologize ever since she’d found out Karen’s parents were splitting up. Tinka had composed and deleted about thirty different text messages—saying she was sorry, asking if Karen was okay, offering her ear if Karen needed to chat. None of the texts looked right. She and Karen needed to deal with each other in person. Here was their chance.

  “Bite me,” Karen mouthed to Tinka.

  No one said it would be easy.

  “Karen drove up this afternoon, in her hot new car.” Jane scooped a spoonful of fried rice onto her plate. “She’s why your mom had us working so hard to finish the guest room. Maybe we should move up there, too. Make it a sleepover.”

  The look of horror on Karen’s face told Tinka exactly how she felt about that idea.

  Sam glanced down at Tinka, his forehead furrowed with concern. “You okay?” he mouthed.

  She nodded, feeling calmer all of a sudden. She had an ally here. “This is Sam.” Tinka gestured toward him.

  “We know Sam.” Tinka’s dad pointed to a spot on the floor. “Come join us. We bought out the Chinese Restaurant, basically.”

  “Tinka’s okay, by the way.” Sam nudged her in the arm, and she held up her hand. The room turned to see. “She got five stitches, but they’ll come out in a week.”

  “Oh, honey.” Her mom scurried over and gingerly clutched Tinka’s hand. Blue paint had hardened on her mom’s cuticles. “Did I not ask about your hand? I’ve been so scatterbrained today, what with Karen coming and all.”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” Tinka’s safety and well-being were now lower on her mother’s priority list than “guest room bedding” and “feeding Mark and Trish.” No big deal.

  Her dad shared an exasperated look with Mark Greene. “I guess Tinka won’t be golfing with us tomorrow.”

  Tinka’s mom had barely flinched when she’d heard Tinka was hurt, and now her dad was callously talking about how she’d ruined his golf plans. The urge to grab on to something—or someone—hit her, but Sam was the only object nearby. She straightened up. Seeking out the closest available warm body was how Tinka would’ve dealt with sadness and disappointment at school. Those days were done.

  “I can ask one of my friends.” Dylan scooped some moo shu pork onto a lettuce leaf.

  “But this was supposed to be a chance for you and Tinka to get to know each other.” Tinka’s mom plopped a stack of paper napkins onto the table.

  “There will be other opportunities,” Dylan said.

  Tinka’s brain flashed forward to the next few weeks of dinner with Dylan, golfing with Dylan, being tricked into spending alone time with Dylan. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Either response seemed appropriate.

  Trish refilled her own wine glass. “Maybe you can go out tonight or something?”

  Dylan turned to Tinka. He shot her one of his very slick, “I know I’m hot” smirks. If he had come at her with that grin a few weeks ago, she would’ve been powerless against it. Now it only made her want to run and hide in a dark closet somewhere. “What do you say? It might be fun.”

  Fun. “Fun” was what Colin had promised the night Tinka betrayed Jane, his ex-girlfriend, and Tinka was done with that. The idea of fun exhausted her, and so did Dylan. It was going to take too much mental energy to keep evading his advances, energy she didn’t have to spare because she was too busy golfing and working on the house and trying to figure out what was going on with her parents and dealing with two friends as houseguests—one who hated her, and another who’d have every reason to hate her if she ever found out what Tinka had done.

  She glanced up at Sam. Maybe he’d had the right idea. Maybe he’d done all he could do in the heat of the moment. Perhaps he’d realized Dottie wasn’t going to leave him alone unless he squashed all her hopes. Tinka’s parents were never going to give up on this Dylan thing, either, unless Tinka provided a valid reason why it was never going to happen. Like if they thought she was already dating someone else.

  Good thing Sam owed her one.

  …

  Sam had been too busy figuring out the dynamics at play in the Fosters’ living room to realize what Tinka was up to. He felt like he was slogging through some three-hour ensemble drama with a huge cast, and it was up to him to remember how everyone was related. He’d barely heard her when she said, “But I’m already seeing somebody.”

  And he didn’t put together that the “somebody” was him until Tinka laced her fingers between his and squeezed. A zing of electricity bounced from Sam’s toes to the top of his head. “Um…” was all he could say.

  “He was so sweet this afternoon. He held my hand while I got the stitches.” That wasn’t true. She’d made him stay in the waiting room because she’d still been mad about the Dottie thing. “We got to talking, and one thing led to another…”

  Tinka’s voice trailed off, and Sam glanced down at her. She was gazing up at him expectantly. He was supposed to finish this story.

  He pulled his eyes away from her big blue ones. “And…yes…us,” was the genius that trickled from his mouth.

  “This is…surprising,” Tinka’s mom said. She didn’t know the half of it.

  Tinka’s dad and Mr. and Mrs. Greene had nothing to add. They only sat there, shocked. Mrs. Greene’s fork had only made it halfway to her mouth.

  “Too bad.” Dylan winked at Tinka with a cocky grin. Sam checked her reaction. She either hadn’t noticed or was pretending she hadn’t.

  Tinka’s friend, Jane, clapped her hands. “This is so romantic.” She jumped up from her spot on the floor and hugged both Sam and Tinka. Then she stood between them and linked her arms in theirs, making a Jane sandwich. “We need to celebrate. Let’s go out on the town tomorrow, get to know Sam. He can show us around. What do you say, Karen?”

  Karen’s expression said, “That sounds like torture.”

  Jane took it as a yes, bounded over to Karen, pulled her up from the floor, and wrapped her in a big hug.

  And now Sam was staring into his closet, trying to decide what he should wear today to hang out with his not-girlfriend and her real friends for a not-date. In less than twenty-four hours, he and Tinka had gone from strangers to friends to not friends to pretend boyfriend and girlfriend. If this had been a movie, Sam would’ve said it was too much, too fast.

  Sam threw a Back to the Future T-shirt over his blue mesh basketball shorts and ran downstairs, where his sister Maddie’s nanny was chatting with the girls in the foyer.

  “Hi.” He pulled on his favorite high tops, nodding specifically to Tinka. �
��Hey.”

  “Hi.” She blushed slightly.

  Jane squealed, clapping. “You guys are so cute! I can’t even take it.”

  Tinka’s other friend, Karen, groaned, turned around, and marched out the front door.

  Sam had no idea how he was supposed to behave. They hadn’t discussed the particulars of their situation. Tinka was definitely avoiding his eyes right now. Maybe she regretted starting this charade and was about to pull the plug. Sam would let her take the lead, whatever she thought was best. She was the director, and he was her assistant.

  He and the girls hopped into his pickup truck, and he drove them into town, pointing out various landmarks on the way. “That’s where the Joyces live. They keep their nativity scene and aluminum Christmas tree out all year round.” He waved to a woman across the street. “And that’s Dolores Page. She named her kids after reindeer.”

  Sam found a parking spot right in front of Frosty’s Dye and Trim.

  Tinka stared at the life-sized plastic snowman on the sidewalk outside the barbershop. “It’s June.”

  “This is toned down. Wait a few weeks for Christmas in July. By then it will look like a giant vomited red, green, and gold all over everything.” Sam led them across the street to the local cafe. “And here we have Santabucks, where everyone gets their coffee. Anyone need caffeine?”

  Tinka raised her hand. “We’ve been living off Folger’s Crystals and stale doughnuts. Give me the good stuff.”

  Grinning, Sam held the door open for Tinka, Karen, and Jane. Brian Garland, in his Santa hat, was working the counter. His eyes widened when he saw Sam come in with three girls. “Sam,” he said.

  Sam made his way over to Brian, both sheepish and chuffed to be seen out in public with not one, not two, but three attractive humans of the female persuasion. It wasn’t a sight North Pole was used to, unless Sam happened to be walking around with his sister and a couple of her friends.

  “Who are they?” Brian whispered.

  “My neighbors.” The girls had grabbed a table near the back. “Or the blond one is. That’s Tinka.” He almost added “my girlfriend” to the end of that, just to try it out, but stopped himself.

  “What’s her story?” Brian’s eyes were squarely on Jane.

  “What about Abby?”

  Brian’s gaze was back on Sam. “Abby?”

  Sam held his hand up waist-high. “The Canadian gymnast?”

  “Oh.” Brian shrugged. “Old news.”

  “Shocker.” Sam ordered black coffees for himself and Tinka, an Arnold Palmer for Karen, and an unsweetened matcha iced tea for Jane.

  “I’ll bring them to you,” Brian whispered. “Put in a good word.”

  Shaking his head, Sam joined the girls at their table, where they were discussing what to do next.

  “We could go shopping,” Jane said.

  “Or to the bakery.” Tinka was sitting alone on one side of the table, her seat as far from Karen’s as possible. Sam took the empty chair next to Tinka.

  “Of course you want to go to the bakery.” Karen wrinkled her nose. “Your mom said there’s a great bookstore on Main Street.”

  Brian strolled over with their drinks. He had taken a second to straighten his hat before coming over to the table, where he unceremoniously plopped Tinka’s, Karen’s, and Sam’s drinks in front of them, but handed Jane her tea with a slight bow. “I’m Brian.”

  “Jane.” Her lips puckered around the straw.

  Sam rolled his eyes at Tinka, who smiled and rolled hers back. Brian was so obvious.

  Brian pointed to Jane’s cup. “We care a lot about customer service here at Santabucks, so I took the liberty of writing my phone number on the side there, in case you have any comments or complaints.”

  “Such dedicated service,” Jane said.

  Tinka picked up her cup. “I don’t see your phone number on my cup. Don’t you care about my experience?”

  “Or mine?” Sam examined his cup as well. “What if I have a comment or complaint?”

  “Karen, too.” Jane draped her arm across Karen’s shoulders. Karen stiffened for a moment, then relaxed.

  With a huff, Brian grabbed each of their cups in turn and gave them his number.

  Tinka, Jane, Karen, and Sam laughed as Brian retreated behind the counter.

  “He’s cute,” Jane said. “Maybe I should call him. It’s summer. We’re in a resort town. We have to have flings. It’s, like, the law or something. Right, Sam?”

  “I’ve read the town charter. Mandatory summer flings are not in the bylaws,” Sam said.

  Jane gestured toward Tinka and Sam. “I want what you two have.”

  Tinka blushed, and Sam attempted to deflect the conversation. “Tinka mentioned the bakery—”

  “We don’t have to go to the bakery,” Karen said. “Just because Tinka wants to—”

  “I never said we had to go to the bakery,” Tinka said. “It was a suggestion. I’m not forcing anyone to do anything.”

  Jane turned to Sam. “Be careful. I took Tinka to my favorite bakery in Charleston where they make these amazing potato chip cookies. She went back to my grandma’s house and elevated the shit out of them. We went to the grocery store and bought twenty different kinds of chips. Then she smothered them in white chocolate and caramel and Nutella and played around with spice and heat—she used, like, garam masala and Sriracha and all these other ingredients from my grandma’s kitchen. So delicious. She ruined the bakery for me that day, Sam.” She shook her head at Tinka. “Bitch.”

  “You know you love me.” Tinka smiled, but there was pain behind it.

  Jane patted Tinka’s hand. “I do.”

  Karen folded her arms. “Gross. And I’m still anti-bakery.”

  Tinka frowned. “Well, someone pick something.”

  “I know!” Jane said. “Tinka told me about that Jingle Falls place. It sounds ridiculous. Let’s go there.”

  Tinka hadn’t seemed so keen on Jingle Falls a few days ago. “There’s so much to see in town,” Sam said. “I haven’t shown you the arcade—”

  “We’ll see that later,” Jane said. “Let’s go do the dangerous slide thing.”

  “Yeah.” Karen pouted. “Let’s do Jane’s thing.”

  Tinka’s face had gone white.

  “It is fun,” Sam said. “And fairly safe, despite all my scars.”

  She nodded. “Okay. Let’s do Jane’s thing.”

  The four of them left Santabucks, piled again into Sam’s pickup truck, and he drove them up north, straight across town from the golf resort. He kept sneaking peeks at Tinka, who sat right next to the passenger’s side door, with Jane and Karen between them. She stared out the window and didn’t say much, but her mind was obviously working overtime on something. At the entrance to Jingle Falls, Sam paid for their tickets and the four of them picked out their sleds.

  Karen and Jane jumped onto the first chairlift and Tinka and Sam boarded the one behind them. Tinka clutched the armrest on her side for dear life.

  His legs swinging freely in the warm breeze, Sam studied the grassy mountains and deep valley below them. He watched a family of deer gambol down the side of one hill. This was nothing like the heart of North Pole. There were no Santa hats, no plastic reindeer, no piped in Christmas music.

  “It’s so peaceful up here,” Sam said in a desperate attempt to get Tinka talking.

  She only gripped the armrest harder.

  When they hopped off the ski lift, Jane met them at the top of the mountain, her sled standing upright next to her. Karen had already gone down the slide.

  “Who’s next?” Sam asked. He smiled sheepishly at the slide attendant—a guy, Jerry, from school—who pointed to Tinka and then to Sam with a nod and a sly wink.

  “You guys go ahead.” Tinka gawked at the slide, where a kid of about ten had just disappeared down the first steep drop.

  Jane held up her sled. “I’m on it.” With full authority and confidence, she stepped over to the slide a
nd handed her sled to Jerry. Seconds later, Jane was gone.

  “You want to go?” Sam asked.

  Tinka’s eyes were so big and sad. And scared. Like an animal in a Disney cartoon who sensed nearby danger. “I don’t think I want to do this.”

  “I kind of got that impression the way you were hanging on to the chairlift.”

  Tinka frowned. “Jane and Karen are gonna make fun of me.”

  “So what?” Sam shrugged.

  “It’s dumb. Karen’s looking for any reason to bust my balls, so that can’t be helped, but Jane only knows me as a kind of daredevil, and, I don’t know, all the riskiness has gone out of me. I’m being Walter again, worrying before there’s anything to worry about.”

  He grinned at the reference to their Big Lebowski conversation. She remembered. He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it.” He handed their sleds to Jerry and said, “We’ll take the ski lift back down.”

  “You don’t have to, Sam. You can go ahead.”

  “It’s no big deal,” he told her. “I’ve done Jingle Falls before, remember.”

  The two of them jumped back on the lift together. Tinka clutched the armrest again. “They’re still going to think I’m a wimp.”

  “No, they won’t.” Sam pointed to her bandage. “Use your ace in the hole. We’ll tell Jane and Karen Jerry wouldn’t let you do it because of your hand.”

  Tinka smiled. “Good thinking.”

  She could smile at him like that forever, and he’d never tire of it. He pointed to his head. “Not just a hat rack.”

  Tinka leaned back and stared at the sky. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because even though the girls won’t know I’m a wimp, you always will.” She turned to face him.

  “I don’t think you’re a wimp.” She was beautiful and nervous and cautiously considered every step before she took it, but she was not a wimp. “Jingle Falls is some scary shit.” Sam pointed to a rather large scar on his right knee. “This is from when I was riding down with my sister Harper. She was screaming at me that a sign said ‘Slow,’ but I didn’t listen. I took a sharp turn and we wiped out. I got this, and Harper skinned her shoulder.”