Artificial Sweethearts (North Pole, Minnesota)

by Julie Hammerle

  “You haven’t seen much of the resort, have you?” he asked, turning the key in the ignition.

  Tinka shook her head.

  “This is the best way to do it, anyway. No drunk golfers, no random Christmas decorations. Just nature.” He pulled away from the dock. Trees lined the shore on all sides. There were a few private, probably man-made beaches here and there, but there were even more like her mom and dad’s place, which had a rocky drop-off to the water.

  “It’s quiet.” Tinka listened to the birds and bugs fighting to be heard. There were a few other pontoons on the lake, plus canoes, paddle boats, and sailboats.

  “By design,” Sam said. “No speed boats allowed, no skiing, no tubing.”

  Tinka chuckled. “Fine with me. Those things are out of my comfort zone. I’m always worried I’ll fall and get left behind because no one’s looking out for me.”

  “I’d look out for you.” Sam pressed the gas and they cruised toward the middle of the lake. Tinka’s insides warmed as Sam—hand shielding his eyes—expertly steered their vessel.

  “Maybe North Pole doesn’t totally suck.” Tinka’s eyes scanned the perfect blue sky and the houses peeking out over the treetops. “At least not all of it.” She glanced at Sam again as the warm wind ruffled her hair and caressed her face. Was she having actual fun? And what was this other strange emotion? Contentment? Where was the tension in her shoulders? Where was the pit in her gut?

  “It’s all in how you see it,” Sam said.

  “I’d only been seeing it through my parents until now—the stuffy golf course, the decrepit house, the stale doughnuts.” Tinka grinned at Sam. “I like your way of life much better.”

  Back on the beach, they ate sandwiches provided by Sam, then built more sandcastles with Maddie and her nanny. When all was said and done, they’d erected an entire village. When they were sufficiently wiped out, and the nanny had taken Maddie inside for a rest, Jane and Karen resumed their places on the comforter and closed their eyes, letting the late afternoon sun dry their skin.

  Tinka glanced back at the house. She had an idea. “Sam?”

  The sun was behind him and its rays formed a sort of halo on his head and across his shoulders. “Yeah?”

  “You know what I want to do right now?”

  Jane made half-hearted kissy noises, but she didn’t open her eyes.

  Tinka ignored her. “I want to bake something. Is that okay?”

  “Of course.” Sam hopped over Jane and Karen’s legs.

  “Sure. ‘Bake cookies.’” Jane mumbled. “That’s such a euphemism.”

  Tinka grinned. “Go to sleep, Jane.” Then she grabbed Sam by the arm and led him up to the house. “My cookies are better than kissing anyway.”

  …

  The house was quiet. Maddie and her nanny were upstairs resting, but Sam and Tinka were alone-ish. He had never been alone in his house with a girl before, at least not that he could remember.

  He glanced back at the beach where Jane and Karen were still on the blanket, napping in the sun. Tinka had only jokingly mentioned kissing on the way in, but now it was all Sam could think about.

  “It’s probably blasphemy to say this in Minnesota where we’re supposed to relish every bit of summer we’re given, but I want to be inside, in this room, all day long. I still can’t believe you have a Majestic Pro Industrial Size and Strength Stand Mixer in brushed chrome.” Tinka stroked the top of the appliance and studied all of its angles.

  “I can leave you two alone, if you’d like.” Sam hopped up on a counter and grabbed an apple.

  “That would be kind of you. I think your machine and I need a moment.” She flipped the switch on the mixer, and the paddle attachment spun inside the metal bowl.

  “‘Gets turned on by kitchen appliances.’ That’s something to add to my list of Tinka.” Also on the list? Looks amazing in a bikini. Sam wasn’t normally the kind of guy who ogled women, but it was hard not to notice Tinka’s street clothes had done her figure no favors. And here he was hiding his belly under an XL novelty T-shirt—with a picture of a hot dog on it.

  “This mixer is practically begging for some batter to stir,” Tinka said.

  Sam shrugged. “So, make something already.” And now this gorgeous girl was about to make him baked goods. He’d won the life lottery.

  Her hands went to prayer position and she clapped. “Really?”

  “Really. I’m desperate to try some of these Tinka Foster confections I’ve heard so much about.” Sam hopped down from the counter, reached under the island, and grabbed a baking sheet from the cabinet. As he passed her the pan, their hands touched. Electricity shot up Sam’s arm, and not for the first time that day. He kept having to remind himself that this thing with Tinka was fake, and the feelings he was experiencing were due to the power of suggestion, nothing else. They were not in a real-life rom-com. They weren’t going to fall in love. He and this incredibly beautiful girl were only acting like boyfriend and girlfriend, playing the roles they’d assigned themselves, which was confusing the heck out of Sam’s head, heart, and, well, the rest of him, too.

  Tinka placed the pan on the counter. “You have any cookbooks? Or am I flying solo here?”

  He opened a cabinet above the stove. “See anything you like?”

  Tinka stood right next to him. She tapped her chin as she perused the books. “Joy of Cooking. Classic.”

  “That was my mom’s favorite.” He handed her the book. It was heavier than he remembered.

  Tinka clutched the book to her chest. “Was?”

  Sam winced. Everybody in North Pole already knew about Sam’s mom. He rarely had to tell this story. “She died a few years ago.”

  “Shit. I had no idea.” She reached out and squeezed his forearm. Electricity. Again.

  He casually removed his arm from her fingers. Self-preservation. “Car accident. The anniversary’s coming up, actually. Fifth one.” Sam plopped down on one of the stools flanking the island.

  “I’m so sorry, Sam.” She tilted her head like everyone did for a moment, then, as if remembering herself, she straightened up.

  Sam smiled slightly to let her know it was okay. He was always doing that for people—his siblings, his dad. He was Sam, the strong one, and he had to keep up the appearance that everything was fine. “She used to bake all the time. My sister Harper has tried to fill her shoes, but frankly,” he glanced around and whispered, trying to lighten the mood, “she sucks.” He waved a hand at Tinka. “You do your thing, I’ll watch. Unless you want to put me to work. But don’t ask me where anything is because I don’t have a clue.”

  Tinka turned her back on him and flipped through the cookbook. “One question: do you have bananas?” she asked.

  “Hey, I know that one! They’re right there.” Sam pointed to the island in front of him.

  “I think banana bread it is.” She started flipping through cabinets, pulling out ingredients—flour, sugar, baking soda, salt, and baking powder. She gathered butter and eggs from his fridge, as well as a slab of bacon.

  “Bacon?” Sam’s eyes widened. “You’re killing me.”

  She held the slab aloft. “We can do this Elvis-style—slather the slices with peanut butter and crumble bacon bits on top.”

  “I was joking when I mentioned the two of us getting fake married earlier, but I’d gladly make a more serious offer if you keep talking like this.” Sam was only half-kidding. Actually, more like one-third kidding.

  Grinning, Tinka placed three unpeeled bananas on the baking sheet, put them in the oven, and turned it on. Then, her back to Sam, she started measuring ingredients and dumping them into a bowl. “I’m sorry I said I’m sorry about your mom.”

  That was a new one. “You’re sorry you said you’re sorry?”

  “Yeah.” Tinka shrugged. “I always want to be the one who’s ready with the perfect response in this situation, but instead I gave you an ‘I’m sorry’ and the tilted head-frowny face.”

  Sam
’s jaw dropped. “You know about the tilted head-frowny face? I hate the tilted head-frowny face.”

  “Ugh, me too. It’s the worst.” She dumped something else into the flour and hunched her shoulders up to her ears. “My brother died.”

  On instinct, Sam moved to stand, to go to her, offer her a shoulder, but he caught himself, because maybe that wasn’t what she wanted. He sat back down, giving her space. “Tinka, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m fine.” She shook her head and turned toward Sam now, her chin out, face hard, like she was trying to prove how fine she was.

  “And I’m sorry because I definitely gave you the tilted head-frowny face behind your back,” Sam said.

  She smiled. “Everyone does.”

  “We can’t escape it.” He shrugged. “How old was your brother?”

  “Four.” Tinka chewed on her lip. This wasn’t a story she told often, Sam could tell. Her hunched up shoulders, her jutted chin—she was trying to keep her emotions in check, something Sam knew a lot about. “He was at preschool, first week. He climbed to the top of the monkey bars and fell.”

  Sam’s hand went to his mouth. “How old were you?” Sam knew what it was like to lose someone in an accident. There were always those moments where he found himself thinking about what was going through his mom’s head, if she’d suffered, if she’d known.

  “I was only a year old when he died, so I don’t remember him or the incident at all.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Jake.” She said the name like she had to think about it beforehand, like it was an unfamiliar word she had a hard time pronouncing.

  “The whole situation is awful, but it really sucks you have no memory of him.” Sam’s siblings bugged him, but he couldn’t imagine life without them. He had an urge to run and hug Maddie or call Harper and Matthew. He settled for running his finger along the edge of the wedding binder, which he kept on the kitchen counter, a constant reminder of how much his family was counting on him.

  “Yeah, I don’t remember him, and maybe that’s why the ‘I’m sorries’ bug me so much. I got off easy. My parents deserve the sympathy, and the rest of my family, but not me.”

  “You do, though. He’s your brother.”

  “But he’s more like a distant relative. People act like I should cry and mourn him, but I don’t, which then makes me feel emotionally inadequate, because maybe I should be doing those things.” She turned around and measured something else before dumping that into the bowl, as well.

  “There’s no right way to handle grief.” Sam’s family had run the gamut. Harper had leaned on her best friend, Elena. Matthew had Hakeem. Their dad had gotten rid of all the alcohol in the house and cut back his hours at work. Sam had been the rock for whoever needed him, but especially Maddie, who had only been three when the accident happened.

  “But it’s not grief, is it?” Tinka said. “I’m not sad. If anything, I’m pissed off, which almost certainly makes me a terrible person.”

  “You’re not horrible for feeling the way you feel. I know that for sure.”

  She shook her head, her back still to Sam, like the only way she could talk about this was if she couldn’t see him. “There’s a lot of resentment. Everything in my life has happened in the absence of Jake. I’m Tinka because that’s what Jake called me when I was born. My parents act the way they do because Jake’s not here. I let them drag me around by the leash because they lost their son and I’ve been trained—by them, by other relatives, by my own instincts—to try to make their lives easier at all costs. And, as a result, my entire life revolves around Jake being gone.”

  “Your entire life?” Sam thought about his mom every day. He didn’t wake up with her consciously on his mind, but inevitably something would remind him of her—whether going into the coffee shop or catching a whiff of her perfume on Harper. But his life didn’t revolve around her. He was moving on, moment by moment, little by little. Each day existing got a tiny bit easier.

  Tinka started doing calf-raises at the counter, rising up and down on her toes in a steady rhythm. The action was probably supposed to calm her, but one leg was definitely shaking. “I started golfing because of Jake, because he sunk a twenty-foot putt one time when he was three and my dad thought he’d be the next Tiger Woods. After Jake died, my dad pushed all his golf dreams on me, and I’ve kept up with it because it’s the only way my father relates to me. He only pays attention to me on the golf course.”

  Sam’s dad was in real estate. A businessman. He didn’t know much about Sam’s movies or Maddie’s figure skating or any of the other stuff his kids loved, but he tried to understand. He tried to show an interest. Because that’s what fathers did. “I’m sure that’s not the only way your dad relates to you.”

  Tinka turned on the mixer and spoke over its whirring. “I don’t know about that. I’ve always felt like he’s kept me at arm’s length because he’s scared of getting attached to another kid.”

  “God, Tinka.” Sam tried to put himself in her shoes, but he couldn’t fathom his dad making any of the Anderson kids feel that way.

  “My mom went the opposite route. She scheduled every inch my life and knew where I was at all times. At least she used to. Ever since I went to boarding school, or at least since winter break—it’s like they got rid of me and they’re much better now. She barely batted an eye when I hurt my hand. I spent seventeen years trying to live up to their standards and make their lives easier, but now that we’re here in North Pole, it’s like I was the problem. I was the thing holding them back from happiness.” Tinka wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Shoot.”

  She walked over to the sink, turned on the water, and threw some of it in her face. Sam stayed on his stool, trying to decide what to do, what the protocol was here.

  “If it makes you feel better,” he said, “I get feeling resentful. Obviously I knew my mom better than you knew your brother and I miss her as much as anyone, but because I’m Sam the happy one, everyone assumes I’m not as gutted as they are. They take it for granted that I’m doing okay, but…sometimes I’m just not. I wish they’d let me be not okay once in a while.”

  Tinka turned to face him. She clutched the lip of the counter behind her, like she, too, was trying to decide how they were supposed to act in this situation. “I’ve never talked to anyone about this stuff before.”

  “Me neither. It’s how I got into my current predicament.” Sam stood and picked up the wedding binder. “My brother and sister left me with all of Matthew’s wedding details because they knew I could handle it, that I’d make sure everything got done. But sometimes I want to break down. Sometimes it hits me that my mom should be the one here doing these things.”

  “Can we hug?” Tinka asked. “I think we need to hug.”

  After putting down the binder, he stepped over to her and she wrapped her arms around his waist. Sam enveloped Tinka in his arms and rested his cheek on top of her head. “Thank you,” he said.

  “I started this.” His T-shirt muffled her voice. “I’m the one who unloaded on you.”

  “Any time.” He squeezed her a hair tighter. “What are fake boyfriends for?”

  Chapter Six

  Tinka rehearsed her lines on the putting green while waiting for her dad to show up for their tee time on Saturday afternoon. She’d gotten her stitches out that morning, and, though her scar was still a bit tender, Tinka’s dad hadn’t wasted any time forcing her back out on the links.

  “I’ve been thinking, Dad, and I don’t want to play golf this year,” Tinka mumbled to no one. She lined up another putt, took a deep breath, and sunk it. “I appreciate you sending me to Florian’s. I really like it there.” Or she had liked it there, before the whole Colin situation. Tinka shook herself and crouched down to focus on the slope of the green as she whispered the words she’d say to her father. “It’s not like I want to give up golf forever. I’ll keep playing with you…on occasion. I only want to quit the team. That’s it. I no lo
nger want to compete.”

  She sank a nice thirty-footer and took that as a sign that this afternoon was going to go well. Her dad was always more receptive to her feelings once they were on the golf course. Plus, she’d practiced this conversation with Sam last night when she and the girls were at his house, which was becoming their evening routine—work at Tinka’s house all day, hang out with Sam at night.

  Sam’s house was the only place in North Pole, perhaps the world, where she was at peace. Last night, Jane and Karen had gone down to the basement to play video games with Maddie, and Tinka and Sam had stayed out on the porch, chatting about family issues.

  “We need to be honest with them, don’t we?” Sam had asked. They were drinking coffee and picking at the remnants of a chocolate-chile cake Tinka had baked earlier that afternoon. It was the most adult she’d ever felt in her life—drinking after-dinner coffee on the veranda with her (pretend) man friend.

  Tinka had glanced over at her parents’ house, which was dark. Her mom and dad had gone to dinner with Mark and Trish again, of course. That was also most definitely becoming routine.

  “There’s a first time for everything.” Tinka had never, ever given her parents even the slightest inkling that she wasn’t happy with her current situation. They’d be shocked to hear it, she was sure.

  “I’ll do it if you will.” Sam drained his mug. “I’ll get on the phone with Harper and Matthew and tell them that I can’t be in charge of all the wedding details. It’s not fair to me. I get that they’re dealing with a lot right now, too, but so am I. They tend to forget that. Or, really, I tend to hide how much stuff gets to me. It’s time I told them.”

  Tinka had frowned. “And it’s time I tell my dad that I don’t want to golf anymore.” She could picture his heart breaking in real time.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Sam had punched her lightly on the arm, which made her grin. She almost believed him.

  When her dad showed up for their round, Tinka shored up her shoulders. This was her moment. She had considered waiting until after the front nine or even for when they’d finished and were back in the clubhouse, but no. She’d already waited too long. They needed to have this conversation now. “Hi, Dad.” She set her lips in a line.