Grumpy Fake Boyfriend

by Jackie Lau

  I close my eyes again and relax against my fake-but-soon-to-be-real boyfriend. When I’m around Will, I don’t feel compelled to agree with him on everything, like I did with Jordan. When I’m with him, I can be myself and know he’ll still like me for who I am.

  A relationship with Will would be so much different from what I had with Jordan. It’s the sort of relationship I want. I started this weekend with little interest in having a boyfriend again, but somehow Will has made me change my mind. I no longer feel like my break-up is weighing me down and holding me back. He’s given me back the spark I was missing.

  Will Stafford is exactly what I need.

  Chapter 20

  Will

  It’s nice out on the boat. However, I’ve spent most of the past seventy-two hours around other people, and it’s starting to get to me. I yearn to return to the solitude of my condo and spend some quality time alone.

  Though I also yearn to spend more quality time with Naomi.

  She stirs beside me but doesn’t open her eyes. She seems to be half-asleep in the warm sun. Perhaps I should offer to re-apply her sunscreen. An excuse to touch her again.

  I’m about to put my hands on her shoulders when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Jeremy. Just seeing his name fills me with guilt. He asked me to take care of his sister for the weekend and pretend to be her boyfriend.

  Instead, I slept with her.

  Okay, I did pretend to be her boyfriend, and I looked after her when she had too much to drink. But I also had sex with her, and I promised Jeremy I wouldn’t do that.

  How’s the weekend going? he asks. Are the sounds of laughter and happy conversation driving you nuts?

  You know me too well. I rub my thumb over his sister’s shoulder.

  Anything exciting happen?

  Not really, I lie. Boating, lying on the beach, drinking cocktails...

  Any cosmos?

  Ha. No.

  How’s Naomi? he asks.

  She’s fine. Her ex is a douchebag, but she’s doing fine.

  That’s good.

  I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m going to jump in the lake.

  That’s not just an excuse to end the conversation. Tom has stopped the boat, and Jordan and Krista are taking off their sunglasses and hats, preparing to swim. We’re a long way from the shore.

  Tom puts the anchor down, and they immediately jump in the water.

  Krista shrieks. “It’s so cold!”

  “You want to swim?” I ask Naomi.

  She raises her head from my shoulder. “I got enough of the cold lake when you threw me in on Saturday.”

  Only two days ago. So much has changed since then.

  And yet...it hasn’t really, has it? I’m still me, and tonight, I’ll go back to my regularly-scheduled life. Naomi said I should be her real boyfriend last night, but she’d been drinking, and it’s just not possible anyway.

  I dive off the back of the boat.

  * * *

  I’m not in the greatest mood after lunch. I tell Naomi that I’m going to the Pinery—the nearby provincial park—for a short hike. She can tell her friends whatever the fuck she wants.

  I don’t wait to hear her response. I just head to my car and take off.

  Unfortunately, my solitary walk in the woods does not improve my mood. Instead, it reminds me of Camp Rocky Cove.

  Such a stupid name. There was no cove. I don’t know why they called it that.

  When I was ten, my parents decided overnight camp would be a good thing to “get me out of my shell.” They told me that everyone had a good time at camp, and I would, too. I’d make lots of friends.

  I put up a bit of a protest, but not much. I knew there was no point. My parents wanted me to go to overnight camp, and so I would go.

  It was awful. There was too much fucking noise. Annoying kids and counselors. Silly pranks. I spent most of the time trying to find quiet places to read—I’d brought fifteen books with me, much to my parents’ amusement—and hiding in arts and crafts, even though I hated arts and crafts. But I hated it less than I hated most of the other kids.

  I did not have fun. I did not make friends.

  The following year, I begged my parents not to send me back, but they did anyway, telling me I should “try harder” this time.

  The first year was bad, but the second year was a real nightmare. The second year, a group of boys took it upon themselves to bully me. They even dumped my books in the lake.

  The counselor thought it was funny. I called my parents that night and asked them to pick me up. Even my mom chuckled, saying it would be good for me not to have any books for a couple weeks. She refused to listen to me.

  It was at that moment when I realized my parents didn’t have my back, not really. They would never understand me, and they didn’t even care that I was being bullied.

  So I did what any sensible eleven-year-old kid would do.

  I ran away from camp.

  And that worked. My parents were sufficiently pissed off at the camp for allowing me to get away and not noticing until the next morning, at which point I was found in a nearby town. I got to go home after all. The first thing I did was visit the library, where I found a book called “I Want to Go Home” about a kid who was desperate to escape camp. I totally understood.

  My parents probably seemed like the perfect doting parents to most people, but they just didn’t get it. All I wanted was a family who would actually accept me for who I was, rather than talk about stupid shit like “getting me out of my shell.”

  I like my fucking shell, thank you very much.

  I rarely think of that incident anymore, but one of the annoying things it did was spoil the wilderness for me. For years, I had no interest in nature. That finally changed, and now I enjoy the solitude of being in the woods alone. But every now and then, it reminds me of Camp Rocky Cove, and I tense up.

  Like now.

  Dammit. This walk did not have the intended effect. It was supposed to be relaxing and give me some much-needed peace and quiet. Although I haven’t been thinking about Naomi and my broken promise to Jeremy, my thoughts have hardly been peaceful.

  Time to go back.

  * * *

  I’m packing up my suitcase when Naomi asks me a question.

  “What are you going to do after you finish writing the Captain Walker series? Book seven is the last one, right?”

  “I’m working on a proposal for something else,” I say. “More comedic.”

  “Ooh, like Hitchhiker’s?”

  “Sort of. Although my style of humor is a little different from Douglas Adams’s.”

  “You should do it. It sounds awesome.”

  “I’ve told you almost nothing. You don’t know enough to say it sounds awesome.”

  She jumps on the bed and sits on her knees. “I’ve read all your other books. I know your writing style. I think you would be great at something like that. Can I be the first person to read it? Even before Jeremy? Please?” She clasps her hands together.

  I laugh, but it’s tinged with sadness because my weekend with her is almost over.

  “You’re not super active on Twitter,” she says. “But I think a separate Twitter account for a series like that would be awesome.”

  “You really like that word,” I mutter.

  “You wouldn’t have to do that much or interact with people. Just a few funny tweets a week.”

  I look up, and my face must be stony.

  “It’s just an idea.” She shrugs.

  I know. A little promotion is part of the business, and she’s not trying to push it on me. But I can’t forget what it was like with Carly. She would have had an entire marketing and publicity plan drawn up within days of me telling her a new idea. She wanted to turn me into a star. She wanted me to do things I had zero interest in doing, and she kept pushing, no matter how much I told her no.

  I don’t want to be a star. Too much hassle. I just want to write good books that some people act
ually buy.

  Although Naomi isn’t trying to control my career, talking about this still makes me tense.

  “Come here.” She’s smiling again and holding out her hands.

  I sit across from her on the bed.

  “I have another question,” she says, and I know what it’s going to be.

  The question I decided I would not ask, even though it’s tempting, because it can’t happen. But I’m not surprised she’s doing this. Naomi isn’t shy, not around me. If she wants something, she asks for it.

  “We’ve had a good time this weekend, haven’t we? I know it wasn’t your idea of a perfect holiday weekend, but we had fun together.”

  I nod.

  “Not just the sex,” she continues. “Though that was spectacular. I think this could really be something, don’t you? When we get back to Toronto, do you want to keep seeing each other?” She smiles at me.

  I close my eyes so I don’t have to see her earnest gaze.

  She’s started to care for me, and I’ve started to care for her.

  But here’s the thing about people who care for me. They always want me to change.

  Not into a better version of myself, but into someone different. There are so many examples. Like Carly. My parents.

  From the time I was young, my parents thought I was a bit of a freak. Why didn’t I see my friends more often? Why did I spend so much time at the library? Why did I keep locking myself in my room with an enormous “Keep Out” sign on the door?

  And then there was Camp Rocky Cove.

  I know my parents love me, but they made me feel like there was something wrong with me.

  But there isn’t.

  I’m so tired of it all. I refuse to change for anyone.

  Someday, perhaps I’ll find a woman who’s more like me. Who gets me. Unfortunately, I never fall in love with that kind of woman.

  Not that I’m in love with Naomi yet, but I could be, very easily, and I need to prevent that from happening. If we end it now, Jeremy won’t need to know. I don’t think Naomi would tell him. On the other hand, if we start dating and things go south, like they inevitably will, and I break up with her...

  I would lose one of my few friendships, too.

  So, yes, things have changed between me and Naomi, but the weekend hasn’t changed the fact that I’m a highly introverted and reclusive science fiction writer, and we’re not compatible. She likes parts of me, I don’t doubt that, but it’s not enough.

  I’ve been here before. I know it’s not enough.

  “Will?” She runs her thumb over my hand, and I savor her touch while I still have it.

  I open my eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Her chin wobbles. I feel terrible.

  “Why not?” she asks quietly. “Do you...do you not want a relationship with anyone?”

  I do, actually. It’s hard to admit, because it’s almost impossible to imagine one ever working out, but I’d very much like to have someone to share my life with. Someone to drink coffee in the morning with me. Someone to hold and kiss goodnight. Someone who looks forward to coming home to me at the end of the day. Someone to appreciate me for who I am.

  I might be the opposite of a people person, but I still crave that, deep down, and I want to have it with Naomi. However...

  “It’s not that I don’t want a relationship. But you and me, I don’t see that working.” I try to sound gentle, but gentleness is not something I do well.

  She purses her lips and draws her eyebrows together, like she’s trying to figure me out. Then her expression becomes carefully blank.

  “That’s okay,” she says. I think she’s trying to sound cheerful, but she’s failing. “Just a fun weekend, wasn’t it? I’ll tell my friends that we broke up sometime in the next few weeks, so nobody asks why you don’t come to their wedding as my date.”

  I touch her shoulder, but she flinches at my touch now, and it pains me. She should be leaning into me, smiling up at my face. She should let me comfort her.

  Of course, I can’t comfort her when I’m the reason she’s hurting.

  “I really am sorry,” I say.

  “I know you are, and I won’t tell my brother. I’ll say you played your role of fake boyfriend perfectly. So, we’re okay, aren’t we?”

  I nod and go back to packing my suitcase, my hand shaking as I fold up a T-shirt.

  I’m not okay. She’s not okay. We both know that.

  But there’s nothing to do now but pretend.

  Chapter 21

  Naomi

  I sit on the bench by the front door. My friends are in the kitchen, saying their goodbyes. I can hear their laughter, but I don’t join them. Instead, I take out my phone and check my email. I’ll stay here for a few minutes until my so-called boyfriend comes down, and then we’ll make a quick escape.

  Maybe I just wasn’t ready for another relationship. Jordan and I were together for two years, and maybe it would be good to have some more time alone, time to just be me. Everything happened so fast with Will—it’s only been a few days. He makes me feel good, but am I really ready?

  Yeah, this is for the best.

  “Hey.”

  I drop my phone and look up.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you.” Jordan retrieves my phone and hands it to me.

  “Thank you,” I try to paste a smile on my face. The person I most want to fool is Jordan. He’s also the last person I want to see right now.

  He slides onto the bench. “It’s been good to see you again.”

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Really?” I say, not able to hold myself back. “You sure haven’t acted like that’s true. You’ve been sucking your girlfriend’s face off all weekend and completely ignoring me. And everyone else, for that matter.”

  He frowns. “That’s not true. We spoke yesterday morning.”

  “For like two minutes, and all you did was tell me that you want to move in with Krista, when you never wanted to take that step with me. Yeah, that was real kind of you. But you know what? I’m glad you never wanted to live with me. Now I have Will, and he’s a much better boyfriend than you ever were.” My voice trembles. “You were a dick then, and you’re a dick now.”

  He jerks backward. “This isn’t like you, Naomi. You’re not usually mean.”

  Yeah, sometimes I’m a little too much of a people pleaser, especially with him.

  Not today.

  “Well, maybe I should have stuck up for myself before, rather than going along with everything you said. I’m just telling the truth, now that I finally see it. You think a girlfriend who agrees with everything you say is ideal, but you know what? Will taught me that relationships don’t need to be like that. I don’t need to completely lose sight of who I am, which is what happened when I was with you.”

  “I think you’re misremembering—”

  I hold up a hand to silence him. “No, I’m not. I remember exactly what it was like, and for a while after we broke up, I completely lost interest in having a boyfriend because I imagined they would all be the same. But now I know it doesn’t have to be that way, and I’m happy. I’m happy, dammit. I don’t know what I ever saw in you. Maybe you just walked into my life at the right time.” I look him up and down. “You’re decent looking, I suppose, and you make decent money, but that’s about all. You’re boring, and you’re an asshole.”

  Jordan seems thoroughly perplexed by my outburst. I guess he’s not used to people talking to him like this. He gets away with a lot.

  “Right.” His lips curve into a bit of a sneer. “And Will is just so kind. I bet that’s the word everyone would use to describe him.”

  “He is,” I snap. “He actually pays attention to what I want and who I am.”

  A few minutes ago, I was feeling a bit hesitant about starting another relationship. I was thinking that maybe this was for the best. But I can’t tell myself that anymore.

  I’m ready. I don’t need more time alone to just be
me. I’ve had six months alone, and I can be myself around Will. And now I can stick up for myself with Jordan, unlike before.

  I feel a familiar hand on my shoulder, and I lean into it.

  “Is Jordan giving you any trouble?” Will asks, his voice a low rumble in my ear.

  I turn toward him. “No. It’s fine. I’m ready to leave. He’s not worth it.”

  If only I had realized that sooner.

  I don’t look back at Jordan as Will and I walk to the car, my hand in his. This might be the last time we ever hold hands.

  He would be worth it.

  If only.

  * * *

  I pretend to be asleep in the car. It feels like I’ve been doing a lot of pretending in the past few hours, and yet before that, when I was pretending to have a boyfriend, it felt so natural.

  Telling Jordan off seems to have sapped my energy, but I’m glad I finally realized what he was and told him the truth. My relationship with my ex no longer haunts me, and I now understand what I want.

  Unfortunately, I’m now heartbroken over another man.

  When I asked Will for more, he looked uncomfortable and didn’t want to answer, and eventually he admitted he didn’t want a relationship with me. Not because he’s one of those men who’s sworn off love. But I guess I’m not the kind of woman he wants.

  It was one-sided after all.

  One of the advantages of closing my eyes is that I don’t feel as much of an impulse to critique his driving. Yet I yearn for the hours when we were arguing in the car on the way down. I want to be the me of three days ago, with a weekend of fun with Will Stafford still to come.

  The car comes to a stop, and I open my eyes, disoriented. We’re at a service station.

  Huh. I must have fallen asleep for real.

  “I’m getting a coffee,” Will says. “Can I buy you something at Tim Hortons?”

  I don’t say anything.

  He sighs. “Don’t you want an iced cappuccino? Timbits? Don’t you have something to say about the fact that I’m taking a break, even though I was annoyed when you insisted we stop on the drive down?”