Grumpy Fake Boyfriend

by Jackie Lau

  Besides, it’s not like I don’t keep myself in good health. I wake up at five every morning so I can work out in my gym before getting into the office at seven. Then I’ll stay at work until about eight o’clock at night, go home and eat dinner, maybe read another report. After that, I’ll watch a TV show.

  See? I have free time. Not as much as Vince, but he has far too much of it.

  I look toward him and he grins.

  “I’ll help you figure out what to do with your time,” he says. “I’m going to a party tomorrow night. What do you say?”

  When I was a university student, I once went to a crazy party, which ended with me puking and passing out. That was sixteen years ago, and I’ve never done anything like that again.

  I suspect this is the sort of party Vince has in mind, not a fancy charity event where I can schmooze with important business people.

  “Are you ready for me yet?” It’s the locksmith. He’s standing in the doorway.

  “Almost done,” Po Po says. “Just wait.”

  My mother, my grandmother, and my assistant stand before me with their arms crossed. It’s a rather terrifying sight.

  “You know you’re screwed,” Vince says. “When we’re all on the same side, there’s no stopping us. Remember, Dad’s on our side, too, and I’m sure Cedric will be as well, once I tell him.” Cedric is my other brother.

  I sigh and scrub my hand over my face. “Fine. I’ll take two weeks off work.”

  But here’s my little secret: I don’t actually intend to take the full two weeks off.

  Instead, I’ll stay away from the office tomorrow and Monday, and I won’t come in on the weekend, either. Hopefully four days will be enough to appease them, and then they’ll move on from this little Julian-is-banned-from-work decree.

  Four days without work is bad enough, but seventeen days?

  Not happening.

  * * *

  After having dinner at a Thai restaurant with Mom, Po Po, and Vince, I get home at seven thirty. I live in the penthouse of a condo building in downtown Toronto. It’s only a ten-minute walk from Fong Investments, so it’s very convenient.

  With a groan, I collapse on the couch in the living room. Not because I’m exhausted—far from it. I’m home earlier than usual, in fact.

  What on earth am I going to do for the next four days? I can barely comprehend the idea of having so much free time. I can’t remember the last time this happened to me.

  Probably when I was in kindergarten, if that. We always had lots of activities: baseball, soccer, piano, math class, Chinese school...

  The thought of Chinese school reminds me that I’m teaching myself Spanish—I’m nearly fluent. For the next few days, I can immerse myself in Latin American literature and popular culture. Maybe I’ll even binge-watch a TV show in Spanish. Apparently, binge-watching is when you watch several episodes back-to-back. I’ve never done it—when would I have the time?—but I could give it a try.

  I’m about to pull out my phone to look for some new shows when I remember that Vince confiscated it.

  Damn. It’s going to be a very long four days.

  Chapter 2

  Courtney

  I rock Heather back and forth, careful to support her neck as she is only a month old.

  Heather decides she’s hungry and starts looking for a nipple. Unfortunately for her, I am her aunt, not her mother, and cannot provide her with the breast milk she seeks. Also, she’s latching onto my shoulder, not my breast. She starts crying when she realizes no milk is coming from Aunt Courtney’s shoulder.

  I stand up and walk around the room, putting a bounce in my step, as this is what Heather likes. Or at least, it’s what she liked the last time I saw her, which was four days ago.

  “I asked Will if he wants children,” says Naomi, my sister. She is Heather’s other aunt, and she’s sitting on the couch, watching me doing this strange bouncing walk.

  “Oh? What did he say?” I ask.

  “He says he wants one or two.”

  Naomi smiles. She and Will are sickeningly cute together, although Will would probably grumble about the word “cute” being used to describe him. They’re in the early stages of their relationship, but Naomi says she “just knows,” and to be honest, I feel that way about them, too. My younger sister and I have always been close, and this man is different. I can tell.

  So now it’s just me who’s single. Jeremy, my older brother and Heather’s father, is married, and Naomi is already talking about marriage and kids with her new boyfriend.

  It’s okay. I’ve always known it would turn out this way, and I’m happy for my sister.

  Heather has stopped trying to get milk from my shoulder. She looks up at me with serious dark eyes, discovering her new world, and I can’t help but smile at her.

  “I’m Auntie Courtney,” I say. “Your favorite aunt. Your fun aunt.”

  “Hey!” Naomi says. “Stop feeding her lies. Heather, don’t listen to her.”

  Naomi looks at me and we laugh.

  My sister was joking, but it’s true. She’s definitely the fun aunt.

  Most people think of Naomi as a fun person, whereas I’m pretty sure nobody thinks of me that way. I have a PhD and I work as a biomedical researcher...things that certainly don’t scream “fun.” Plus, I’m the complete opposite of a party girl. Just the thought of me partying is worthy of another laugh.

  It’s a good sign that I’m still able to laugh, but that will change soon. It’s August, and autumn is just around the corner.

  It’s been five years since the last time I was sick. I know it’s coming, sometime this fall.

  Because it’s always five years.

  Heather closes her eyes and starts sucking her fist. She’s wearing an adorable dinosaur onesie. My chest squeezes.

  You can’t have this, I remind myself, and I try not to be sad about that. My life is pretty good. I shouldn’t complain about the fact that having a partner and a baby doesn’t seem possible for me, although I can’t help longing for those things.

  “You’re just so cute,” I say to my niece.

  The front door opens. Jeremy and his wife, Lydia, have returned from their half-hour walk alone, which is a luxury for them now. Lydia immediately reaches for her daughter, and I hand Heather over.

  “I think she’s hungry,” I say.

  Jeremy and Lydia have been married for three years. I remember when Jeremy first brought her home, which must be at least six years ago now. I was in awe of her. She seemed like one of those perfectly dainty Asian women—completely unlike me, in other words—although that doesn’t describe her personality.

  It was actually Lydia’s idea to set Naomi up with Will. Of course, what actually happened was much more complicated than a simple setup, and it involved a fake relationship, a long weekend at a beach house, and lots of donuts. It’s like my sister is living in a damn romantic comedy.

  I miss romantic comedies. They used to make so many of them, but now they seem few and far between. I haven’t been to a movie theater in ages.

  “Do you want to see a movie tomorrow night?” Naomi asks, as though reading my mind.

  Like I said, we’ve always been close.

  I shake my head. “I can’t. I have to be at the lab until late to finish some experiments, and then I’ll probably just go home. It’s been a long week.”

  Naomi is not like me. She seems to have an endless reserve of energy, whereas my battery needs to be recharged on a regular basis. After spending the evening at Jeremy’s, I won’t feel like doing anything after my long day at work tomorrow.

  Except drinking a gingerbread latte.

  I smile at the thought of that latte. It will be well after five o’clock by the time I’m finished work tomorrow, so it’ll have to be decaf. I used to think decaf lattes were stupid, but then I realized that caffeine isn’t the main reason I have gingerbread lattes.

  No, it’s the short walk to my favorite coffee shop, eleven minutes from
the lab, and the amazing aroma that hits my nose as I step in the door. It’s the cozy couches and wooden furniture, the familiar faces, the barista who chats with me and makes pretty foam art. It’s the taste of the latte, the spices. It’s feeling naughty and special for having gingerbread lattes all year long, when usually you can only get them in December. (The gingerbread latte isn’t on the menu now, but I’m a regular and they make it for me anyway.) It’s a break from the rest of my life.

  Yes, it costs five dollars, and since I have about three a week, this isn’t a cheap habit. People complain about millennials wasting money on indulgences like lattes and avocado toast, and they say that’s why we can’t afford houses. But the real reason I can’t buy a house is because houses are ridiculously expensive in Toronto and cutting out my gingerbread latte habit wouldn’t make me hundreds of thousands of dollars richer.

  It’s five dollars that contributes to my happiness, so I consider it five dollars well spent. That’s what I focus on in life—those little things that make the sun shine just a bit brighter.

  However, at some point in the near future, I’ll stop being able to appreciate such things. My niece might smile at me for the first time, and I won’t feel anything.

  There was a hint of it last week. I tried a new ice cream parlor and the ube ice cream was really good. Well, intellectually I knew it was good, but it didn’t taste as amazing as it should have. It felt like I was experiencing the world through a thick blanket of fog again.

  This week, I’m okay, enjoying my niece’s big eyes and my gingerbread lattes, but I know. I just know.

  It’s coming.

  It’s inevitable.

  * * *

  “How was the wedding?” Lydia asks Naomi at dinner. We’re eating takeout from an Indian restaurant.

  “It was great, except I discovered Will can’t dance.”

  Lydia holds a sleeping Heather in one arm as she eats. “I never imagined him as an enthusiastic dancer.”

  We all chuckle at the thought of grumpy Will heating things up on the dance floor.

  “But I figured he’d at least be able to slow dance,” Lydia says. “It’s not that hard.”

  “It is for him,” Naomi says.

  “Bad dancers are supposed to be bad in bed, but I assume he disproves that theory?”

  Jeremy glares at his wife, though it’s a fond sort of glare. I’m sure Lydia made that comment just to get under his skin. He’s still not quite used to the fact that his best friend is dating his baby sister, but at least he’s not totally against it now, which is an improvement.

  “Any plans for the weekend?” Lydia asks me and Naomi.

  “I’m going to a bachelorette party tomorrow,” my sister says.

  “Will there be strippers?” Lydia sounds quite excited by the possibility.

  Jeremy glares at her again.

  She rolls her eyes. “What? There were strippers at my bachelorette. It was awesome.”

  “I’m not sure of the details,” Naomi says, reaching for the basmati rice. “Knowing the maid of honor, there probably will be.”

  “What about you?” Lydia asks me. “What are you doing, since you don’t have a baby to look after? Going anywhere is such a production now.” She kisses her daughter’s forehead.

  “Um.” I don’t know what to say. I’m not going to mention that I have plans to drink a gingerbread latte tomorrow and go for a long walk and eat gelato—alone—on Saturday, since that sounds pathetic. “We’ll see.”

  In fact, I have no exciting plans at all for the next couple of months. Naomi and I are going to New York City this fall, in October or early November, but until then? Not so much.

  * * *

  The next morning, I get up at seven, as usual. It’s already warm enough to eat outside, so I have breakfast on the balcony. I’m going to enjoy summer while it’s here.

  My balcony is another thing that brings me joy. For a few months of the year—no longer than that, not here in Canada—it’s like having another room. I could have gotten a cheaper apartment in another building, but this one has a balcony, and it’s near Broadview Station, which is only a short subway ride from the university. It’s worth the extra expense.

  Not only do I have a balcony, but it’s a huge one. I have a comfortable lounge chair for reading, plus two other chairs and a small table. I don’t know why I have multiple chairs, since I never have company out here, but I do.

  I sip my coffee and look up at the sky. My apartment faces east, and the sun warms my face.

  It’s going to be a good day, I can just feel it.

  After I finish breakfast, I head into work and get started on some experiments. I’m about to take a break for lunch when one of the post docs approaches me.

  “Your sister’s here,” he says.

  How odd. Naomi rarely visits me at work, but she works downtown, not all that far from me, so it isn’t too inconvenient for her to come here.

  I head out to meet my sister in the hallway, and she’s missing her usual smile.

  “My car broke down,” she says. “I just got off the phone with the repair shop, and it’s going to cost more to fix it than I initially thought.” She frowns. “I can’t go to New York. I don’t have the money.”

  I feel a tightness in my chest.

  Every five years, like clockwork, I get depressed. It started when I was sixteen, and it’ll be coming back soon. It’s hard to explain how, but I can already feel it coming.

  Naomi and I had planned this trip to New York for when I was unwell. Of course, it wouldn’t solve my depression, but it would give me something to look forward to—as much as I can look forward to anything when I’m struggling with depression. Getting out of my regular day-to-day life often helps when I’m feeling that way.

  I was counting on that trip.

  So much for thinking today was going to be a great day.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says.

  She doesn’t suggest I go by myself or find a friend to go with me. She knows that’s not an option. I can’t travel alone when I’m depressed; that’s a disaster waiting to happen. It’s not good for me to be alone for days at a time, and I need someone else to deal with the travel plans and maps because my brain turns to mush and the tiniest things seem like insurmountable problems.

  And it has to be Naomi. She’s my sister and best friend.

  She’s the only one who knows what to do with me when I’m unwell.

  I consider whether I could pay for her share of the trip, too. I’m doing okay financially, and I can afford gingerbread lattes, but I’m hardly rich. Plus, I need to have a decent amount of savings in case I’m unable to work for a while due to my mental illness. Because I spent so many years in school, I haven’t saved as much as I’d like.

  I have to accept it. We’re not going to New York. I can’t justify the expense.

  “That’s okay,” I say, not wanting to let on just how disappointed I am.

  I had that trip to look forward to, but now, all I expect of this fall is a blur of heaviness and gray and sleepless nights.

  Naomi squeezes my hand. “You’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it, even though we can’t do this trip. I’m really sorry. I just...I can’t. And Will and I haven’t been together long, and I don’t want to ask him for money.”

  Since one car repair threw off my sister’s budget, I’m worried about her financial situation, but I don’t ask, not now.

  “I just wanted to tell you in person,” she says.

  We talk for a few more minutes before she leaves and I head to lunch with a friend, my heart heavy.

  * * *

  After lunch, I return to my experiments. I’ve always liked science, always liked understanding how things work. It’s incredible how much we can explain, isn’t it? From the microscopic scale, out to the universe beyond our solar system. When I was in high school, I’d already figured that I would get a PhD and do research, though exactly which field, I had no idea. I found a number of things
interesting. The fact that we can explain natural phenomena only makes them more amazing to me, not less, and science can do so much for us.

  But when I try to lose myself in my work today, I’m not successful. I can’t help thinking about the trip that won’t happen, as well as my sister’s finances.

  At eight thirty, I pack up my bag. Some of the tension in my body drifts away as I head toward my regular coffee shop, one of my favorite places in the city. Still, I can’t completely shake my disappointment.

  If only a few thousand bucks would drop out of the sky and into my hands...