by Laura Brown
Of course, what was even the lie? Last night or Monica?
Something wedged into her hand, and she looked down to find her sister’s phone, already unlocked, ready for her to use. She locked eyes with Izzy, the silent comfort from her little sister giving her courage she didn’t normally have. Without checking if they had a larger audience or not—she banked on not—she opened a notepad and began typing.
You didn’t tell me you were engaged.
Levi’s gaze darted up, but it didn’t settle on Gaby; it settled behind her to where Izzy stood, and Gaby’s stomach fell out of her socks. Levi’s jaw ticked as he held the phone in his hands, though his thumbs didn’t move, not right away. The screen started to darken before he managed to type something.
It isn’t what it seems.
Gaby felt as though she were in a teacup ride, with her feet on unsteady footing as she was pushed and pulled in different directions. And much like when she was on the ride, she swallowed down the bile attempting to crawl up her throat and went for the truth.
You’re keeping something a secret. Which is fine, we don’t know each other that well. But Monica knows you’re here, so, yeah, I think it is what it seems, and my sign stands. Liar.
She waited for the outrage, waited to find out it had been a misunderstanding, nothing more. But Levi ran a hand through his hair, shoulders slumping, and Gaby’s gut twisted.
How do you know about Monica?
The words were damning, damning straight to a hell neither one of them believed in, and some of Gaby’s hurt morphed into anger.
She texted as I was making sure your phone was charged. She wants her fiancé with her.
He didn’t meet her eyes while he responded, didn’t even look up so she could catch his expression.
I was engaged. We broke up three weeks ago, but Monica begged me to keep it quiet.
She caught unease in his motions, in the way he hesitated upon handing the phone back. Everything clicked. He hadn’t shared about his family, he’d been holding something back, and this was it.
He was never going to be hers. The resignation in his response, in his motion, spoke volumes. She’d let her heart slip out to someone who could do more damage than Tom.
So you were keeping a secret. I get it now. So thanks for being a fake date.
She handed the phone back, ready to walk away and leave him standing there. He caught her arm before she could push past him, his touch still giving her tingles. She tried to push him off, get rid of those damn tingles, but he tightened his grip. Not enough to hurt, but enough that she remained stuck in place while he read, then managed to type one-handed with those long fingers of his that had—
She cut off that particular train of thought because nothing good would come from it.
I didn’t want it to end like this.
He let go of her arm, and she took the phone. End. One little squabble and poof—whatever had started withered and died, a flower trying to grow in the shade, only to fade before first bloom.
Then you shouldn’t have lied.
She handed the phone to him, and this time she made it into her room without him stopping her. Tears filled her eyes, and she let two fall before swiping them away. He didn’t deserve her tears. Fake date. That’s all he was or would ever be. Yet the rumpled bedsheets mocked her, and her heart tore more than when things ended with Tom.
Her fault. She’d let herself fall into the ruse.
Chapter Eighteen
Levi stood at the opening to the kitchen, facing a scowling Isabel after Gaby had stomped down the hall so hard he felt the vibrations. Isabel uncrossed her arms and reached out, plucking the phone from his hands.
“You hurt my sister.” She signed slow and awkwardly, but in a full sentence he’d be proud of in any other circumstance.
Without waiting for his response, she headed into the kitchen.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, the sucker punch lingering deep in his gut. Fuck. This hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to. He’d planned to tell Gaby everything, as soon as he had enough phone battery and a spare minute. Bonus if he could settle things with Monica first. No use dragging her into all his shit.
Yet he had. By being here, by crossing the lines from fake date to something real, he’d dragged her into his complicated mess. And even though things were 100 percent through with Monica, he felt like a sniveling, cheating bastard, taking advantage of his fake Passover date.
Why hadn’t he told Gaby the truth from the start? Not like she could have messed up any of Monica’s plans, certainly not from Connecticut. Instead, he kept his ex’s secret and hurt someone he was starting to care for more than he should.
He moved to head into the kitchen but figured Isabel would have told everyone inside. He hadn’t a clue what Gaby had shared, or not shared, or even how much of the truth was understood, or if misunderstandings lingered. Which was just the perfect fuckup of all the previous fuckups. That left Gaby’s closed door. If those in the kitchen surely didn’t want to see him, then Gaby would be the queen of the bandwagon. But he had no phone and nowhere else to go.
He set his bag down by the closed door, still debating, when a hand on his arm stopped him. He turned to find Anne with her phone in hand.
Give her time alone. She felt played enough by Tom. She doesn’t need any more with you.
At this rate, all the sucker punches were going to leave a gaping hole in his middle. She’d left for the kitchen by the time he finished reading, so he typed his response while heading after her.
I didn’t mean to play her. I’ve known Monica my entire life. I had to do this one last favor to her. Hurting Gaby was not my intention.
He gave her the phone as the other two women studied him with not-so-pleasant faces, which he couldn’t blame them for. He gratefully took the phone back when Anne held it out.
If things weren’t finished with Monica, why are you here with Gaby?
He debated his words, but the only thing he could come up with involved the truth.
I needed an out from my own Passover celebration. I didn’t want to lie to my family. And Gaby needed a fake date. But it’s more than that now, and I want to fix things if I can.
He handed the phone back to Anne, and her eyebrows rose while she read, then her dark eyes, so much like her daughter’s, studied him as though he held the answers to the universe. She handed the phone over to those at the table, and both Isabel and Faith read as a sinking feeling squirmed in his gut at their dual surprised expressions.
Whatever Gaby had shared, it didn’t include them being fake.
Levi hung his head. This would be the nail in his coffin when Gaby found out.
Anne took the phone from Faith, typed a response, and when she showed it to him, her eyes were steel.
Is that true? You’re not really dating my daughter?
He wanted to be, wasn’t that enough? But he couldn’t type that, not before fixing things with Gaby and ensuring they wanted the same thing.
She asked for a favor, and I was intrigued by her, liked her, so I agreed.
He failed Gaby—not only by not managing to play the doting boyfriend until they left, but by not figuring her out, not ensuring that when he left, she’d manage on her own two feet better than before.
He failed himself because he’d grown invested. He didn’t want to leave; he wanted to see where they went. Which was apparently dead before the yeast would once again rise.
…
Gaby froze at the knock on her door, bracing herself for Levi, but Izzy’s voice came through. “It’s me, can I come in?”
Gaby cleared her throat but feared she’d croak out a response. She left her weekend bag on her bed and opened the door.
“You okay?” Izzy asked as she entered.
Gaby shrugged. Was she okay? What did okay even really mean?
Izzy
rubbed her hands together in that uncomfortable way and blew a strand of wavy hair off her face. “Why… I thought… I’m just going to say it: you were fake dating my professor?”
Everything in Gaby stilled and froze. “What?”
Izzy thumbed toward the door and the front of the house. “Levi typed something about that.”
Gaby stared at her ceiling. “Fuck.”
“Wow, it is true. Why?”
Gaby blinked, her damn eyes threatening to spill again. “Because everyone was on my case about Tom, and I figured if I brought this hot guy from my gym home, no one would care about Tom.”
“Valid plan. I mean, ‘Tom who?’ after Levi, right?” Izzy laughed, but Gaby couldn’t find it in her to join, and Izzy soon mellowed out. “But when did you decide to veer off course from the fake date? Because sounds.”
Gaby groaned and put her head in her hands. “That was before I knew the truth. No need to remind me.”
“Oh, are we finally sharing the truth now?” Anne asked from the doorway.
Gaby closed her eyes, counted to five, then figured screw it—the shit had already hit the fan; might as well embrace her inner primate and continue flinging poo. “Sure. Levi was my fake date. But I think you already know that part. Oh, and apparently, he’s engaged, too. I really can pick them, huh?” Gaby returned to her bag, stuffing her belongings into it, no longer caring what got wrinkled or if any of her toiletries leaked.
“I don’t know what’s really going on here. You’ve got yourself quite the soap opera. But what I do know is that boy eating matzah brie as if it tastes like, well, non-brie’d matzah, is not faking his emotions for you.”
Gaby paused with her pajama top in her hands then stuffed it into the bag. She stood in her teenage room; she could conjure up her younger ways and ignore her mother.
“Why’d you lie, Gabrielle? You didn’t need to bring home a fake date.”
“Actually, I did. You’re so obsessed with my love life I can barely breathe. If Levi hadn’t been here, you would have been on my case, either to take Tom back—which, no thank you, he was bad for my self-esteem—or to find someone new. Why are you like this?”
Her mother shifted and closed the door. “Because I know how short life can be, and I want my daughters to enjoy it to its fullness.”
Gaby shared a look with her sister. “What do you mean?”
“I married young, just a few years older than Izzy here, and when your father died, I was thankful that I had. Thankful for all the years we had together. And I know your aunt felt the same way when your uncle passed. And not that you’re old, and not that you don’t have the rest of your life ahead of you, but if you end up with the same fate, I want you to have as much time as possible with your love.”
Gaby’s heart ached at her mother’s words, and she sat on the bed, patting both sides of her for Izzy and Anne. “I’m so glad you had as many years with dad as you did, but I didn’t. And no amount of forcing a relationship that doesn’t work will change that. I’d much rather live a single year with someone who is right for me, than a decade with someone who makes me feel like crap.” Or a single night, as the case may be with Levi, even if what she had thought they had turned out to be a lie.
Her mother took her hand, and Gaby rested her head on her shoulder while reaching for Izzy’s hand with her free one. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that. I will try and stop. Let you live your own life. If you promise me one thing? That you’ll talk to Levi after the dust settles.”
Gaby laughed and detangled herself from her family.
“Can I get in on that pass?” Izzy said.
“Not while you’re still in college.”
Izzy sulked, and Gaby began stripping the bed. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? We can’t communicate.”
“I think you can better than you think. My point is that you deserve answers, and I think he has some to give.”
The words didn’t intend to sting, but they did, and Gaby forced both women to stand so she could rip the last of the sheets off the bed before depositing them in the laundry hamper. Her mother patted her cheek and left the room, pulling Izzy in tow. Gaby shook her head and glanced back at the bed one more time. This room would hold a different set of memories the next time she visited. For better or for worse.
Chapter Nineteen
After a breakfast that might as well have tasted like dust, Levi collected his belongings while Gaby ate, the two of them passing each other without an ounce of communication. He felt like the villain of the story, and he should have been prepared. His fake-date status meant he would have been the villain at some point, but he hadn’t expected it to happen too soon.
Hadn’t expected to want to be the hero.
He shoved the last of his belongings in his bag. Gaby didn’t need a hero; she needed an admirer. Levi, on the other hand, needed a hero or a fairy godmother or some shit like that to get his ass back in line. Between his family, Monica, and Gaby, he’d landed in quicksand. And not the efficient, cinematic, swallow-Artax kind, but the real-life, slower than molasses, only-going-to-die-if-you-give-up-and-let-it-consume-you version.
He needed to man up and get his ass out, but he hadn’t the first clue how. He still hadn’t figured out what made Gaby tick, or how to fix the problem with Monica. His arsenal of tools had wound up empty.
So, in the quicksand he sat.
He picked up his finished bag, and then shouldered Gaby’s as well, heading outside to the car he already knew she didn’t keep locked at her mother’s house. Possibly ever—he didn’t really know.
The spring breeze fluttered past him while he tossed both bags into the trunk. No other signs of life existed on the street, only a few trees swaying. Shame he wouldn’t be back.
Gaby had turned into a problem he couldn’t fix, and he doubted any of the women in the house would want him to, not after things with Monica were revealed. On that thought, he realized he had a text unanswered.
Levi: I’m leaving Connecticut now. I can be there tomorrow.
Monica: You seem so eager to join us.
Levi: I’m not. The lies end this weekend, one way or another. I’m done playing games.
Twenty minutes later, the house faded into the distance as they began their journey. Gaby sat with her head in her phone, an invisible barrier between them, shutting them out of each other’s lives.
They were on their way home, where they would go their separate ways. End of story. Even if he tried, he suspected no other outcome was possible.
Gaby put her phone away and stared out the side window, not opening herself up to any form of communication. No different than a week ago, before they knew each other, but he couldn’t deny she’d made a mark on him, and going back to normal didn’t seem possible, not after meeting her. They couldn’t even communicate, and yet that didn’t matter; he wanted to teach her, know her further.
Opportunity lost.
Didn’t change the fact he felt every inch that separated them, every word left hanging between them. It was ridiculous. He’d had countless exes, and it never felt like this. Even Monica. Another reason why he should have never gotten down on bended knee to begin with. If she had felt a smidgen like this, he’d be fighting to get her back.
Gaby was different, and he picked a hell of a time to realize it.
A rest area appeared up ahead, and even though they had just started their journey, he pulled over to the side, then onto the exit ramp and into the parking lot before the tiny welcoming center. But he didn’t care about food, not that any of it would be kosher for Passover, anyway, unless they stuck to drinks and non-bread items, and even some of that would be questionable.
Beside him, Gaby straightened in her seat, eyes wide and finally on him. Her attention did something funny to his insides and should not have been as important as it felt, like warm sun rays breaking thro
ugh cold clouds. But this was why he pulled off the highway to begin with. He parked the car and turned off the engine, grabbing his phone. She probably thought he needed to use the restroom, but he didn’t care.
Levi: I’m sorry for what happened with your family.
He studied her while she read, and then as she began to type, the light creating a shadow with her cheeks, the smooth skin reminding him of its feel and taste.
Gaby: Mom and I talked. I don’t think I’ll need another fake date, so yay.
His hands tightened on his phone. That’s not what he wanted. He wanted Gaby not to need another fake date because he’d be there. And fuck was he a prick to think that with his own baggage. He deserved to have his balls chopped off and added to the soup.
Levi: I’m sorry I didn’t explain the deal with Monica and my family.
If he had a time machine, he’d go back, screw Monica’s begging, and give Gaby the honest truth. Something he still hadn’t done. He needed to explain more, make it clear.
Gaby: Water under the bridge. Can we get moving? We’ve got a lot more road to travel.
She shut him out, cut him off, and he hated it. He put his phone down and leaned into her, the light now catching the amber in her eyes, pulling him in like a tractor beam. “You’re beautiful,” he signed, knowing damn well she wouldn’t understand him, and worse, wouldn’t want to understand him.
She pointed to the wheel, then the keys, the message clear to get moving. He placed a hand on her cheek, and she pulled back, taking her touch away from him, closing him off. It slashed through him, and he needed a moment to remind himself he barely knew her. A few days did not equate to the sudden loss he felt.
Levi: I’m going to grab a coffee. I’ll be back.
Then he left his phone charging in the car as he made his way into the building, to stand in the line at Dunkin Donuts and remind himself he wasn’t available, not yet. And to grow a pair.
…
Gaby watched Levi walk into the building and away from her, heart pounding for some unknown reason. He tried to make amends, but she needed this trip—heck, this day—to be over so she could pick herself up and move on. Not once had he mentioned he wanted more, just that he was sorry, and she could let that be. No use being upset with him.