Well, except for Grandie’s seventy-fifth birthday celebration in November. And then there’ll be Christmas—although I could probably pull a shift and get out of that one. Argh. Then there’ll probably be a gender reveal and christening or baby naming or something for my cousin Sarah. She just announced she’s pregnant, with so much fuss you’d think she’s the only woman to ever procreate. She’s due in February or March, I think. Family events stretch out before me like a road littered with landmines.
It wouldn’t be fair to ask Ant to continue the charade indefinitely. Turning up at family functions on demand? It’s too much to expect. And what if he meets someone? Just because he’s not right for me doesn’t mean he wouldn’t be a catch for someone else.
I have to acknowledge, if only to myself, that it’s a shame he isn’t right for me. I’ve discovered there’s a lot to admire about Ant Stevens.
He’s handsome. Intelligent. Kind. And has a good, albeit annoying, sense of humour.
But he’s also happy to drift through life making coffee and sanding surfboards, which I suspect would frustrate me. I need someone with drive and ambition to match mine.
And, although he’s hinted at there being more between us than the faking, who’s to say that flirting isn’t just more of his teasing?
Because, really, what would a guy like Ant see in me? I’m short-tempered, sharp-tongued and more than a little demanding.
None of which seem to have fazed him so far. In fact, he seems amused by it more than anything else. Which just goes to show how unsuited we are. Because that is a response I don’t understand.
Friday is a rare quiet day, which is a double miracle, because it’s also my friend Mei’s birthday. We’ve organised to catch up for drinks at a wine bar in Crows Nest, and for once I’m not late.
“Do my eyes deceive me?” Mei does a double take and checks the vintage watch on her wrist when she arrives and finds me taking a first sip of wine at the table I snagged for us.
“Haha. I’m not always late.” That’s an outright lie, and she calls me on it with a lift of her eyebrows and a roll of her eyes. “Alright, maybe I am. But I do try.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. Saving lives trumps wine with your best friend. I know my place.”
“At least you know if you’re ever dying, you’ll get first priority.” I stand and hug her.
Mei and I have been friends since high school. We both have dark hair and brown eyes, but that’s where the similarity ends. If I could only use one word to describe Mei, it would be lush. She has a lush figure and full, lush lips. But she also has a lushpersonality. She’s warm and giving and full of humour. She’s beautiful, inside and out, and I remind myself regularly not to take her friendship for granted. Lucky for me, she understands how tough my job is and is patient with the crumbs of friendship I throw her way.
We order bar food and settle in to catch up.
“Isn’t Emily’s wedding coming up soon?” Mei manages to make Emily’s name sound like a curse word.
“Yes. Oh, I have news about that.”
By the time I’ve finished telling her my fake dating story, Mei is grinning from ear to ear.
“You know the drill, Lils. Fake dating. Destination wedding. Only one bed. You are totally coming home with a boyfriend,” she says with glee.
“I totally am not,” I respond in kind. “He is so not my type. I need someone with ambition, a career.”
“Do you, though? There’s an argument to be made that two driven people in a relationship is a recipe for disconnection and divorce. And the last thing you need is more stress.”
“Divorce? We’re fake dating!” As usual, Mei has taken things to a whole other level.
“Nobody’s saying you have to marry the guy. But if he’s as hot as you say, why not have yourself a sneaky link? It might be a good distraction.”
“What the hell is a sneaky link?” I ask, although I can guess.
“A secret hookup. Friends with bennies that nobody knows about. It would do you good. Because Christ knows you could do with your cobwebs getting cleaned out.”
“Ew.” I top up our wines with the last of what’s in the bottle. But a little voice in my head—or maybe it’s between my legs—asks what the problem would be if I did have sex with Ant. A week of sun, surf, cocktails and orgasms doesn’t sound like a baddeal as a trade-off for having to attend what will undoubtedly be the most over-the-top wedding of the century.
“Just think about it, Lils. You haven’t dated in how long?” Mei pops a loaded fry in her mouth and sends a flirty smile over my shoulder. Of course, when I turn around, there’s a guy in a very smart suit smiling back at her.
“For fuck’s sake. You attract them like bees to honey.” Which is true. Not that any of them last very long. Mei is a serial monogamist on fast rotation. “I’ll get us another bottle.”
By the time I come back from the bar, the guy from across the room is perched on the arm of the spare chair at the table, leaning in to Mei, pressing a business card into her hand.
“I look forward to hearing from you,” he says, and saunters back to the business-suited crowd he’s with in the back of the room.
