“Are you upset about something?” Nola holds her cards close. It’s not a tone of wanting me to change my plans and stay, but I can’t read her. “Did I overstep? I’m sorry. I came home, went to grab food, and Emma was upset about the Reese thing, so . . .” I point around at the mess I’ve left behind.
“No, I’m not mad about that at all. I’m having weird feelings.” She tucks a few flyaway strands back behind her ears.
I stop the sink and lean my hip against it. “This sounds like something I need to know about.”
“I’ve been Emma’s whole world for eight years. We’re each other’s emotional support human—for lack of a better phrase. It was just?—”
“Strange to see me making cookies with her. I took over your kitchen and your kid, Adler. I’m really sorry. I didn’t think it through very well before it happened.” And Iamsorry. I had a great time with Emma, but I’m not her dad. I’m not her mom’s new husband—in the actual sense. I’m the guy who’s shown up and thrown myself into an existing family, only to discover I really like it. And from the look on Nola’s face, that makes things messy.
“Yes, it was strange but that’s not it,” she says.
I risk taking a step closer to her, closing the small gap that had been between us. She doesn’t say anything, so I place my hands on her biceps and squeeze gently one time. With a small smile, I ask, “Can you help me out here? I’m a lot of things: charming, athletic, grumpy, owner of a great butt; however, I’m not a mind reader. I’m not following.”
Nola gives me a sad half smile. “I wanted you to kiss me the other night on the front porch, you know. Before Emma interrupted us. And the night after you decorated the house for Christmas. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to think about all week and then I walked in to the two of you getting along like the best of friends and Ican’twant you to kiss me again. Because that’s selfish. I come with a plus-one who’s growing as attached to you as I am, and the reality we face is, you’re as good as gone.”
I have so much I want to say, to ask her, to admit to her, but Emma calls from her bedroom. “Mom! Are you still tucking me in?”
Her eyelids lower and she inhales deeply. “Yeah, Em,” she calls back. “Hang on.”
This isn’t the time to get my answer. I drop my hands and ask, “What now?”
“We keep being friends,” she says quietly, bumping me out of the sink’s way with her hip and going back to the dishes.
Five minutes later, I lower myself into the ice bath, water to my earlobes. The conversation with Nola replays through my mind, specifically the line where she tells me this is the part where we keep being friends.
I’ve never hated the word more.
19
NOLA
“Isaw the two of you splashed all over TMZ and Page Six online,” Belle tells me. “Looks like you two had a cozy little first lovebird Christmas together.”
“Oh yeah, sure,” I laugh.
“Have you seen the pic I sent?”
I pull my phone from my ear and swipe on the new text. There’s a screen shot of Max and me standing outside the Idaho Central Arena. I’m in a long green coat, jeans, and ballet flats. He’s got on a vest and flannel shirt. Max is in a beanie, my hair is set in loose waves. He has his arm protectively around my waist, holding me close and our foreheads are touching. We’re laughing and for all intents and purposes, we look in love. There’s no denying the fact that we look good together.
“Did you know it’s an actual thing to tip off the paparazzi and tell them where you’ll be wandering around, so they’ll know where to get a picture of you? That way you can look good and be ready for it? Like, celebrities do this on purpose,”I whisper into the phone while hiding in my small walk-in closet. I’d been in here putting away laundry when Belle called and I know Emma’s close by—One Direction is blasting from her room. I’m afraid if she overhears any part of this conversation, she’ll decide this really is more real than it is. At ten years old, I recognize it’s hard to differentiate between reality and pretend and, heck, the lines are blurring for me too at times. But I try not to talk about it in front of her if I can help it.
End-of-the-year round ups in sports and the celebrity sphere are happening all over the internet and as our wedding is only a month old, we’re making lots of top-ten lists. Yes, I’m keeping track of our digital footprint, reminiscent of crazed teen Nola from the 00s, who cut out magazine and newspaper spreads of favorite actors or boy bands. Only these include me and it’s insane. I can’t quite wrap my head around it. When Max told me a few days before Christmas he had a plan to get us both out there more, in front of the masses, to sell our relationship, I didn’t know that he had a scheduled pap walk in mind.
Next thing I know, it was all set in motion.
We dressed up for a night out on the town, a newly married couple celebrating their first Christmas season. Our holiday date night included an abundance of hand-holding and snuggling close as we walked along 8thStreet. There was the bite to eat at Bittercreek Alehouse in the outdoor seating area, warmed by heat lamps, before an after-dinner stroll to the Capitol to see the big tree.
We finished off the night by going to the Steelhead hockey game. I hardly saw the cameras, but they were around, because we have been splashed all over local and nationalnews. It worked for Max, though, and the comments I’ve seen cheer on his return to baseball. Fans are happy to see him settled down, and one of the tabloid roundups even called us a perfect couple.
It’s not hard to see how we fooled them. Max had been all smiles that night. I knew in my gut he was hamming it up for the photographers, so I played along. Despite my own face being ridiculously sore at the end of the night, my smiles weren’t for show. I really had the best time with him and would be more than happy to have sore cheeks again if it meant another evening together.
During our date, instead of talking about what was coming up for both of us—what we hoped our futures looked like thanks to our arrangement—we talked about our childhoods. He learned about my nerdy high school life. I found out he won prom king and was so popular Stella had to disconnect the house’s landline more than a few times to get peace and quiet. We talked about traveling and got to know real details about each other you’d share on a date. Max prefers mustard—never ketchup. He’s never been skiing because he won’t risk breaking a leg before the season. Animals make him nervous—he’ll never have a dog or cat. A life without pets; I didn’t know people like him existed.Emma has begged for years for anything other than a fish or hamster. I keep putting it off, but not because they make me anxious.
My favorite part of the night, though, was the stolen kisses. It wasn’t just me initiating them, either. For as many times as I went for his cheek or planted one on his lips, he got me too. Pretend or not, they were delicious.
“Yes, that’s how any respectable actors, musicians, or athletes do it. How do you not know this?” Belle brings meback to the present. “It helps shape the narrative and gets the photographed in good with the photographer. A relationship is built when the photographed gets good press and the photographer gets the shots. I swear you don’t know anything other than whatever is happening in your little art world and with my sweet niece.”
I roll my eyes, even though she can’t see me. “Sure, sure. I’m boring and old. Tell me something new.”
