Either way, lying here next to him, his warmth seeping through the space between us, I’m starting to think it might be worth finding out.
10
The Parent Trap
SYDNEY
Ipull up to my childhood home, a craftsman charmer with a multitude of quirks. The knot in my stomach tightens—partly from excitement about my new job, partly from dread about telling my parents Brooks and I are dating, except we’re notreallydating, we’re fake dating, but I slept in his bed, and oh God, what have I gotten myself into?
Weatherwise, today warmed up to a pleasant sixty-five degrees, a more normal Idaho temperature for the beginning of October. Tomorrow, it’s supposed to hit seventy. My parents are already on the porch swing, engaged in their morning coffee ritual—a tradition as reliable as the Dickens water tower leaking every third Tuesday. Mom spots me first, waving with the enthusiasm of someone who’s had three cups already. Dad pretends not to see me, hiding behind his newspaper in a move he’s perfected in almost thirty years of dad jokes.
“Sydney!” Mom nudges Dad with her elbow. “Tom, look who’s here!”
Dad peeks around his paper with surprise. “Well, I’ll be darned. Is that our daughter? The one who only visits when she needs something?”
“Very funny.” I climb the porch steps. “I was here last Sunday for dinner. As always.”
“And you ate all the chili.” Dad points out, folding his newspaper. “Left nothing but scraps for your poor father.”
“You had three helpings!” I say, but I’m smiling. This banter is safe territory before I drop my bombshell.
Mom pats the wicker chair next to her. “Sit, honey. I’ll get you some coffee. You look like you need it.”
She’s right. I barely slept last night, the heat radiating from Brooks’ body, the conversations we had, how tempted I was to…
God, it’s hard to admit, even to myself. But how tempted I was to cuddle into him.Why?
It’s got to be because of my accidental two-year celibacy—since the implosion of my toxic relationship with Jake.
Then, during my weather report this morning, I kept expecting someone to call me out as a fraud—which has left me running on fumes and anxiety.
“Thanks, Mom.” I sink into the chair. It creaks welcomingly.
When she returns with a steaming mug—my favorite one with the chipped handle that says, “Idaho Forecast: It’s f*cking cold,” a gag gift from Jonah three Christmases ago—I wrap my hands around it.
“So.” Dad eyes me over his reading glasses. “You’ve got that look.”
“What look?” I say, though I know exactly what he means.
“The ‘I’ve done something amazing or something terrible’ look. The same one you had when you scored the winning goal at state finals and when you backed my car into the mailbox.”
Mom settles back onto the swing beside him. “You might as well tell us, Syd. Your father won’t stop guessing until you do, and you know it’s going to get more ridiculous by the minute.”
Dad nods. “I’m about thirty seconds from assuming you’ve joined a traveling circus as the human cannonball.”
I take a deep breath, then a sip of coffee. “They’re giving me the sports anchor position at the station.”
Mom claps her hands together, face lighting up. “Oh, honey! That’s wonderful!”
“Congratulations, Syd.” Dad’s joking demeanor’s replaced by genuine pride. “You’ve worked hard for this. When do you start?”
“Saturday afternoon, reporting live from the opening Trout game. Donny will take over the weather until they find a replacement, and now, I’ll be at the sports desk for morning and evening broadcasts.” I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Despite the complicated circumstances, I got my dream job.
But Mom, with her uncanny maternal radar, tilts her head. “That’s great, honey. Then why do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”
I inhale, focusing on the familiar scent of Mom’s flower garden mixed with Dad’s aftershave. It’s now or never.
“Brooks and I are faking a relationship,”I blurt. “That’s how I got the job over Donny and his social media domination.”
