I brace for shock, confusion, maybe even disappointment. What I don’t expect is Mom’s face breaking into a knowing smile and Dad chuckling like I’ve just told him the punch line to one of his jokes.
“Well, that’ll be a good boost for your career, honey.” Mom sips her coffee with maddening casualness. “I think you two will work well together.”
I blink, certain I’ve stepped into some alternate reality where my parents are pod people. “What do you mean, ‘work well together’? Aren’t you surprised? Or concerned? Orsomething?”
Dad shrugs, the swing creaking beneath him. “All that bickering might just be foreplay.”
“Dad!” I gasp, nearly spilling my coffee.
“You never know.” He exchanges a look with Mom that makes me feel like I’m missing something. “Your mother and I couldn’t stand each other when we first met. I thought she was a stuck-up know-it-all, and she thought I was—”
“A buffoon.” Mom pats his knee. “And I was right. But he grew on me.”
“Like a fungus.” Dad winks.
“Eww.” I set my mug down on the small table beside me, trying to process their words. “Okay, but I just told you I’m in a fake relationship with Brooks Kingston. My nemesis. The guy who Jonah made promise he’d stay away from me. And you’re both just... fine with it?”
Mom and Dad exchange another of those infuriating parent looks.
“Honey,” Mom says gently, “last night, Maisie spilled the beans on the Beaver Bookies group chat.”
The Beaver Bookies have a Zoom meetupanda group chat?
Mom plunges on with, “Maisie wrote everything in all caps. Said you two finally admitted your feelings for each other and are madly in love.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times, no sound emerging. Maisie messaged her book club? Within hours of our confession?
“We knew you two probably swung a deal.” Dad reaches for the thermal coffeepot to refill his mug. “But who knows. These things have a way of evolving.”
“Evolving?” I sputter. “What doesthatmean?”
“It means,” Mom says, her twinkling eyes suspect, “that arrangements of convenience sometimes turn into the real thing. Especially when there’s already a foundation of... intense feelings.”
“The only intense feelings Brooks and I have for each other are annoyance and exasperation.”
Though even as I say it, I know what I felt last night—the cuddling thing. And our conversation—the easy flow, the shared memories, the moments where it felt like we were seeing each other clearly for the first time.
Dad makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like “Mm-hmm,” which I choose to ignore.
“What I don’t understand,” I say, “is why you’re both so calm about this. I expected... I don’t know, shock? Concern? Warnings about the perils of lying to the world?”
“Oh, Syd.” Mom leans forward to pat my knee. “I don’t like the lying part, but it’s for a good cause. I love what it’s doing for Maisie. And, well, I want to see you get the job of your dreams. It’s easy enough for you and Brooks to ‘break up’ when it’s time. And we’ve known Brooks since he was nine. He practically lived here throughout middle and high school. He’s a good boy—man now, I suppose—underneath all that brooding. And wild-oat sowing.”
“Besides,” Dad adds, “we’ve had twenty-four hours to process the news, thanks to Maisie’s loose thumbs. Got all our shock out of the way last night.”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “This is a disaster. We were trying to keep it quiet until we could tell Jonah in person.”
“Smart move,” Dad says. “Pick him up from the airport tomorrow and plead your case.”
I push myself up from the chair, suddenly needing to move. “This is a nightmare. Jonah’s going to kill Brooks, then me, then Brooks again just to be sure.”
“He’ll understand once you explain,” Mom says unconvincingly. “It’s for Maisie, after all.”
“And your career,” Dad adds. “Jonah knows how much that sports desk means to you. He’ll come around.”
I’m not convinced. Jonah can be fiercely protective, especially since Jake the Snake. He’s convinced I’m more fragile than I let on, that I need to be shielded from additional stress and complications. And in his mind, Brooks Kingston—with all his baggage, one-night stands, and injury he’s dealing with—is the definition of complicated. Plus, hello, I don’t need to date another hockey player.
“For Maisie’s party, you need to have your stories straight,” Mom moves along. “What’s your cover story? How did you get together? First date? First kiss? People will ask, and you don’t want to contradict each other.”
