I never liked fake-dating books. Molly loves them and recommends them all the time on her book account.
“I shouldn’t do anything to look like I’m on the rebound. I mean, that’d be ridiculous because you’re so not rebound material. But still—”
She’s babbling again. It’s cute to hear her unfiltered thoughts, but I wish they came with footnotes. That way I could plan how to make her see me the way I want her to—as a man who can make her happy, no matter what.
Once she does that, I can push us onto a more solid foundation. Not all rebound relationships fizzle. Cody had a rebound relationship that turned into an engagement just last month.
Why can’t Molly and I have the same?
Chapter Eighteen
Molly
–Dad: Did you set up an appointment to take advantage of the present I gave you?
–Dad: By the way, what’s going on with you and Owen? I thought he took you out to celebrate your birthday. Why am I seeing a post about him dating Dana Mincer?
My Monday was going so great until Dad started texting me. I glare at my phone pinging away on my desk at Get Jacked. Now that it’s Monday, Dad has finally seen Owen’s post. I guess he missed the response Nicholas made…
–Dad: And do you know how embarrassing it is to post another guy’s photo and pretend he’s your new boyfriend? Everyone can tell you made it up!
…or not.
He isn’t wrong about Nicholas and me not dating for real, but him putting me down makes my heart ache.
–Dad: Nothing to be done about it now, though. Just tell everyone you broke up with that guy if people ask. Make it sound like you’re the one who did the dumping. That way you can salvage your pride.
–Dad: I’m doing this for you, Molly. I don’t want you humiliated publicly. It’s really important to maintain a certain image. You don’t have the finesse or the look to just shrug it off and not have it affect you.
It’s like he’s using a cheese grater on my nerves. In some ways he’s probably given up on my ever being like Mom, but I know he’s supremely disappointed. I’ve seen the photos of us when she was still alive. My hair was lighter back then—almost dirty blond, and in the right light, my eyes looked bluish like Mom’s. I had long limbs and a slightly crooked smile, identical to the one Mom wore in many of the pictures. But ultimately, I ended up like…well, me.
It’s always felt like a punishment—because my behavior caused her to die, I wasn’t allowed to grow up into the beauty she was. Or have any of the traits that made her so popular and loved—extroverted, quick-witted and fun to be around.
Intellectually, I understand it’s a superstitious thing to believe. But my gut whispers that what my head knows doesn’t matter, like a chain smoker who can’t quit even though she knows smoking is terrible for her.
Dad isn’t going to stop until I respond, so I type up something quick.
–Me: Nicholas and I are dating, so there’s no reason to pretend I dumped him.
–Dad: You are?
The incredulity is palpable. I can’t decide if I should laugh or cry.
–Dad: Did you discuss expectations for your relationship?
I shake my head. Dad is big on “expectations” because “otherwise you end up disappointed.”
The only thing Nicholas seems to want is to take me to the charity event and let me live in his home. He probably prefers I don’t have dirty thoughts about him or daydream about how we could be just because he told me things like how I’m special. We were pretty clear on the fact that we’re fake-dating.
–Me: He doesn’t expect anything.
–Dad: A man saying he doesn’t expect anything is when you have to try harder. It means he’s given up on you!
Dad’s doing a great job of jacking up my blood pressure. Did he take out a life insurance policy on me so he could buy a new Lamborghini?
–Me: He can’t give up on me already. We’ve barely started dating!
–Dad: Sounds to me like he’s just playing with you until he finds something better.
