“Where was your first date?” Aunt Louise asks.
April and I improvise the answer like it’s our debut in a theater. But somehow, our responses complement each other. When I mention the first official date was at the Ice Palace, she adds details about the kiss cam.
Claudia coughs into her napkin, clearly hiding laughter.
Then Mrs. Patterson from down the street says, “Young love. You two just make sense.”
Not,You’re so cute.
Not,How sweet.
Just,You make sense.
Like we’re a solved equation. A completed puzzle.
Inwardly, I freeze and catch April’s eyes. Is she thinking the same thing I am? Do we come clean and tell everyone this is fake? But then what? Announce to my family and friends that we’re putting on a show? What will they think of us? Will we be exposed, ruining April’s chances at getting the Love at First Wag payday? After all, we did sign an NDA.
After dinner, I volunteer to help with dishes—something I never do, which makes Dad raise his eyebrows—and follow Mom into the kitchen. I need to talk to her privately. Whitaker used to tease me about being a Mama’s Boy, but I’m also my father’s son. I look up to them both, so he can stuff it. Yep, Whitaker and I will definitely be having a conversation. Soon.
“Everything okay, honey?” she asks, running water in the sink.
“I need to tell you something.”
She doesn’t look surprised. Just turns off the water and lowers her voice. “About you and April?”
I nod. “The dating thing isn’t exactly?—”
“Real?” She smiles gently. “I know, honey.”
I feel like I was just shoved in the dishwasher with the power cycle turned on. “You know?”
She winks. “Call it motherly intuition,”
“Then you’d have known that I liked my room the way it was.”
“Oh, don’t pout.” She playfully swats me.
“I’m glad you get a craft space,” I say.
As I scrape plates and she rinses, in a hush, she says, “You’ve been in love with April for ten years. I was wondering when you’d finally do something about it. Just didn’t expect it would be so roundabout.”
“Mom, we’re not—it’s for a campaign. The charity I mentioned. We’re fake dating.”
She smiles as if she’s well aware that something was up. “And how’s that working out for you?”
I slump against the counter. “Terrible. Great. I don’t know. I still feel that way, but I’m afraid that when it’s over, we won’t be able to go back to being friends. Then sometimes I think she may feel the same way. I don’t know what’s real anymore.”
Mom pats my cheek. “Sweet boy, it’s all real. You’re both just too stubborn to admit it.”
“But April?—”
“Feels the same way. Trust me.”
“You can’t know that.”
“I’m your mother. I know everything.” She turns back to the dishes. “Now, a word of advice. Don’t let Aunt Louise corner April. She just figured out how to post to her social media account, and if she gets wind of your ‘arrangement,’ the entire internet will know by morning.”
I grimace.
