“I don’t know,” I say, honestly, trying to strip emotions from my voice.
She sighs happily. “I love it when my boyfriend sends things to the office. It’s like peak boyfriending.”
Then she leaves, and I breathe a sigh of relief and count down the interminable seconds till I can open the bag. Finally, I do, the crinkle of the tissue paper like a prelude. I dip my hand inside, then gasp, purse my lips, and fight off a squeal.
It’s a blanket, soft and fleecy and the color of sage and sweet dreams. There’s a card attached. With shaky fingers, I flip it open.
First, you’ll need a nap blanket.
I don’t want to be this excited. Really, I don’t. There’s no place for these silly emotions to go. So I don’t pick up my phone right away to thank him, or ask him to the dress fitting. I’ve got to figure out how to maintain some semblance of…chill.
Yes, that’s it.
I am chill. Super chill. So unbelievably chill that I find myself slipping into the ladies’ room, cautiously checking behind me, then locking the door. Solo bathrooms for the win. I dial Mabel’s number before I think twice.
“Girlfriend Emergency Line. How may I help you?”
I hesitate, then ask, “How did you know it was an emergency?”
“Easy. You picked up the phone and called. What’s going on?”
The sound of the bakery on her end of the line drifts by—the clatter of a tray, the closing of an oven door. I blow out a breath, grateful she picked up in the middle of the day. But what do I want to say? All the things I can’t tell my sister. For sure, the details I wouldn’t even begin to share with my therapist.
“This whole fake dating thing,” I blurt out.
“Oh, this sounds good. Give me ten seconds to set thetimer on my Sweet and Salties ’cause I don't wanna fuck that up.” There’s a pause as she works on her pretzel bars, then she’s back. “What's going on?”
My heart is beating uncomfortably fast. “I’m not even sure. That’s the issue. Lake sent me a gift. Well, another gift. He’s given me a bunch.”
“Oh, I love a gift giver.”
“I know. I mean, it’s all good. It’s fine. It’s just that I don't want to enjoy this so much. This fake dating.”
“And, are you enjoying it?” she asks, inquisitive, like a curious reporter.
“Yes, so much, and it’s scaring me.”
She sighs sympathetically. “Oh, honey, why is it scary? Because he’s nice to you?”
I close my eyes, lean against the cool tiled wall. “Yes. It feels good. These little things he does to make it seem real. The stuffed foxes, and the bird feeder, and the texts, and now this—a soft blanket. I don’t want to get used to it.”
“Because it’s not real?”
I swallow roughly, then whisper in an unsteady voice, “Yes, that’s it exactly.”
She hums thoughtfully. Taking her time, it seems, before she speaks again. “Think of it like a vacation, then. You don’t go on vacation and spend the whole time thinking about all the work you have to do when you get back, or all the chores waiting for you, right?”
“Right.”
“You try not to think about how much it’s going to suck to get on that plane when the trip ends. Instead, you swim in the ocean, lift your face to the sky, and soak in the rays.”
My erratic pulse starts to calm. My breath comes more steadily as the words sink in. “He’s just a vacation from my real life,” I say.
“Exactly. You’re allowed to enjoy it. And now go enjoy the hell out of your vacation.”
That’s what I needed to feel in control again of my wild emotions.
I say goodbye and tap out a text, starting with the first order of business.
