“Is that why you were staring?”
His persistence will be the death of me, and this ruse.
“I wasn’t staring,” I retort, rolling my eyes, “I just - you seem to know this place well. I trust your menu judgement.”
Marlon’s lips twitch in amusement, “Jaslene Garcia, your trust in me lately is baffling.”
“I don’t trust you, you’re just the last resort,” I scoff.
Which is true. This entire ruse is my last desperate attempt to escape the matchmaking clutches. Never, in a million years, would I have ever thought of doing this otherwise.
Regardless, Marlon’s smirk lingers, before he points at one of the pictures on the menu.
“I always get pork katsu-don,” he declares, and he leans forward, a serious expression clouding his face, “I’m not exaggerating when I say this Garcia, but it’s the best thing I’veevertasted.”
He drags his teeth through his lips dramatically on thev.I can’t help but chuckle, earning a satisfied look from Marlon. He can have his moments, I guess.
I turn my own menu to the pork katsu selection, and don’t deny that they look divine. In compliance with our deal, I get upto order two pork katsu dons on behalf of Marlon and I, covering the bill. The only time, and last time. Hopefully.
“Okay so,” Marlon begins once I return with our table number.
My stomach turns, as if we’re entering a high-tension life-or-death business venture, instead of a fake-dating ruse. In some ways, it literallyisa life-or-death agreement, though. It’ll determine whether both our love-lives will live or die.
“So…” I begin. God, how do I even start this.
Hey Marlon, so, you’ve gotta pretend to be my boyfriend for I don’t know how long!
Hey Marlon, we’ve got to play-pretend and be pretend-girlfriend-boyfriend so our Mums stop shipping us!
Hey Marlon, will you go out with me but in a fake way?
A snap of fingers pulls me away from my spiral. Marlon’s hands hover in front of my face. His brow is raised, both confused yet amused.
“Earth to Garcia,” he says, his lips twitching, “You zoned out just then.”
“We need to date,” I state. Let’s just rip the bandaid right off.
He lurches backward, eyes wide and grin gone.Wow, I worded that in the worst way imaginable.
I wave my hands rapidly, as if to erase what I just said.
“I don’t mean date for real, likegross” I laugh nervously and clear my throat. It feels parched all of a sudden. “I mean, we need to pretend. Fake-date. Be fake boyfriend and girlfriend.”
He’s still looking at me, wide-eyed. His lips part, and while no noise comes out at first, he manages an, “Um, why?”
“Because of our Mums. Our families,” I begin.
Only then does his shoulders relax, and his face loses the tension. Mine does too, and it’s then I realise we’d both grown simultaneously tense.
“We aren’t stupid. We both see the way our Mums,hell, how both our families act around us. Since we were basically born. Yeah, it was easy to just brush it off and laugh and ignore it back then. But we’re both getting older, Marlon. We can’t - it can’t keep going like this.”
Marlon nods along, listening intently. He and I have never, ever addresseditbefore, and somehow, saying it out loud to him is a lot more relieving than I anticipated.
“So…” he begins, his eyes narrowing, “You want to pretend we’re dating. And let me guess, pretend to break up?”
Hope blooms in my chest. He’s caught on much quicker than I thought, and doesn’t sound degrading about it at all. Maybe thiscanwork.
“Yes!” I respond, sighing in relief. “That’s my whole solution exactly. We fake it, at least for a couple of months. Then we stage an awfully dramatic break-up and voila, we are free from the shackles of our matchmaking Mums and it no longer has to be so awkward.”
