She finally relents. I stick my phone in my purse, which I place firmly in my lap. I wrap my arm around it so no one can grab it when I’m not looking.
Phew. Travesty averted. My fake relationship is safe.
“We ran into my mom’s friend when we were out last weekend,” I say, “and now Mom thinks it’s unfair that Auntie Lisa has met him and she hasn’t. They’re the kind of friends who are always trying to one-up each other, you know? So, Mom has asked me multiple times to invite Taylor for New Year’s.”
Jasmeet nods sympathetically. “But you don’t want him to meet your parents when the relationship is so new.”
“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Esther says. “Nobody’s getting subjected to my parents unless it’s serious.”
“It is serious.” I don’t know why I feel the need to say that, but somehow, it seems insulting to Taylor to do otherwise. “Like, as serious as it can be at this point in time. But not we-need-to-meet-the-parents serious.” It’s time to divert the conversation. “Have you started your resolutions?” I ask Esther. “Been on any dates?”
“It’s only mid-January. I have lots of time.” She frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“You seem more upbeat than usual.”
“I do? How appalling.” I follow my words with a long sip of wine, and my friends laugh.
“You do,” Whitney says slowly. “I think this new relationship is agreeing with you. All the sexting and heart-shaped cakes with sprinkles…”
“Dear God,” I mutter, but to my distress, I feel myself smile. I recall Taylor saying I was smiling more than usual, too.
Well, I guess acting comes naturally to me, even though I wasn’t in the improv club like he was. So naturally, in fact, that I don’t even have to think about it.
Yep, that must be what’s happening.
Chapter 8
On Saturday evening, rather than taking the TTC to meet Taylor, I drive to Finch Station, where I’m picking him up.
We’re going bowling.
Yep, that’s right. We’re the epitome of cool. (It was his idea, but I didn’t protest.)
I pull into the passenger pick-up, aka the kiss ’n ride. If Taylor and I were actually dating, I could greet him with a quick kiss before taking the car out of park, but I don’t think kissing is part of our fake relationship. At least, we haven’t discussed it.
An image of my mom and Auntie Lisa, popping up from behind a trash bin, appears in my mind. I imagine them shouting, Why aren’t you kissing?? This relationship is clearly fake!!
Look, I don’t know why my brain is doing these things, but it is.
I wait for a grand total of one minute before Taylor comes out of the station. He approaches my car, opens the passenger door, and takes a seat.
“Hey, Helen,” he says.
I start driving toward the bowling alley near our old high school.
“So, uh.” I figure I’ll get this over with now. “Do you want to come to my parents’ house next weekend for the Lunar New Year? My mom said to ask you. Absolutely no pressure—you can say no. Actually, you should say no. It wasn’t part of my fake relationship plan, and my parents will probably ask too many questions and—”
“Yes.”
“What are you saying yes to? Yes, they’ll probably ask too many questions—”
“Yes, I’ll come over.”
“Why?” I refrain from whipping my head around as I speak. You know, eyes on the road and all that.
“Why not? I have nothing else to do that weekend. Everyone has family stuff, and I…”
