"You say that like he locked you in a dungeon and threw away the key." She slammed another door as if I was the one minimizing her experiences. As far as she was concerned, my divorcewasher trauma. It was something I'd done to her, tothe family. "It's merely a lunch date, Audrey. Perhaps it will be a match, perhaps it won't. All I'm asking is for you to be polite and meet the gentleman. There's no need for you to go into one of your fits about it."
I rubbed my forehead. Myfitswere any response that wasn't in complete, unflinching compliance with my parents' directives. If I so much as sighed, she flagged it as hysteria. A flat "no" might as well be a riot in the streets. There were times when I wondered if she considered emotional repression our family's greatest asset.
Behind the shady money and property and questionable political connections, of course.
"I'll make the arrangements and send you the information," she continued, picking up where she'd left off.
I sank onto my bed, two of the dresses I had in mind for this fake-engagement party folded over my arm. I didn't say anything. I didn't know what I could say that she'd hear at this point. Silence was the only weapon worth a damn.
My parents armed themselves to the teeth with guilt and money. If ever one didn't work, the other always paved the way. These days, the money didn't matter to me. Threats of cutting me off held no water when I hadn't taken anything from them in years. The guilt, though, that one still hit hard. Especially when mixed with a lethal amount of shame. But even when I gave in to their demands now, I knew I wasn't beholden to them. I knew I could walk away at any time and return to the small, safe life I'd built for myself. I'd agonize and curl into myself but I knew how to leave.
I hadn't learned how to do that when I was eighteen and they ripped apart my entire world. I knew better now.
"And please wear something flattering," she continued. "I'll have a few pieces sent over if you can't find anything. No more of these dowdy teacher clothes, please. They're completely shapeless. You look like a corn cob."
But this silence wasn't surrender, not really. It was strategic: say little, let her talk herself out, and keep myself squarely out of reach. I couldn't dismantle every little bomb she threw my way so I'd wait until she was finished and cut the one wire that would end it all.
Or, end enough of it.
"Please understand me when I say you don't need to send information or clothes because I won't be meeting up with Brecken next week," I said, steeling my tone as if I was speaking to one of my most defiant students. "If you make a date for me, I need you to know I won't be there. I have to imagine it'll be very embarrassing for you."
"It's just a lunch, Audrey," she said with a gusty sigh. "Don't you see how good this could be for you?"
She went on but my thoughts were already drifting, groping for the mental checklist I'd been building: what to pack for Arizona, how to act around my old boyfriend-slash-new fake fiancé, everything we needed to hammer out before visiting Jude's mother.
Research told me that nights in the high desert could be cool, so I'd need a sweater or two. Jeans if I had space to spare. I didn't know how far I was supposed to lean into the bride aesthetic but I did have a couple white, summery dresses that were cute.
The clothes I could handle. It was the backstory that was a nightmare.
I knew only the broadest strokes of the stories he'd told his mother. I still didn't know who Jude needed me to be on this trip—the Audrey he'd loved once upon a time or the newer edition he barely met last weekend? I tried to mentally script out answers to questions I couldn't possibly anticipate yet I knew it wouldn't matter. For every scenario I could imagine, there'd be a dozen others lying in wait. I'd drive myself to distraction if I kept this up.
I'd absolutely keep this up.
"Mom, listen," I said, suddenly exhausted. "I have to go. As a reminder, I won't be joining Brecken for lunch or anything else next week. Understood?"
She slammed another cabinet. "I don't understand how I raised such an impertinent child."
I looked at the dresses on my arm. The ones I'd wear to play Jude's make-believe bride—and to be the fire-breather he allowed me to be. "Yeah. It's a mystery," I said.
chapter eleven
Jude
Today's vocabulary word: resigned
Audrey baked scones.
She offered me one in the early morning cab to the airport, and when I didn't immediately respond,she rattled off a list of the ingredients and presented an overview of the merits of oat flour.
I didn't have a single reason to pass on a homemade scone but I did, and I was enough of a dick about it that she put the container away and stared out the window the rest of the ride.
Yeah, I was taking to this fiancée thing real well.
It didn't get much better at the airport. Our conversation consisted ofthankswhen I grabbed her bag out of the back of the car and thenthere's the gate.We kept our rolling luggage positioned between us like a demilitarized zone with snipers on the roof.
I figured it was really fucking early and travel was a hassle and I'd been a dick about the scones. That was all. None of this was a sign that I'd made a terrible mistake in putting her up to this and we'd live to regret everything.
But I needed her to stop being so goddamn polite. Stop thanking me for handing her a damn bin in the security line and waiting while she filled her water bottle and pointing out some empty seats near the gate. Stop shifting her body away from mine when she crossed her legs and stop quietly reading her book like we were strangers who happened to be stuck waiting at the same gate. I just wanted her to fucking stop it all.
