Page 69 of The Fake Out

“Is it hard having a smile that contagious during a global pandemic?”

—SAVANNAH D.

Yes, it could.

“Please tell me you aren’t wearing that shirt to dinner,” I said, catching a glimpse of Iris in my bedroom mirror where I was attempting to apply makeup with a mostly shaky hand.

To say I was not ready for tonight was like saying the Atlantic Ocean was a mudpuddle. But Chris had insisted.

“It has to happen,” he’d said, and no amount of arguing or bartering on my part was going to change his mind.

Iris glanced down at her shirt. “What’s wrong with this?”

On a normal day, I wouldn’t say a word about her t-shirt, the one that read Dead Inside in bold white lettering. But today was not a normal day, and that was saying a lot after what had been a few weeks of really not-normal days.

I met her eyes in the mirror, saw the mulish set of her jaw, and decided it wasn’t worth the battle. “You know what? Wear it. I don’t care.”

“Not that I needed your permission,” she muttered as she skulked out of the room.

After brushing on one last coat of mascara, I pulled on the black pencil skirt and a dark green shirt with shoulder cutouts and three-quarter sleeves. I slapped on a necklace and earrings and slid into a pair of strappy black flats. I took a few steps back and inspected myself in the mirror. Aside from the panic in my eyes, I thought it was a decent enough outfit.

After all, if a woman’s lucky, she’ll only get fake-engaged once in her life and she’ll want to look her best when it happens.

In the living room, Mama and Sue were sitting on the couch, Mama in a yellow and cream dress and Sue in what she called her “fancy” khakis.

With too much nervous energy, I paced. Adjusted a couple of rabbit figurines. Straightened a picture on the wall. Thought about getting in my car and not stopping until I hit the Mexican border. “Where’s Iris?”

“Right here.” She shuffled in from the kitchen, glass of Kool-Aid in hand. “What the hell is with you? You’re freaking out.”

“Iris,” Mama said, a warning in her voice.

“Oh, come on.” She stuck a fist on a hip. “I can’t say hell? Seriously?”

“Hell is a gateway word that leads to other more serious words, and I would prefer you didn’t use it in this house.”

“A gateway word? Geez. Wait, is geez okay? It could lead to things like gosh darn it and that’s one step away fro—”

“Young lady…” Mama said in her “do not mess with me” voice.

I was almost glad when Chris knocked on the door. Almost. My heart rate tripled. I flipped around to face all three of them.

“I am not freaking out,” I snapped in a very freaked-out way. Closing my eyes, I took two deep breaths. “Everything is fine.”

When I yanked open the door, I was met by the largest, most vibrant bouquet of flowers I had ever seen.

“Those are gorgeous,” Mama breathed from behind me. “Move, Mae, let him in.”

The arrangement barely fit through the door, but Chris managed it. He set it on the coffee table, right in between a rabbit candy dish and a tabletop book called Bunnies in Action, and brushed his hands off on his khakis. He’d dressed up for this occasion too—a dark-blue button-down shirt and a tie.

“Not a single rose in sight. I told them to put in one of every flower they had but no roses.”

“They’re beautiful.” Smiling, I touched a bright-yellow gerbera daisy. “Thank you.”

Without any warning, he wrapped an arm around my waist and tugged me to his side. I tried to keep a respectable distance between us, but it was no use. It was either hold on or fall on my backside. I was a sensible woman; I held on.

Chris grinned. “Nailed it. Didn’t I?”

Stealthily, I tried to pry myself from under his arm. His hold on me tightened as though he’d anticipated my attempt. I briefly thought about slamming my foot down on his, but, to be honest, my heart wasn’t in it. There was something calming about the weight of his arm and the steady rhythm of his heart under my ear. And it was all part of the plan. We were supposed to be in love.