Fake It For Me, page 16
A collective ‘eh’ went around the room. I put it down to nerves that the other teams must be feeling. Nobody else wanted to be relegated, and Emma and Jack were afraid of losing their top spot as the GOAT Team. I grinned to myself. We were in the perfect position. If we moved down one spot, nobody cares, but the only team above us were wetting themselves at the idea of being dethroned.
I glanced beside me - Sandy was all smiles too, looking calm, cool, collected, and in control. I was feeling good about our chances.
“So, are we all feeling lucky?” Ms. Twain asked as we took the elevator ride back up into the offices above us.
“Yeah!” Sandy and I said at exactly the same moment.
Nobody else was sharing our enthusiasm, though. Ms. Twain nodded at us, approvingly. “That’s good energy, I love that. You two seem to have the right stuff. But will it be enough to win you the second round from Jack and Emma?”
All four of us locked eyes as she said that, and Sandy and I stared Jack and Emma down.
“For this round,” Ms. Twain said, handing out more worksheets. “This round is going to be very much like the last, only more difficult. Much more difficult. And the reason for this is because this round will be revolving around the design of not a front room, but a kitchen. The team that proves they know their spouse the best will advance with the highest marks, the team with the lowest score will, sadly, be eliminated. Are you ready, interior decorators?”
I drew in a sharp breath. Kitchens! Sandy’s mind seemed to be working along the same lines. She was glaring right at me as if desperately trying to beam a message right into my mind. I didn’t have telepathy, but I didn’t need any to understand just what she was trying to tell me.
Please tell me you were listening when I was describing my dream kitchen!
I was internally swearing at myself. I’d been listening when Sandy was waffling on about her dream kitchen, but I hadn’t been properly listening! Which I don’t think I was to be blamed for, how was I to know this would be the second part of the contest? If I had known, I would have memorized every word!
“Your time starts now, decorators,” Ms. Twain said, tapping a watch on her wrist. “Begin.”
What could we do, except begin? All I could do was watch Sandy put the pen to her clipboard and begin writing. As she did, I wracked my brain from left to right trying to bring back the valuable information she’d graced my ears with not a few days earlier, but like I’d said, I hadn’t been paying proper attention. And that meant that the information in my head had already been corrupted and overwritten. All I was getting was pieces of that morning.
She said sixteen hobs, I remembered. Did she? That sounds ridiculous! Maybe she said six! Yeah, six sounds a lot more reasonable. And what was that lighting? Mood lighting? Something? Agh!!!
“A-a-a-a-a-a-and time’s up!” Ms. Twain said as the ten-minute timer hit zero. “Decorators, how did you do? Do your husbands know you? Or can’t they tell you from Adam? Let’s find out, shall we?”
I realized suddenly that staring at the blank sheet wasn’t going to make magical words appear on it. All it would do is waste time, especially since the clock had started already. I allowed myself a gaze around the bullpen, and all the other husbands were bent low over their worksheets, scribbling away.
I better get busy too.
I jotted down the one I was almost 100% sure about first, the six hobs. What was I thinking, there’s no way it could be sixteen? What kind of lunatic would have sixteen hobs? It really couldn’t be sixteen. Seriously, who needs sixteen? Sixteen hobs? Could you even cook anything at the same time?
I continued to fill in the worksheet as best I could, starting with the answers I was most sure about, then proceeding to the ones I was less sure about. Seconds before the time went, I crossed out “oak” under the column labeled wood, and wrote “Brazilian cherry” instead.
“And that’s time!” Ms. Twain said. “Pens down, please!”
I immediately tossed my pen aside as though it had bitten me. Ms. Twain moved through the bullpen gathering worksheets, and there was another short interval as she marked them all with her red pain. Next moment, she was done.
“Well,” she said. “After two weeks, Jack and Emma remain atop the scale. Followed by…Shane and Janet!”
My jaw dropped. How was it possible that a team went from penultimate (i.e., second to last) to second place in the space of one week?
“And Nick and Sandy in third,” Ms. Twain said. “Sadly, the couple that will be leaving us will be…Sebastian and Maxine.”
Although another couple had left the competition, leaving only five remaining, Ms. Twain had yet had another surprise rattling around in the closet for us all. “The third step of the contest,” she said. “Will take place right now. I have another worksheet which you’ll take without the chance to practice. It focuses on designing the master bedroom.”
“Clever,” I murmured. But it turned out, not nearly clever enough. With nerves of steel and a little bit of luck that never went amiss, I managed to bag us not only an advancing position but the top spot in the teams. It was King of the Hill mode, and we had the throne. All we have to do now is hold it. Hold the throne.
The teams went through more and more rounds. A seemingly endless stream of steps to the competition. Finally, it was down to the last two teams. Sandy and I, and Jack and Emma, our archenemies that have been so ever since the start of the competition where they were the first team to outscore us.
I glanced down at the paper. There were five minutes left on the clock, and all I had to guess was how Sandy would decorate a baby room. I didn’t have to get it perfectly, I just had to beat Jack and Emma. Easy.
In the dying seconds of the round, I made the last final scribbles on the paper and set my pen down just as the time went. As Sandy met my eyes, I gave her a winning grin. Our minds had synced up a lot since the last round when we’d come out ahead, and Jack and Emma were beginning to doubt each other, I could see it in their eyes.
Ms. Twain took a long time marking each worksheet. Finally, when she was ready to present the findings, she took a deep breath. “This was a very difficult choice. The winner won by one point, it was so close. And those winners are…” yet again she paused for dramatic effect.
I nudged Sandy. We were about to win this. She smiled right back. A million dollars, I imagined her thinking.
“The winners of the Lifestyle Magazine 2019 competition?” Ms. Twain paused yet again before her mouth would form the words that would bring the whole world crashing down. “Jack and Emma.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Sandy
The competition was over. Just like that. And for a few weeks after, I couldn’t rid myself of the hollow feeling that had taken a hold of me. Not only had we botched the competition, along with our only chance to win that money, but I had finally mustered up the courage to take that pregnancy test.
To voice the truth of it, I’m not 100% sure why I even bothered. I already knew good and god-damn well that it was going to be positive. The morning sickness, the cravings, the irritableness, it all pointed to one thing. I guess we had only ourselves to blame. The night before the competition, we’d had sex multiple times, and Nick had come inside me more than once. But I’d thought I was on the pill! I guess no contraception was 100%, and now, here was the proof.
I sat perched on the edge of the toilet in my apartment, my panties around my ankles. It’d been a while since I’d been at my actual apartment, for the past few days I’d been staying with Nick at the various hotels that his Dad owned. I had to admit, after living life in the fast lane, coming back down to my tiny apartment in Queens was a bit of a comedown. And losing the million dollars to Jack and Emma of all people was just a secondary blow to add insult to injury.
I kept stealing glances at the pregnancy test, which was balanced on the sink. It still had twenty seconds left until I could check, but, like I said, I didn’t really need to. It was just a formality. Just so I could prove that I wasn’t crazy, basically.
I felt another tear roll down my face, and I quickly wiped it away with my pajama sleeve. What was this, the fifth time I was crying in as many hours? I suddenly felt as though my entire life was spinning out of control! All I’d wanted was to have a crack at a fun competition, win a chance at a stone-cold million dollars and use it to make my life a little better. But now? I was way out of my depth, and it was too late to take it back. I’d gotten myself pregnant, and now every road out of Sumatra, so to speak, was one I just didn’t want to take.
I wasn’t ready for a baby right now. My career was one of the most high-powered in New York City, one of the most high-powered cities in the world, a metropolis lived in the fast lane. And I had a bright future in this career. There were promotions in that future, and corner offices, and huge bonus checks. Not “million dollars” huge, but still huge. But I couldn’t have any of that with a baby. Even if I took maternity leave to give birth and then gave the baby up for adoption, that put me nine months behind. And as far as Mr. McConnery would be concerned, that’d put me out of the running for who he wanted overseeing his decorative needs at Elegance Refined.
Or maybe it wouldn’t because the baby would technically be his grandchild! But only if Nick and I agreed to continue our charade of marriage, and he assumed the role of father. I gave another quiet sob as I realized that I’d scarcely thought about Nick in the past few weeks since the contest had ended. He was surely racking his brain to work out why I’d been so moody, and cold-shouldering him recently. I didn’t mean to, but I was a big, chem lab of hormones all the time.
And for me to add this bombshell to the pile. To drop the title of “father” onto someone who wasn’t expecting it, I had no idea if I could do that. Could I do that to him? I wasn’t sure if I could. I wasn’t sure if it was right or if it was fair. I gripped my head in my hands. There was no way out!
Suddenly, there was a gentle tapping at the bathroom door. “Sandy?” Abby called from my front room.
“Abby,” I replied, getting up from the toilet. “I told you, I knew I wouldn’t have to do this whole thing, I know that-”
I stopped in my tracks as I opened the bathroom door, and there stood Nick in my front room, dressed again in a two-piece suit with his hands in his pockets.
“Hey,” Nick said softly.
“What are you doing here?” I croaked.
“I let him in,” Abby said firmly. “I think you two have a lot to talk about,” she said, emphasizing the last five words pointedly.
“She’s not wrong,” Nick inclined his head toward Abby. “We do need to talk.”
“No, we don’t,” I shook my head. “We don’t have anything to talk about.”
“What’s wrong with you?” Nick frowned at me. “Did I, like, do something to piss you off, or-?”
“No,” I shook my head. “No, you didn’t.”
“Well…you haven’t been home in days,” Nick shrugged. “So, there must be something wrong.”
“Yes, I have,” I scowled. “Because this is home. I live here, Nick. Remember, we’re not actually married. Thanks for the fun and the adventures and everything, but it’s over. Nothing left to be said.”
Nick didn’t immediately reply. He merely stood there, hands in his pockets, and looked at me. We stayed like that for what seemed to be several sunlit days. And then slowly, but inexplicably, Nick nodded coolly. “Okay. I get it. Fine. You win. I’ll see you around, Sandy.”
Nick didn’t say another word as he left. And he didn’t look back. If he had, he would have seen tears streaming down my face.
What was I doing? I had no idea. Like I’d said, every single road out of this situation seemed to be stained with blood and shit, and I had no idea what I was supposed to do. There was no training manual or helpful YouTube walkthrough for situations such as these.
I couldn’t just skip on down to Barnes & Noble and pick up a quick copy of “How to Tell Your Fake Husband/On-Off Boyfriend/Lover/Love Interest/Babydaddy that you’re pregnant with his child and also convince him to help you make a smart, responsible decision that’s in the benefit of both of you while minimalizing damage to both your careers, also you might be in love with him” for Dummies. They didn’t have that volume, although now I was thinking that someone should write that.
Not for the first time, I started to wonder why all the pressure of this decision was on my shoulders. Human beings really needed to hurry up and evolve to the point where all our children are grown in artificial chambers, or something. In fact, I saw an episode of Doctor Who that was a bit like that. Just take a blood sample, and out they pop. Fully-grown and with clothes too, although maybe that was just so that the BBC could maintain their PG rating.
Behind me, Abby put an understanding hand on my shoulder. “You okay, babe?” she asked softly.
I couldn’t even answer, I just turned around, buried my head in her shoulder and broke down crying. Abby probably didn’t like that my tears were staining her jumper, but she didn’t say anything, and I loved her even more for it.
We stayed like that for what seemed like ages, standing upright in my front room, me crying into her shoulder like a newborn baby who’s got the shits. Or is it the other way around? Oh, right yeah, it’s constipation, so the analogy should actually be “a newborn baby who can’t get the shits.”
Finally, Abby spoke and broke the silence. “Come, let’s sit down. Are you hungry, I’ll make you something to eat.”
“Let’s get pizza,” I said quietly. Pizza was my comfort food, and right now, I was very much in need of comforting.
“Yeah, and watch a movie!” Abby piped up.
I shook my head. “Last night was movie night.”
Abby laughed at this. “Oh, right, I forgot about your dorky little schedule. You still sticking to that, then?”
I nodded. “For without order, we are animals, right?”
“So, what does your schedule say to do on Thursday evenings, then?” Abby asked.
I shrugged. “Board game night, I think. I don’t know, I can’t remember. I’m a bit tired.”
Abby chucked me her cellphone. “Well, this should perk you up. Go ahead and order the pizza, I’m going to check your Dork Fest schedule. Is it still up on the fridge?”
I had to smile at that. What Abby called “dorkiness,” I referred to as order in a word full of chaos. Which sounded a bit totalitarian whichever way you sliced it, but oh well.
“Yeah,” Abby was saying from over by the fridge. “Board game night, you were right. Well done, you. So where do you keep your board games?”
“You despise board games,” I frowned.
“I mean, sure, but you love them, and I’m trying to cheer you up,” Abby shrugged. “And just because I don’t play them, doesn’t mean I can’t kick your fat ass at them.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Did you just call me fat?”
“Yeah,” Abby said seriously. “You’re pregnant! You’re a planet!”
I burst out laughing at this. “You can’t even see my bump yet, Abigail. Besides, name one board game you could beat me at.”
“I’ll do you one better,” Abby said confidently. “I’ll name three. Monopoly, Chinese Checkers, Chutes, and Ladders.”
“You really have to stop doing that,” I said seriously.
“Stop doing what?” Abby asked a mischievous grin plastered across her face that told me that she knew exactly what I was talking about.
“Stop using that name,” I said. “Because for the last time, eating spring rolls while playing draughts is not Chinese Checkers. That’s not how that works.”
“That’s not how that works,” Abby mimicked me. “That’s exactly what you said when you said that buying an iPhone X doesn’t count as investing in Apple stocks.”
“I was right, it doesn’t!” I exclaimed.
“I disagree,” Abby said confidently.
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that iPhone is part of their stock, and it’s also their brand, and I bought it, that counts. Sounds like an investment to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Abby, you win.”
She grinned. “Excellent. Which makes me an Apple shareholder, now.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “You and a few hundred million other people.”
Abby chuckled. “I’m an Apple shareholder, your argument is invalid.”
“I’ve just had an idea,” I said. “If you don’t want to play any board games, I’ve got a game you’ll definitely love.”
“Oh yeah?” Abby perked up. “What is it, truth or dare?”
I snorted. “No, I’m never playing that with you ever again, and you know good and god-damn well why.”
Abby snickered at this. “I think that’s really unfair.”
“Your dares are brutal, Abby, you’re not supposed to make them that hard,” I said sternly. “Some of the stuff you made the guys do, I don’t even want to repeat it. Anyway…I digress.”
“Yeah, what’s the game?”
“It’s called two truths and one lie,” I said.
Abby grinned. “Say no more. I know this game.”
“You know it?” I asked skeptically. I was usually skeptical of anything that Abby wanted to do because if she wanted to do it, chances are there was going to be some kind of catch.
“Totes malotes, dawg,” Abby shot me with a finger-gun. “And trust me, I’m amazing at it, just like everything else. So, order the pizza, Sandy, and let’s get this show on the road. This is going to be f-u-u-u-u-u-u-n.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Nick
I remember once, Sandy and I had had quite a heated argument. This had happened in high school, so it was way back when. It was less of an argument, which implies emotional context, and more of a heated debate. So, both of us were arguing from a specific standpoint, and in the end, neither of us actually managed to change the other’s mind, which leads me to wonder how effective our debate tactics were.
