Fake It For Me, page 17
I was quite new to the official, professional art of debating, but I was a highly-experienced arguer, one might say. And as I walked into the debate team’s borrowed classroom on the college campus, I admit I didn’t know what to expect. What I didn’t expect was the furthest thing from arguing that I could imagine. When two people argue, they aggressively attempt to force their opinion on the other. There are a lot of different types of arguing, and very few of these types utilize intelligently-formulated words to get one’s point across.
Often, arguments are full of shouting, bellowing, and even throwing things. But the debate matches at college were nothing like that. Debates were intelligently set up, with one person speaking at a time. No one was permitted to raise their voice. And I really liked the entire atmosphere and vibe of the entire thing. It was the kind of place that you could spend an hour or more “arguing,” and then leave and everyone was still on good terms, and nobody had punched anybody else in the mouth. And I didn’t know about anyone else, but I was always (and still am to this day) a big fan of not being punched in the mouth. Which is ironic, because I’ve been punched in the mouth more times than one would expect.
On my first day of the debate team, I walked into the classroom, late of course (fashionably late), and joined the group. There was Sandy, once again. This wasn’t the first time I was seeing her, I’d seen her around the campus once or twice, never without company and talking and laughing loudly. And I knew that she’d seen me too. As the only person in the room that I recognized, I nodded curtly. She nodded back, acknowledging me.
The teacher, Mr. Belafonte (who was also the drama teacher), gave me the whole “glad you could join us, my liege lord,” confident teacher spiel that I was, at seventeen years of age, beyond bored with, before he let me join the class. That day, we were debating a topic that Mr. Belafonte had heard two people on the bus mention in passing, a topic that had also briefly been touched on by a TV show called University Challenge.
The topic was, can one have a wrong opinion. With me on the against, and Sandy’s team saying yes, you can have a wrong opinion. I was fortunate enough to get a topic that I actually believed in, as opposed to having to restructure my beliefs around the angle that I was given. I dropped into the debate, headstrong and firm in my position. No, you can’t have a wrong opinion.
An opinion is not something fixed, something with a constant answer. In my personal “opinion,” an opinion is an answer to a question that doesn’t have a right answer. Two plus two is four, E=Mc squared, burger sauce is delicious, these are facts that have right answers. One cannot be “of the opinion” that two-plus-two is five because that’s not a credible perspective on account of it being wrong.
Sandy and I had an almost two-hour back-and-forth concerning this argument, at the climax of which, we were both forced to concede by Mr. Belafonte. As we walked away from the debating table, however, Sandy gave me a look that was somewhere between admiration and frustration. And I’ll never forget what she said next.
“Nick McConnery, there are some things more important than winning.”
I’ll never forget it because I thought she was a crazy person for saying it at the time. Of course, there was nothing more important than winning, I didn’t even understand how somebody could seriously say such a thing with a straight face. It was, in fact, just as bizarre to me as saying that two-plus-two equaled five.
Now, years later, I’m of the opinion that there are some things more important than winning.
Being with Sandy changed me. I know that much. After a few months of being with her, even if the marriage wasn’t real, it made me a completely different person. And in my opinion, a better person. In my Dad’s opinion too. I never would have thought it, but it was staggering to witness the change in his demeanor toward me. At first, I attributed it to the fact that he was being nice because of my recent “divorce.” But weeks and months passed after the divorce itself, and he showed no signs of reverting back to his old ways, which I was especially thankful for.
I started taking a bigger, more active role in the running of High Risers, accompanying Dad to events and meetings, handling his clients for him in his absence. I spent fewer and fewer nights shut up in my office, playing in my PlayStation, and more time actually taking an interest in what my father’s company did.
Pretty soon, Dad had set the wheels in motion to make me COO, his Chief of Operations, second in command only to himself and the Vice President. I was especially grateful for the promotion because it gave me something to take my mind off of Sandy. After the divorce, I was suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of the very reason why I’d spent so many years trying to distance myself from emotional attachments.
I knew very well that they could be fulfilling for people, but more often than not, they turned out like this. Hollow, and bitter, and they left people feeling the same. For years, I’d escaped feeling like this. Feeling like to be without a person was to be without a piece of myself. Because that’s what Sandy was to be. I couldn’t cut her out of me any easier than I could hack out my own heart.
But the show, as they say, must go on. I wasn’t just an intern anymore, I was the COO of High Risers, and I had responsibilities. And I couldn’t just skip work, or miss a presentation because I was sad. Or for any reason, in fact.
That morning I had a meeting with Dad’s board of advisers, taking them over the latest development plan. Even as I took them through the particulars, I couldn’t shake off the nervousness that I felt. There was an empty seat at the very end of the conference table, a seat belonging to the delegate from Elegance Refined who, of course, were our interior decorators on the project.
I was nervous because I had no idea if Sandy was going to be showing up or not. If she was, then she was running a bit late, but perhaps she’d decided the pawn the project off to some other interior decorator, to avoid seeing me. I immediately scolded myself for the thought. Why would she? It’s not as though she was in love with me, she had no reason to not want to see me or to avoid me. She was probably just running late.
Ten minutes later, my suspicions were confirmed, as Sandy entered the conference room with a lot of hushed apologies and “excuse me’s.” As she walked into the room, her eyes firmly fixed on the heap of papers in her hand, I couldn’t help but stare.
She looked good, as she always did. Her hair was tied back in a professional bun, and even from a distance, I could see that it was wet. She must have woken up late and just been in the shower. She wore a long, white, sleeveless dress, sheer pantyhose, and black high heels, but I couldn’t help but notice she looked a good deal thicker in certain areas. She’d put on weight! To my surprise, I found that that didn’t put me off like I’d expected. I had a long history of womanizing, but if you looked up my “greatest hits,” so to speak, you wouldn’t find a lot of fatties or “plus-size” women as we’re supposed to refer to them these days.
What can I say, I guess I just preferred thin women? Doesn’t make me a bad guy. But I was surprised to realize that even though Sandy had gotten a little chubbier, I wasn’t any less attracted to her. What did that mean? Was I…growing, as a person? This was shaping up to be an interesting day.
“Thanks for coming…uh…Sandy,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to call her “Ms. McConnery,” and to use her maiden name would just draw more attention to the fact that we were divorced. The tension in the room was already palpable. Best to just acknowledge her existence and keep it moving on.
Sandy took a seat at the end of the table and finally looked up and made eye contact. I stared into those big, blue eyes, and she stared right back at me. And at that moment, as we stared at each other, it was as though time itself had stood still. I realized, in that frozen instant, why I had trouble going out to clubs and raves these days. I realized why I hadn’t been able to throw another pool party or chat up floozies at any of my favorite bars. I realized why none of my previous flings any longer had anything to offer me.
I didn’t want someone. I wanted Sandy. Her body, her lips. She was what I’d been hungry for. And once I realized that it was only a few moments before I also realized that whatever the cost, I had to try to make things up with her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sandy
I was as surprised as anyone when High Risers sent out a press release announcing the name of their newest COO. They’d been needing one for a while now, and their Vice President had been double-hatting, but I never for a moment thought that Lord McConnery would pick Nick, of all people. But then again, the old Nick was a relic of the past, wasn’t he?
I had changed him. For the better. Or, rather, that’s how I preferred to think about it. That was my favored perspective, that I’d taken an insensitive, self-centered, serial womanizer and turned him into a thoughtful, kind, gentleman and that the world was better for it. Of course, another way that you could think about it was that I’d taken a man, waited until that man had fallen for me, then I’d cut him loose. And, of course, once you were done with that fruit salad, you could sprinkle on the peachy bits of “I was pregnant with his child,” and I hadn’t even told him yet.
That wasn’t even as bad as it got. Four different times I’d been to a clinic, fully intending to do what I believed had to be done, and four times I’d bottled it at the last second. What did it say about me that I would even consider aborting a man’s child without even telling him about it? What did it say about the country that we lived in that such an act was legal?
All in all, I decided to go to the meeting at High Risers’ offices still pregnant. The bump was starting to show a little, but not enough for anyone to assume I was pregnant. They’d probably just think I put on weight. I did surprisingly well during the presentation. Of course, once I saw Nick, I felt the familiar flutter in my heart that I got whenever I thought about him, or mentioned him, but at least I didn’t break down in tears this time. That would have been awkward.
Once the presentation was over, I collected my notes and decided to make myself scarce while I still could. Halfway down the corridor, however, I heard footsteps jogging behind me, and it wasn’t long before Nick called out to me.
“Sandy!”
I stopped and turned. What else was I going to do, run away? I was still astounded to see how much Nick had changed. He was even wearing a grey suit, just like his Dad’s now, even though I distinctly remember hearing him say once that grey suits are for old people.
“Hey, Nick,” I said after taking a deep breath.
“Hey,” Nick nodded at me.
We stood face to face in silence for the next few moments, each of us realizing that we didn’t really have a damn thing to say to each other.
“How’ve you been?” Nick broke the silence lamely.
“Not bad,” I lied. “I see you’ve been doing pretty well, Mr. COO.”
Nick grinned at this. “Yeah, I’ve changed quite a bit, as you can probably tell from the grey suit. My Dad and I are really getting along these days.”
I nodded. “I’m happy for you.”
“So, what have you been up to?” Nick asked. “You’ve changed a bit too.”
I arched my eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Nick shrugged. “Nothing. Just, you know, you look a little chubbier these days.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I look a little…chubbier?”
“Which is fine!” Nick raised his hands defensively. “I’m not criticizing, just observing! It’s probably from all the ice cream you were eating while missing me, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “Nick, you know, sometimes you can be a real jerk.”
And with that, I turned on my heel and left him standing there, his mouth open in a gape. I knew it wasn’t fair to be mad at him, he wasn’t to know that I was pregnant with his child, but at the same time, I’m pregnant, so I’m allowed to be mad at whoever I want.
And I’ve decided I want to be mad at Nick. No matter how much I might miss him.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nick
I really hoped I was wrong.
The mood swings, the extra weight she’d put on, the way she’d cold-shouldered me after the competition. If my theory was right, and my theories were usually right, then it explained everything. If I was right, then there was only one person who would be able to corroborate my theory for me. I just hoped I still had her number.
After several minutes of scrolling through my phone, I found it. Abby’s number. Abby was Sandy’s closest friend, and if anyone would know, it was her. I pressed dial, and thankfully, she picked up quickly. “Hello?” Abby asked curiously like she wasn’t used to getting phone calls from a billionaire, which, of course, she wasn’t.
“Hey, Abby,” I said casually, thinking about how I was going to phrase the question. “It’s Nick. You remember me, right?”
“Only too well,” Abby muttered, seemingly more to herself than me. “What can I do for you, Nicholas?”
“Have you seen or heard much from Sandy lately?” I asked evasively.
“Well, yeah, not as much as usual, but I have seen her,” Abby confirmed.
“And how’s she doing?”
“Yeah, she’s fine,” Abby said, and I sensed she was dodging around the question. “What about you? You guys kind of…broke up hardly if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean,” I said. “It’s just…I saw her at work today, and it’s…she looks so different, you know? She’s kind of moody, and she’s put on weight, and it’s just…it’s like she doesn’t even recognize me anymore.”
I paused, and Abby was silent. I considered that conclusive proof that my theory was true, or at the very least that Abby believed it.
“If I didn’t know better,” I said slowly. “I’d have thought she was pregnant. Silly, right?”
There was another pause. Then Abby spoke. “It’s not silly, it’s true. But you already knew that, right, which is the reason why you’re being weird.”
“I didn’t know,” I disagreed. “I just…suspected.”
“Well, whatever you do,” Abby said. “Do not tell her I told you. She made me promise not to tell you anything.”
“You didn’t,” I said firmly. “Like you said, I had my suspicions already. Plus, it was only a matter of time before this came out. You couldn’t hide it forever.”
“Like I said back when you came around to Sandy’s,” Abby said. “You two have a lot to talk about.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to me,” I admitted.
“Well, she should!” Abby said indignantly. “I’ll tell you what. Come around to my birthday party this evening, she’ll be there. It’s the perfect chance to talk to her.”
I was doubtful that my turning up to that party would help the situation, but at the same time, I desperately wanted to talk to her. “I’ll think about it.”
“You’ll think about it?” Abby exclaimed. “I don’t need to hear you’ll think about it, I need to hear a yes or a no. How serious about Sandy are you?”
Abby had a point. I steeled my nerve and nodded, despite the fact that I was on the phone. “Alright, Abby. I’ll be there.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sandy
To be completely honest with myself, I didn’t know if I was feeling up to attending Abby’s birthday party. I was still pretty shaken from all the stuff I had going on. Plus, I don’t know if anybody knows this because nobody told me, but pregnancy is a bitch. I spent the entire morning with my head down a toilet, which is really not a sentence that anybody wants to say in their life. Ever.
But I also knew that Abby would definitely murder me if I missed the party, and so I quickly put the notion from my mind. When I got to the party, however, I began loosening up pretty quickly. Which was a pretty admirable achievement considering I couldn’t drink anything with alcohol in it.
Man, pregnancy sucks!
“How are you doing, girl?” Abby shouted over the thumping music from behind me, making me jump. “Good to see we got you out of your little hidey-hole!”
I smiled at this. “Anything for a friend.”
“What?”
“I said, ANYTHING FOR A FRIEND!” I bellowed.
Abby frowned and leaned in closer. “CAN’T HEAR YOU, BABE!”
I scowled. “I SAID-oh, forget it. NOTHING!”
Abby suddenly took me by the hand and led me from the front room into her bedroom. “Look, Sandy. I have a confession. I didn’t bring you here to enjoy the party. I brought you here because you and a certain someone needs to have a talk.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Abby. Did you do what I think you did?”
Suddenly, the bathroom door opened and Nick appeared in the doorway, looking just like he always did.
“I’ll leave you two to it,” Abby muttered through the side of her mouth.
A silence descended over the room. A silence so thick, I tried to speak, and I found that my voice wouldn’t work. But then, I realized, I had no idea what I would say. What could I say?
Nick broke the silence finally. “You’re pregnant,” he blurted. And then he blushed.
I rolled my eyes. “Let me guess…Abby?”
“I already knew by the time I asked her about it,” Nick said quickly. “The cravings, the bitchiness. It all adds up.”
I cackled at this. “Bitchiness?”
“If you’ll excuse my French,” Nick quipped. “Listen, Sandy. I’ve got something to say.”
“So, do I,” I admitted.
“Let me say this first,” Nick said firmly. “I know you don’t think it possible, but…I’ve changed. A lot. Ever since we started this whole thing, this whole fake marriage, I’ve changed more than you would think possible.”
