CHAPTER 9. Noah #4
“Sweetie,” Mom says gently, pulling me back before my brain can ruin me any further, “we know you wanted to do this on your own. We know your independence matters to you, and we’re proud of you for that.”
I blink at her, caught off guard.
“But wanting to stand on your own doesn’t mean you have to make your life harder forever,” she continues. “And if you and Connor are at the point where you’re talking about settling down, then maybe it’s time to think about your first real apartment. Together.”
Together.
The word sits there between us, impossible to ignore, painful in a way it has no right to be.
Dad leans forward a little, his glass balanced between both hands. “Your mother and I would like to help with the down payment, son,” he says. “As a gift. No pressure, no conditions. We just want you to have the option when you’re ready.”
I open my mouth.
Close it.
For once in my life, I have absolutely nothing to say.
This is so much worse than I expected. They’re not just nudging us toward moving in together. They’re offering money. Real money, by the sound of it. All based on a relationship that doesn’t actually exist.
For a second, I think I’m going to cry.
Not because of the down payment, obviously, even though part of me is pissed that they still see me as this pathetic twenty-nine-year-old loser who needs his parents to rescue him.
And I know how ridiculous that sounds. Being able to refuse money is a privilege.
I know I’m not starving or homeless or sick, and that choosing pride over help is its own spoiled little luxury.
But knowing that doesn’t make it sting less.
And it still isn’t the part that hurts most.
What hurts is realizing how lonely they must think I am. How quickly they’ve latched onto Connor as proof that maybe I’m finally okay. Maybe I finally found someone. Maybe this serious, handsome man sitting beside me is the beginning of the life they’ve been quietly wishing for me all these years.
And now I’m realizing our fake breakup at the end of our fake relationship is probably going to hurt them too.
The panic rises so fast I almost blurt out the truth right there. I should just tell them this is all a lie, run out of the room, and let Connor deal with the wreckage.
Real mature. I know.
Instead, I finally manage, my voice strained, “That’s really generous, but no.”
Mom’s face falls immediately. “Why not?”
“I’m grateful,” I say. “I am. But I already told you—I’m not taking money from you. And Connor and I are not moving in together.”
“Noah,” Dad starts.
But Connor cuts in before he can finish.
“Actually,” he says, his arm tightening subtly around my shoulders, “we have talked about moving.”
I turn to look at him so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
What is he doing?
If he gives my mother even a crumb of hope, she’s going to grab onto this and never let go.
“Really?” Mom asks, her disappointment vanishing so quickly it’s almost alarming.
Well. Here we go.
“Yes,” Connor says, giving my shoulder another small squeeze, probably because I’m now staring at him like I’m trying to set him on fire with my eyes. “Moving out of our building is long overdue for both of us. We actually talked about it yesterday.”
“Connor,” I say, very carefully.
He glances at me, all calm innocence. “What? We did.”
Technically, he’s not lying. Yesterday, we both said we needed to get out of that building. Separately. But of course, my parents don’t know that, so they take it as confirmation of exactly what they want to hear.
“That’s wonderful news!” Mom says, beaming, and Dad nods along, both of them looking at us like they’re waiting for details.
“The walls in our building are horrific,” Connor continues. “There’s not much privacy.”
Mom nods immediately, like this is a very serious point. “That must be so frustrating,” she says. “You’re young. I imagine it really ruins the mood when you’re trying to have a private moment.”
I feel my face go hot.
Oh. My. God.
I take a large sip of wine, mostly to give my mouth something to do that isn’t screaming.
Connor just nods, like he completely agrees with her. Then he pauses, as if he’s deciding whether to elaborate and make it worse.
Then he makes it worse.
“And we’ve both talked about getting a dog.”
I freeze.
My mother makes a noise that sounds dangerously close to a squeal.
“Oh, that’s wonderful!” she says. “Noah’s always wanted a dog. Remember how he used to beg us for a puppy, Daniel?”
“Every Christmas until he was fourteen,” Dad says.
I close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
Great.
Perfect.
Somehow, over one glass of wine, we’ve gone from fake dating to fake moving in to fake dog dads.
“Well,” Connor continues, his voice so casual that, for one second, I wonder if I’m hallucinating all of this, “I’ve been looking at some places. Nothing fancy, but somewhere with better insulation. Maybe a small yard.”
“A yard would be perfect for a dog,” Mom agrees, like Connor has just presented her with the missing piece of my entire life.
I open my eyes and just sit there, frozen, as Connor describes our fictional house hunt in surprising detail. He mentions actual neighborhoods. Actual features missing from our current building. Things that sound suspiciously close to what I’d actually want in a future home.
But that’s the problem.
It doesn’t fucking matter what I’d want.
None of this is real.
And the more sweet, believable lies he piles on top of each other, the worse it’s going to be when I eventually have to end this.
“Well, if you two already have some options in mind, we can help with the down payment,” Dad says, bringing us right back to his offer.
But Connor shakes his head. “That’s incredibly kind, Daniel, but it’s not necessary. I’ve been saving for a while. We can manage it on our own.”
I stare at him, my brain lagging behind the conversation.
Well. At least he isn’t agreeing to take my dad’s money.
But saying he’d put his own money into this?
Why? Wouldn’t it be easier to say we’ll think about it someday?
Maybe? Eventually? Not act like he’s already prepared to do it.
That makes it feel real. Serious. Like there’s a timeline.
Like we’re already further along than I ever meant for my parents to believe.
And why is he going this far?
It’s one thing to play along with their questions, to give vague, harmless answers about our future so we can survive the weekend. But this isn’t vague anymore. This is detailed, concrete lying about a life we’re never going to have.
Because as soon as this weekend is over, Connor and I go back to being neighbors.
Maybe friends, if I’m lucky.
We are not a couple moving in together, adopting a dog, and starting a life.
But now my parents think that’s exactly what’s happening.
They’ll expect updates. Apartments we’ve toured.
Neighborhoods we liked. Maybe even what kind of dog we’re thinking about getting.
I won’t be able to go quiet about Connor for a month and then casually announce we broke up.
It will be weird. Painful, even. They’ll assume I did something wrong, because of course it would be my fault if I ruined things with a guy this perfect.
And I can’t exactly keep the lie going, either. Not after this. Not when my mother is one glass away from adding him to a family group chat and asking what he wants for Thanksgiving.
If this goes on much longer, there won’t be a clean way out.
“You’re a good man, Connor,” Dad says, giving Connor the kind of approving smile that makes it clear he has officially passed some invisible test. “But we can help with Noah’s part of the down payment.
I know his job at the rescue doesn’t bring in much, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to cover everything. ”
“Yes,” Mom says, nodding before Connor even has a chance to respond. “And of course, you’re not married yet, so maybe a wedding first would make it easier for the two of you to accept the money from us—”
A wedding?
I stare at her, because apparently we’ve skipped right over moving in together and landed somewhere near save-the-dates.
While Connor politely tries to untangle himself from the mess he just created, I finish my wine, set the glass down, and get up from the couch. Nobody seems to notice as I move to the window.
Great.
Fantastic.
I’m apparently now a background character in my own fake relationship.
I stare out at the dark lake until the room behind me blurs into voices and candlelight.
I need to calm down, because I can feel something ugly building in my chest.
It’s not just the money. It’s not even the apartment, or the dog, or the fact that my mother managed to toss a wedding into the conversation like that was a normal next step.
It’s the fact that I already said no, and somehow everyone is still talking around me like my opinion is a minor logistical issue to solve later.
I want to leave.
But it’s Dad’s birthday, and I refuse to become the dramatic centerpiece of his dinner before dessert has even happened.
Luckily, before I can come up with a way to shut this whole clusterfuck down, I spot Brad and Maria Scott walking up the path toward the Main Cottage.
A few moments later, the front door opens, and they step inside dressed for dinner—Brad in a rust-colored blazer and cream shirt that screams old money, Maria in a simple beige dress with the kind of perfect cut that makes you afraid to guess the price.
Thankfully, that puts an end to my parents terrorizing Connor.
“Oh, it’s so cozy in here!” Maria says as soon as she sees the candlelit table.
Before going over to greet them, Mom and Dad give Connor a meaningful look that clearly says they are not done with him.
Which would piss me off a lot more if Connor weren’t the reason we’re in this mess in the first place.