5. George
Chapter five
George
Since Mom and Dad want to keep hanging out at my place due to their broken AC unit, I give them my credit card and suggest they go up to the city to find a replacement.
It takes a good hour arguing with them before I convince them to do it.
Funny how they’ll invade my space but taking money is too much of an imposition.
Some things, I suppose, make sense to parents that don’t make sense to their kids.
I don’t expect that they’ll buy anything for themselves. I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll come home to a new bathmat, though.
A knock comes on the door, and I open it to greet Catherine.
She looks fantastic, as always.
Her hair is done up in this cute, curly ponytail. She wears a white eyelet tank top paired with a skirt that hits just above her knee. Her strappy sandals show off a butterfly tattoo on her ankle.
“Wow,” I say, grinning at her. “You’re right. We can’t live in Sandburrow. You’re too fancy.”
I mean it as a compliment, but her expression falls. She glances over her outfit.
“Do I look presumptuous?”
“No, no.” I open the door for her to come in. “I only mean that you look like you should be hitting a red carpet, rather than hanging out here.”
Catherine gives me a weak-looking smile. “Ah. Well, thanks.”
She’s uncomfortable still. I wince.
If I’d known she would be so insecure about her appearance… but then, when I think about it, I ought to have known.
Catherine always felt out of place in Sandburrow.
My remark, though coming from a place of heartfelt sincerity, only serves to highlight that.
I clear my throat. “So, you got to the city yesterday?”
Catherine nods and fishes a small box out of her oversized purse. “Yeah. I picked up the ring. Want to see it?”
“I should, since it’s the one I proposed to you with.”
She laughs, the tension easing from her.
She opens the little blue box and shows me the sparkling ring inside. It’s exactly as she described two days ago at the tidal pools.
“All lab-grown,” she says proudly.
“Some people will ask us why I wouldn’t shell out for the real thing,” I say, plucking the delicate band from its velvet nest.
“Just tell them that I insisted on it. Call me a hippie if that’s the only way people will understand,” she offers.
It’s a beautiful ring. Catherine holds out her hand and I slide the ring onto her finger. It nestles perfectly in place.
“Is this the sort of ring you’ve always dreamed of?” I ask absently, still holding her hand.
I like the way it looks there. It’s simple and elegant, just like Catherine.
The sparkles are so clear it casts rainbows on the ceiling.
“This is exactly the sort of ring I want,” Catherine says.
“Aren’t you afraid of ruining it, using it up on a fake engagement?”
Catherine pulls her hand away from me. “Nope. Not at all.”
“Right. Want a coffee while we go over the engagement story?”
Catherine nods. “That’d be great. I made a list of all the questions I could think of that people will ask us. I’ve watched enough fake engagement rom coms to know that people will ask lots of crazy things, and we need to be able to have a believable story to tell them. We need to be on the same page with everything!”
“In rom coms, the fake couple end up getting together in the end,” I point out.
“Yes. But that’s fiction. It’s not our story,” Catherine says flatly. She points an accusing finger at me. “So if you think you can charm me with that crooked grin and constellation of freckles, think again.”
I blink in surprise.
I’m aware that I’m a good-looking guy, but my freckles have always been something I’m insecure about.
But the way she says it, it sounds as though they’re a temptation.
It throws me for a loop. As I’m scrambling to come up with some witty reply—or any reply at all, really—her cell phone dings.
Catherine lets out an annoyed grunt as she fishes it from her pocket.
“I thought I—” She looks at the screen and cuts off, her eyes widening.
“Catherine?”
I come forward.
She skips back a step. Her eyes well with tears as she finally looks up.
“What’s wrong?” My heart starts to slam. “Is it Lynn?”
“Mmm? No. No. She’s fine.” Catherine takes a deep breath and looks at the ceiling, as though willing her tears to slide back into her skull. “It’s just that… well… I suppose the only thing to say is that if you want to call off this charade, I understand.”
I stride forward. But when Catherine winces I stop.
“Cat,” I say, my voice low. “Come on. Look at me.”
Almost unwillingly, she does.
“You can trust me. Okay? So what happened?”
Wordlessly, she holds her phone out to me.
I take it and flip it around to see the image it displays.
My stomach drops.
The picture is as clear as day. Two people kissing.
The woman looks like Catherine. They have the same profile, the same color and style of hair. Her face is turned just far enough away that I can’t know for certain.
Crimson’s face, however, is perfectly visible. And it’s obvious that they’re lip locked.
What in the world?
She says she isn’t dating him.
Does that just mean she’s pussyfooting around the truth? It’s not dating because it only happened once sort of thing?
I turn off the phone.
A heaviness sits in my chest. No wonder she thinks I’m calling off our fake engagement.
If we were engaged for real, I’d have serious second thoughts about the whole thing.
Right now, though…
I take a deep, calming breath.
“What’s happening in this picture, Catherine?” I ask her.
Catherine wipes her eyes. “It’s not what it looks like. That isn’t me.”
“Then who is it?” I demand. “Because it looks like you.”
“Yes, it looks like me. But it’s not. As though the truth is any better,” she says, bitterly.
“Cat—”
She shakes her head, her hands clenching into fists. “I’m not talking about this anymore. Either you believe it’s not me or you think I’m a liar. So what is it?”
I’m surprised by how emphatic she is.
Clearly, whatever happened is making her miserable.
As she watches for my response, shaking, I can’t help but think about the day I knew our friendship was over.
Her face is blotchy from sobs. The front of her shirt soaked through with tears.
And her eyes.
Her eyes bore into me, expecting nothing.
It made me feel like I was personally responsible for every terrible thing that happened to her.
Right now, as she levels her chin and stares at me, I know she’s telling the truth.
She won’t tell me what really happened.
But I still somehow think that she’s telling me the truth about it not being an affair, either.
Not in the ‘technically it wasn’t an affair’ sort of way but in a genuine way.
I let out a heavy sigh. “It looks like you.”
“I know.”
She looks as though she’s used to facing the world on her own.
“But I don’t think you’re a liar.” I hand her phone back to her.
She gives me a strange look. “So… you believe me?”
“Are you going to tell me what’s really happening?”
“No. It’s too humiliating.”
Now just what does that mean?
“Let’s get some coffee and let me think about this,” I offer.
Her expression shifts ever so slightly like she wasn’t expecting that. But she nods.
I lead the way to the kitchen and reach for the coffee pot.
“I used to have a one-cup machine,” I say absently over my shoulder. “It was perfect for just me. But then my mom got me this because it’s ‘friendlier’ to make coffee for everyone. I keep my old one in the cupboard, but I pull this one out whenever they’re visiting…”
“Sounds to me like you need to be firmer with your parents,” Catherine says listlessly.
I shrug. “Maybe.”
As the coffee brews, I lean my palms against the counter.
Sandburrow will not react kindly to this thing with Catherine and Crimson.
They won’t care what the real story is. This is far too interesting.
Just imagine, Lynn Hart’s granddaughter.
I can almost hear their voices in my head.
I always knew that Hart girl was no good.
What do you expect from a girl who only visits her poor grandmother once a year?
I let out a heavy breath. It’s not just Catherine that will face their delighted gossip. It’ll hurt Lynn, too.
Part of me wants to ask Catherine what she’ll tell her grandmother. Will it be the truth or something else?
I have a feeling she’ll just give me the same answer as before—that she isn’t going to tell me anything.
“George. If you want more time to think about it… or if you want to just call it off, I understand. But I should get back home. I should warn Grandma before anyone can…” Catherine’s voice trails off, trembling.
That’s enough for me.
“I don’t need more time,” I tell her.
The coffee is finished brewing. I pour us both a mug as I continue.
“I’ll keep playing the role of fiancé for you. I’ll hold to the story that it’s private business and that we are choosing to keep the details to ourselves.” I put cream and sugar in hers and slide it to her.
Catherine’s eyes are wide as she stares at me. “But… you don’t even know…”
“I don’t. But I also don’t think you’re a liar.”
She chews her lip, utterly bewildered.
“What I do know is that Lynn is like a grandma to me. I’m well-liked in town. With any luck, my support will help shield you and Lynn from the worst of the gossip.” I nod, firm in my decision.
Her eyes fill with fresh tears. “You’d really do that? For Grandma?”
I sip my hot, black coffee. The bitterness fills my mouth.
“Yes. And I hope that you’ll confide in me,” I add. “But like I said. You’re not a liar.”
Catherine winces at my choice of words. She takes a deep breath. “But what will you get out of it?”
“Your lessons on how to raise my parents,” I crack.
“Ugh!” She rests her head in her hand and sips her coffee. “This is just going to make your mother hate me more than she already does.”
“She doesn’t hate you.”
Catherine gives me a sarcastic look. “You’re right. She absolutely loves me. That’s why she calls me ‘that Hart girl’ and is always surprised when she hears I’m not dead in an alley.”
I frown. “That’s not entirely fair, Catherine.”
“Not entirely. Which means you know she doesn’t like me.”
“That’s different than hating you.”
She heaves out a long sigh. “Regardless. I’m only going to make things more difficult with your parents now.”
“Maybe. But I’ve always found it easier to defend others than defend myself,” I say. I sip my coffee again.
This time it’s not quite as bitter.
A ghost of a smile passes over Catherine’s face. “Oh. I see. This is practice for you. If you can set boundaries on them saying things about me, maybe you can set boundaries when it comes to your coffee pot.”
I laugh. “Precisely!”
She studies me a moment longer. I can see the moment she decides to believe me. The tension eases from her hunched shoulders and her eyes lighten.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I nod back at her, still smiling.
But a part of me still wonders if she’s telling the truth.
Just how much has the city changed her?