Chapter Eleven The Couple’s Shopping Date
Chapter Eleven
The Couple’s Shopping Date
Amy
At nine twelve on Sunday, June twenty-second, Dani called her sister on speakerphone and introduced our relationship as “administratively romantic.”
I closed my eyes. We were sitting at my kitchen table with coffee, toast, and the revised disclosure plan I had created after the diner. Tessa stood at the counter pretending not to listen. She had been pretending for eleven minutes.
“What does administratively romantic mean?” Gloria asked through the phone.
“It means we’re participating in the Better Together Challenge,” I said.
“That part I know.”
Dani’s tapping stopped. I continued.
“The relationship began as part of the competition.”
A pause followed. Not a shocked pause. A confirming pause.
“I knew it,” Gloria said.
Dani sat straighter. “You did not.”
“You brought a woman to my daughter’s yoga competition after knowing her for a month and looked at her like she had personally invented oxygen.”
Tessa dropped a spoon into the sink. Dani pointed at her, though Gloria could not see.
“Stay out of this.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Tessa replied.
“Who is that?” Gloria asked.
“Tessa,” I said.
“The nurse?”
“The spy,” Dani said.
Tessa dried the spoon.
“Nice to meet you, Gloria.”
“You too. Thank you for keeping them alive.”
“I’ve done what I can.”
“This call is losing structure,” I said.
Dani covered her mouth to hide a smile.
Gloria said, “All right. The relationship started for the competition. Is it entirely fake?”
Tessa stopped pretending to clean. Dani’s fingers found her thigh. I checked the disclosure plan, which had no response for this. The agreement was fictional; the attraction, launch kiss, six-mile hug, and diner sleep were not.
That did not make us a couple. It made Gloria’s question badly designed.
“We are not dating outside the competition,” I said.
Gloria laughed softly.
“That was not what I asked.”
“It is the most accurate answer.”
Dani leaned closer to the phone.
“We’re figuring out the boundaries.”
That was also accurate. It sounded more vulnerable. Gloria seemed to hear it.
“Okay,” she said. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Are you angry?” Dani asked.
“I’m deciding.”
“That sounds like angry.”
“It sounds like parenting an adult who should know better.”
Dani lowered her forehead to the table. I continued.
“We did not want Lola involved in a lie.”
“She already believes you’re Dani’s girlfriend.”
“Correct.”
“She has watched the launch kiss eleven times.”
Dani lifted her head.
“Why does she have access to that?”
“She has cousins.”
“Block the cousins.”
“Daniela.”
The use of Dani’s full name produced an immediate change in her posture. Tessa noticed. So did I.
“We were going to explain the competition as a form of acting,” I said.
“That might work,” Gloria replied. “She understands theater.”
“Does she understand kissing for theater?”
“She watched Frozen twice a day for a year. Her standards for romance are complicated.”
Dani pressed two fingers to her temple.
“We should tell her together,” I said.
“Agreed. Not today, though.”
“Why?”
“Soccer tournament. The morning games were delayed because of rain, and her father is keeping her tonight. Dinner needs to move to next Sunday.”
Relief passed across Dani’s face. I disliked that I noticed.
“That works,” she said quickly.
Gloria laughed again.
“You have one week to decide how honest you’re capable of being.”
“Threatening,” Dani said.
“Experience.”
Before ending the call, Gloria asked to speak to me alone. Dani objected. Gloria ignored her. I took the phone off speaker and walked toward the living room. Dani watched me with the concern of someone being discussed by a professional reference.
“Hello?” I said.
“Amy, I’m sorry Dani pulled you into this.”
“I agreed.”
“I know. She is persuasive.”
“That is one word.”
“I love my sister, but she avoids hard things until they become emergencies.”
My gaze moved toward the kitchen. Dani was attempting to read my lips from across the apartment. Tessa placed herself between us and began talking with exaggerated hand gestures.
“I’ve noticed,” I said.
“I’m not asking you to manage her.”
“I would not agree to that.”
“Good.”
Gloria’s voice softened.
“I also don’t want you thinking she treats people carelessly. She doesn’t. She just sometimes believes hiding fear is the same as protecting everyone.”
The unfinished marathon. The incomplete explanation.
“Thank you,” I said.
“You’re welcome. And for the record, Lola invited you because she likes you. Not because of the competition.”
“I like her too.”
“I know. You answered ankylosaurus.”
“That was a basic question.”
“Not in our family.”
When the call ended, I returned to the kitchen. Dani stood.
“What did she say?”
“That your family evaluates people through dinosaur preferences.”
“A sound system.”
“What else?” she asked.
“Private conversation.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“You hate privacy when it’s mine.”
“I respect appropriate privacy.”
“What did she say about me?”
“That you are persuasive.”
Dani smiled.
“I knew she respected me.”
Tessa placed four mugs in the sink.
“She did not sound respectful.”
“You’re not family.”
“I was on speakerphone. We bonded.”
I folded the disclosure plan.
“Next Sunday, we explain the competition to Lola.”
Dani accepted the condition. “And then dinner?”
“Yes.”
“Still coming?”
She made the question casual. Her fingers tapped once against her thigh.
“I said I would.”
“You’re allowed to change your mind.”
“I am aware.”
She looked relieved when I did not. I told myself the relief was logistical.
Monday’s assignment required a sponsored shopping date at Summit Sports, one training item for each partner, and a two-minute video explaining the choices. The two-hundred-dollar credit and scoring categories immediately justified a comparison sheet.
Dani’s voice message arrived before I finished the first column.
“Price. Do not make a spreadsheet. I can feel it happening.”
I defended responsible spending. She replied that I made budgeting sound hot, scheduled Wednesday at six, and called it a date.
It is an assignment, I wrote.
Wear the blue shirt.
I did.
Summit Sports occupied two floors near the downtown riverfront.
The first floor held running shoes, apparel, and fitness equipment.
The second contained outdoor gear, bikes, and enough technical accessories to prepare for a weather event.
Dani waited beside the entrance beneath a giant photograph of a mountain runner.
She wore dark jeans, a cropped black sweatshirt, and bright red trainers.
Her hair was loose. I had not seen it loose outside the diner.
The sight created an inconvenient delay in my mental processing. Dani looked at my blue top beneath the light jacket. Her smile changed.
“You took a recommendation.”
“The shirt is practical.”
“Looks practical.”
“That tone is unnecessary.”
“You look beautiful.”
The sincerity arrived before I could defend against it. Dani had said the same thing during the fake relationship planning and the yoga practice. It should have become easier to hear. It had not.
“Thank you,” I said.
Some of the tension left her, as if the acceptance mattered. She held up a small camera on a handheld stabilizer.
“Blake lent us the equipment.”
“I know. They sent a fourteen-minute instructional video.”
“Did you watch it?”
“At double speed.”
“Of course.”
I outlined the opening, product selection, explanation, and closing shot. Dani preferred wandering around and acting charming. Before I could object, she started recording.
“Week Three shopping date. Amy has made a production plan.”
“We are selecting practical training items within the sponsor budget.”
“And deepening our emotional connection through retail.”
“That is not required.”
“Our relationship in one sentence.”
She stopped recording, pleased. “Natural.”
“I objected for twenty seconds.”
“Exactly.”
We moved toward the shoe department. A salesperson greeted us and explained that the sponsor credit could be used toward any running-related items. Dani immediately picked up a pair of neon yellow racing shoes.
“No,” I said.
“You haven’t seen the price.”
“They are fluorescent.”
“Safety.”
“They appear radioactive.”
“You’d never get lost.”
“I do not get lost.”
“You print routes.”
“Preparation prevents becoming lost.”
Dani placed the shoes against my feet.
“They’d look good.”
“They would look like emergency equipment.”
The salesperson smiled.
“Are you shopping for both of you?”
“Yes,” Dani said.
“For the competition,” I added.
The salesperson’s gaze moved between us.
“Right. I saw the video.”
Of course she had. Dani put an arm around my shoulders. Level One. Allowed.
“Local celebrities,” she said.
“I am not a celebrity.”
“You have a fan account.”
“Tessa told you?”
“Tessa follows it.”
“I need to change my emergency contact.”
The salesperson laughed. Dani looked pleased. We began with shoes because mine had accumulated more mileage than expected. Dani rejected my researched model as too firm.
“The durability rating is higher.”
“Your feet do not read reviews.”
A pressure-mat and treadmill analysis recommended a more cushioned shoe. Dani noticed when I altered my stride to look experienced and told me to stop performing. The salesperson asked whether we always communicated this way.
“Yes,” we answered together.
Dani held up the recommended pair.
“Try these.”
“The color is pink.”
“Coral.”
“It is pink.”
“Scared?”
“No.”
“Then put them on.”
I sat on the fitting bench. Dani knelt in front of me before the salesperson could assist.
“I can tie my own shoes.”
“I know.”
She loosened the laces and guided my foot into the first shoe. Her hand cupped the back of my ankle, entirely practical. My body supplied the complication. She adjusted the tongue, tightened the laces, and pressed one thumb lightly over the top of my foot.
“Too tight?”
“No.”
Her head was bowed. Dark hair fell forward near her cheek. The camera remained on the bench beside us. No one was recording. The moment did not belong to the assignment. Dani looked up. Our faces were closer than necessary.