Chapter Thirteen The Coffeemaker’s To Blame, Really. If You Think About It
Rhys
RHYS HAD SURVIVED a lot of things.
Group presentations in undergrad. Getting locked in the copier room with Greg from HR during fire drill week. Accidentally replying-all to a company-wide email with a GIF of a screaming raccoon.
But he wasn’t sure he was going to survive meeting Linda’s parents while fake dating her.
Correction: while very real liking her. Possibly in love with her. While still pretending to need her to be his beard. Not his totally-not-crushing, emotionally safe, brunch-certified soulmate.
Which was, frankly, becoming an Olympic sport in emotional masochism.
He flopped onto his couch. Sir Stumps-a-Lot gave a soft grunt from the cushion next to him and didn’t even look up from his half-destroyed pinecone.
Rhys stared at the dog.
Sir Stumps-a-Lot stared back.
They were surrounded by emotional debris: a half-eaten bag of popcorn, one sock (his, hopefully), and the crushing weight of looming emotional consequences.
Rhys took a deep breath, then did what any man in distress would do.
He opened the Room of Requirement group chat.
?? Room of Requirement
Rhys: Emergency. Need sister therapy. And maybe pie. And maybe a script .
Liv: Oh no. Did you accidentally propose?
Darcy: You’re not allowed to text “emergency” unless the corgi is missing or you finally admitted your feelings to Linda.
Rhys: Okay but like What if it’s worse What if I’m meeting her parents this weekend and she still thinks she’s my brunch decoy and not her emotionally inept fake boyfriend who’s in love with her
Liv:
...
Darcy:
You haven't told her yet?
Rhys: I KNOW And now I’m meeting her dad. HER DAD, Liv. HER. DAD.
Darcy: You’re going to die of cowardness .
Liv: Do you have a will? Should we go through your vinyl and pick what we want?
Rhys: THIS IS NOT HELPFUL. You are the ones who told me to “lean into it” I leaned too hard.
Darcy: Then here’s actual help. You need to tell her before the parental summit. You need to be honest.
Rhys: But what if she just wants to stay my beard? What if this is all one big elaborate code for “please stay in your box and don’t ruin my stability with your feelings”?
Liv: She brought you to a picnic, babe.
Darcy: You’re already ruining her stability with your feelings. You just haven’t owned it yet.
Rhys: I don’t want to hurt her.
Liv: We told you to lean into it almost five months ago. It’s way past time .
Darcy: Honesty is hot, bro.
Rhys: Okay. Okay okay okay. I’m going to tell her. Before the parent meet. Tomorrow. Tonight, if I don’t combust.
Darcy: YES.
Liv: DO IT.
Darcy: If you need a backup plan, we’ll fake a medical emergency.
Rhys: What kind of emergency?
Darcy: Stumps swallows a decorative napkin ring and has to be helicoptered to a Very Fancy Vet.
Liv: OR you faint from emotional repression. Either works.
Rhys: Helpful. Terrifying. Thanks .
Liv: We believe in you. Also tell her she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you, you walking cardigan.
Rhys: I can’t say that out loud.
But he wanted to. God, he wanted to say it so badly he could feel the shape of it in his chest. It hurt not to. He thought of her last Friday, cross-legged on his couch, trying to win an argument with a toaster in a Buzzfeed quiz. Beautiful. Brilliant. A total menace.
Darcy: Then write it down. Or text her. Or yell it into a pillow and hope she hears it by osmosis. Just don’t let her walk into that house thinking this isn’t real. Because we all know it is.
Sir Stumps-a-Lot barked once from the couch, then flopped over dramatically like he was already mourning Rhys’s dignity.
“Even you’re judging me now?” Rhys muttered.
The dog sighed.
Rhys opened Linda’s contact.
Hovered over the call button .
Then, like a man stepping into war armed only with SPF 50 and the support of two meddling sisters and a judgmental corgi…
He pressed it.
“Hey,” came Linda’s voice. Bright. A little too warm. “I can’t talk right now. I’m dealing with a coffee maker uprising. Also, if it’s you, alarm clock. I have called the exorcist, you won’t win. Anyway, if you’re human…call me back later!”
Shit.
Because when you finally decide to say the thing?
The coffee maker always rebels.
Rhys lowered the phone. Pressed it to his chest like it could hold the words in. “Call me back,” he whispered. “Please.”