16. Jess
Jess:
Help! I think I might have done a dumb thing.
Anna:
And you didn’t invite me?
Jess:
Focus, Anna! I’ve got a man on his way to my place right now so we can talk about him being my fake boyfriend.
Anna:
Wait, WHAT?? How is this appropriate for a text conversation and not a phone call??
Jess:
I don’t know! I’m panicking!! HELP ME!!
Anna:
Okay but you aren’t giving me a lot to work with here. Who is this man that’s coming to your house? Please tell me you at least know him.
Jess:
Connor Price.
Anna:
Connor Price as in Hottie From Next Door Connor Price?
Jess:
That’s the one. We kind of reconnected over Thanksgiving but then Sammie and Kennedi bought me a Hearts Unlimited membership and so I lied and said he was my boyfriend and now he’s coming over.
Anna:
OMG you are in so much trouble for not telling me any of this sooner!
Jess:
CLOCK IS TICKING, ANNA, HE’S ON HIS WAY!
Anna:
Okay okay, I’m sorry!! What do you need my help with though? Hot guy you used to be obsessed with is signing up to be your fake boyfriend so you don’t have to internet date…I’m not seeing a problem.
Jess:
I might have gone to the wrong friend with this issue.
Anna:
????
Connor:
Hey, fake girlfriend. I’m here.
“Oh snap, Henry, he’s here! What do I do?”
I stare at my goldfish, half hoping he actually has an answer for me. Maybe start by answering the door, stupid.
“Oh! Right! Good thinking!”
Before I have the chance to self-reflect on why I give Henry his own voice in my head, I run to the door and fling it open, not remotely prepared for what I see standing before me.
With a six-pack of beer in one hand and a box of pizza in the other, Connor’s grin hits me with a one-two punch to the gut and the chest. He’s casually dressed for what might be the first time in his life in jeans and a gray henley that fits snug in all the right places. Gah! Why does he have to be so pretty? It’s just not fair.
“I hope it’s not as presumptuous as my brother said it would be to bring dinner without asking you what you wanted. But pizza and beer are usually staples, right?”
You can’t torch the smile off my face right now. “I can’t believe you did that, that’s so nice! Especially since I’m 90% sure you’re going to want to back out of this deal. Here, let me help you with that.” I take the pizza from his hands and lead him into the living room. “Follow me, I’ll grab us some plates and get you a bottle opener for those.”
We make our way into my tiny kitchen, where Connor sets the beers down on the counter and takes off his coat. “Is it all right if I just set this here?” he asks as he motions towards one of the two chairs in my make-shift breakfast nook.
It’s really just a wall where cabinets should have been built, but when you’re a renter, you make do with what you get.
“Yeah, absolutely.”
Then suddenly, as if taking off his coat is like shedding a suit of armor and my dishes magically make me forget all the words I’ve learned in the last 34 years, the room gets uncomfortably silent.
“Ooh, pepperoni,” I so keenly observe after opening the pizza box.
“I figured that would be a safe bet,” he says with his hands in his pockets.
“Dee-lish,” I add awkwardly. I hate myself.
I fumble through a kitchen drawer for a bottle opener and hand it over to him. “What fine beverages have you procured for us there?” I ask.
Seriously, I hate myself. Why am I talking like an old-timey bartender?
“Ah!” He lights up, probably happy to have something to talk about. “I wasn’t sure what you’d like, so I got us a multi-pack. Pick your poison.”
“So many options! I think I’ll have the Fat Tire, please.”
“Excellent choice,” he nods as he grabs that and another bottle from the pack.
With a plate of pizza in each hand, I direct him to follow me back to the living room, where we sit next to each other on the couch. Here we eat, marinating in hops, cheese, and awkwardness. We trade occasional glances and acknowledging “mmm’s” between looking around the room like Waldo is hiding here somewhere.
I wonder if you can literally die from embarrassment? It feels like you can.
“This is ridiculous,” Connor finally says. “We’ve known each other for years. We should be well past the small talk stage, shouldn’t we?”
I laugh, a little relieved. “I know! But I haven’t really gotten to talk to you in so long that it feels like I’m meeting you all over again.”
“Come on now, don’t you remember all those summer afternoons at the park with that giant dragon play structure? What were we, like 12?”
“Um, duh, of course I remember. You were 12, I was 11. You were so mad because you got too big to squeeze through the dragon’s eyes to slide out the mouth. I think I could do it until I was 16, I was very proud of myself.”
“As you should have been. I could still squeeze through the ribs for shelter, though, and that was almost as important.”
“How are we not more disturbed by that memory?”
“I’m not sure,” he chuckles. “Who was that kid who always had a thing for you?”
“What?”
“Oh, come on, don’t act like you don’t remember. What was his name? Bobby? Robby?”
“Wait, are you talking about Ronny?”
“Ronny! Yes!”
I scoff. “He didn’t have a thing for me, he was just…he was…”
“He miraculously appeared whenever we rode our bikes past his house towards the park. He most definitely had a thing for you.”
“Whatever.” I roll my eyes. “Oh man, I remember how mad he’d get at you, though, because once you got through the dragon ribs, you’d declare the entire area as ours and you wouldn’t let him in. What was that about?”
“I told you, he had a thing for you and I didn’t like him. I had to make sure you had a safe haven in the dragon’s underbelly.”
“Ah, my hero,” I smile as I take a sip from the bottle, grateful to have some ease in the conversation.
His answering grin comes just as easily. “That was the idea, yeah.”
There’s a small beat where we look at one another, but this time it’s charged with something different from the discomfort of before.
“Tell me something that’s a guilty pleasure,” I blurt out. I’m not ready to get into why he’s here just yet.
He raises his eyebrows. “Guilty pleasure?”
“Yeah. Something you really, like, luxuriate in but don’t want to admit.”
“Wow, intense. But I don’t really feel guilty about anything I luxuriate in.” His confidence is enviable.
“Really? Not even a little?”
He shakes his head. “Nope. I don’t get much time for luxuriating, so I don’t feel bad about how I spend it when I do.”
“I have so much to learn from you.”
He chuckles. “I take it you have a guilty pleasure, then?”
I’m still in awe of his self-assurance, but nod and softly answer, “Carnal Island.”
He does a little bit of a double take and repeats, “Carnal Island?”
“Have you never heard of it?” I gasp. “What am I saying, of course you haven’t. You’ve got to see this. It’s the best worst hour of television ever made.”
“That’s a pretty strong sell, there.”
“And it’s not for nothing.” I grab the remote and fill him in while Hulu loads. “So there’s this island in Fiji, right?”
“Carnal Island, right?”
“Technically no, ironically. That’s just the name of the show, but yes, it’s the setting for our star-crossed lovers here. 16 people in total, they each rotate through various couplings for the daily challenges. But the catch is only 12 of them think they’re there to find true love.”
“What about the other four people?”
“I’m glad you asked, Connor! The other four are planted there by the producers and their whole role is to sabotage the couples. Each week, two people get chucked off the island and the last two standing get the $500,000 grand prize.”
Connor processes this for a few seconds before asking, “But what if the last two people are one mole and one of the other contestants? Or what if they’re not in love at all? What if the two moles end up falling in love?”
I stare at him incredulously. “I think you might be too analytical to watch this with me.”
“Those are valid questions!”
“Are they though? Look, don’t overthink it, okay? It’s an over-produced ‘reality’ show,” I make air quotes for added effect, “and it couldn’t be trashier if it tried. Just eat your pizza and look at all the hot women in bikinis, you’ll love it, I promise.”
45 minutes, half a pizza, and four beers later, the credits are rolling and I turn the TV off.
“Wait!” Connor protests. “That’s it?”
“Until next week, yeah.”
“So you’re telling me I have to wait seven more days to find out if Samara’s the mole or just a bitch?”
I bark out a laugh. “I mean, I feel like she’s probably a bitch either way, so…” I stand up to clear the plates and he follows suit, grabbing the empty bottles.
The clean up is quick, and my nerves start to fray when there’s nothing left to load in the dishwasher.
Connor distracts me by pointing to the pantry door.
“Is that…?”
“The Pantry of Doom? Yes, yes it is.” I can tell he’s itching to open it, but I know that once he sees the chaos inside, everything will change between us. He’ll have nightmares for years. “Maybe I should go ahead and tell you what happened this afternoon.”
That’s how bad my pantry is; I prefer to tell Connor about his genesis as my fake boyfriend over having him see the state of my non-perishable food items.
Relief fills my lungs when his interest shifts completely to me and I proceed to tell him the story of my afternoon at work.
He pauses when I’m done to absorb the whole ridiculous situation. Fair—it’s a lot to take in. To my surprise, he doesn’t immediately have a rebuttal…but I brace for one anyway.
Instead, he asks a question. “How can your coworkers be that involved in your love life?”
I sigh. “It’s a small company. They knew Alex. They saw my divorce up close. They mean well, they really do, and I appreciate them. But I just…I get tired of constantly feeling like a charity case, you know? I’m perfectly happy being single, I’m not sure why they don’t believe me. I don’t know, maybe this whole thing is a dumb idea,” I groan. “I’m so sorry, I should never have dragged you into this.”
Connor stuffs his hands into his pockets and leans his hip against the counter, his glance moving around slightly. He’s thinking of how to gracefully bow out, I’m sure. Which is for the better. I’ve teed it up for him, all he has to do is hit it out of the park and we can move on like none of this ever happened.
When his gaze finally settles back on me, he looks determined, and I anchor myself in preparation. “Did you know there are actually six different ways to learn to play guitar?” he asks.
Okay, that’s not what I anchored myself in preparation for. “Uhhh no. I did not know that.”
He nods. “Yup. And there are actually four different types of guitars. I thought that was really interesting, I used to think there were only three.”
“That’s gr?—”
“See, if you’d gone through my PowerPoint presentation, you’d know all of that. But I understand you had some things come up. And my point isn’t even about the guitar trivia, it’s about the fact that there wouldn’t be a PowerPoint presentation if it weren’t for you. Jess, I was going insane this morning, and you were the only person who knew I needed an actual project to keep me busy. I only texted Lisa five times today to ask for work updates.”
“That still feels like a lot.”
“It’s not. It’s not at all. Look, what I’m saying is that what you did for me today might have seemed small to you, but it was really helpful to me. And not just for today, but for the next six weeks. So if you need a date for this party or a fake boyfriend for the holidays or whatever the case may be, please let me fill those shoes for you.”
It’s maybe one of the nicest things anyone has ever offered to do for me. And he doesn’t even sound insincere about it. I chew on my lip.
“All right, there is one condition,” he confesses.
I smile. “What’s that?”
“You have to let me look at that pantry, it’s killing me.”
I laugh, but it’s mostly nerves because no. “Okay, you’ve got to go now.” I grab his arm—holy cannoli, that is a firm arm—and pull him out of the kitchen. He comes with me willingly but doesn’t let me off the hook. Standing back in the living room, he extends his hand for a shake.
“Do we have a deal? I’m officially your fake boyfriend?” he asks.
My shoulders drop and I accept my fate. His hand envelops mine in a firm grip and lightning travels up my arm, straight to my chest. “Deal.” My voice is breathy. Apparently touching Connor turns me into a Marilyn Monroe impersonator.
We smile at each other for a beat before he asks, “Fake couples hug, right?”
“Yeah,” I laugh as he steps into my space and pulls me in for a tight squeeze. I smell the evergreen in his aftershave and feel the muscles under his coat and for a moment I just let myself enjoy the feeling of being in the arms of a strong man who isn’t related to me.
“I’m just going to go grab the last two beers out of your fridge to take home if that’s all right?”
He’s already halfway to the kitchen when he says it, and it takes me a little by surprise. It isn’t like I need the beers but usually when you bring drinks to someone’s house you leave them for—oh no!
I run after him. He isn’t grabbing the beers, he’s trying to…
“HOW DO YOU LIVE LIKE THIS?!”
…sneak a peek at my pantry.
And that’s not even a euphemism.
I linger sheepishly in the doorway while he stands in shock, staring at the dry goods chaos before him. He tries to shut the door, but too many chip bags have fallen out and when he reaches to move those, the cereal boxes play Domino Rally and topple over onto his head. On their way down, they hit a box of pasta, which slams onto the floor and sends bowtie noodles flying in every direction.
The poor man is speechless. He turns at the waist and glances over his shoulder at me, looking for an explanation I can’t give him.
“At least the canned goods are secure,” I try.
He steps away slowly, farfalle crunching under his shoes, before putting his hand on my shoulder. “I’m going to need a broom. Then I’m going to go home and I’m going to do some planning. Then tomorrow I will be back to drink that beer and fix whatever that,” he motions blindly behind him towards the pantry, “is.”
I nod. “I’ll just leave the door unlocked when I leave for work. You’re gonna need all day.”