9. CHAPTER 9
Jeremy
Monday dawns with the harsh truth that the world doesn’t pause even after a weekend as surreal in my memory as a dream. In the bathroom, I fiddle with my tie, a mechanical gesture that’s become second nature. However, I cannot focus on the day’s agenda. Zuri invades my consciousness, her image haunting me through two restless nights. Memories of the lilt of her laughter, the velvety touch of her skin, and the shimmer of her eyes linger. Longing shivers through me over my struggle to keep my desires at bay, the battle within not to capture her lips with mine.
The truth hits harder than I dare admit—the thought of plunging back into the depths of intimacy terrifies me to my core, especially after my last venture left me nursing a heart so fragmented I feared it was beyond repair. Yet, with Zuri, the outlook is shifting. Our paths crossed briefly. But now, she’s transcending the boundaries of our contrived romantic charade and morphing into something genuine, stirring excitement and dread.
I retreat to my bedroom, and my phone breaks the silence, a reminder flashing from the dresser. It’s about the café, the furniture shopping I agreed to do with Zuri. My gut twists. Facing her with my emotions in such disarray feels impossible, and I have nothing tangible to offer her. With reluctance, my fingers type out a message.
Jeremy: Sorry I can’t go furniture shopping. I’ll connect you with a designer to help you.
I’m busy, and Zuri is well aware of my long working hours anyway.
I press send and silence the voice in my head urging me to reconsider. Then the phone rings, sending a jolt through me. My stomach performs acrobatics as I brace for Zuri’s response. However, it soon relaxes. It’s just my brother calling.
“Gavin!” I exhale as my tension lifts.
“Don’t tell me I interrupted another one of your early morning workout sessions.”
“If you count pacing and stressing as a workout, then yes.” I drift toward the window overlooking the traffic. Despite my penthouse’s proximity to the office, I prefer the solitude of my car for the late-night journeys home.
“Been waiting for the fiancée update—”
“I know.” I cut Gavin off, wincing over not keeping him in the loop. Zuri’s sudden presence in my life—Would I call it a distraction or a revelation? “It’s been hectic.” Yes, that’s what I’d call it.
“Mom’s been hounding me about this mysterious fiancée of yours. What’s going on?”
I’ve never been one to withhold anything from Gavin, yet I’ve hesitated to bring up Zuri and this web of pretense we’ve spun.
Exhaling deeply, I massage the tension at the back of my neck. “You know Mom. She’s already making ridiculous sleeping arrangements—like Sonya bunking in your room.” I grumble at the absurdity of our mother’s plans, which place my ex uncomfortably close to my room.
Gavin laughs off Mom’s meddling ways, even her ludicrous hopes of him rekindling with his ex-girlfriend, Lucky, over his bride-to-be, Hope.
“And yet, you’re letting her orchestrate your wedding.”
“Try living in the same town as her.” He laughs, but it rings hollow, betraying his resignation to our mother’s influence. “But seriously, bro, where are you going to get a fiancée this fast? One willing to travel to Colorado for a week.”
“Actually, I’ve found someone. Zuri.” Oh man, listen to how naturally her name flows into our conversation.
“Zuri?”
I chuckle at his astonishment. Then I move about my room to mask the underlying emotions tied to her name. I share how we met, but I carefully select my words. I slide on my watch, needing to keep busy whenever I talk about her. It’s my tactic to maintain emotional detachment.
Despite this, when I recount our staged date and the not-so-staged dance, my brother seems to sense the depth of my turmoil. “It doesn’t sound like you”re pretending, buddy. Are you sure there isn’t more to it?”
I falter. Probably a good moment to divert the topic to his wedding plans. “I’m not staying under the same roof with Sonya.” I clench the phone and grind my teeth. “Who does Mom think she is to control everyone’s life?”
“Chill, bro. I’ll talk to Hope. I’m sure she’ll host Zuri, and I’ll persuade Mom that my best man needs to stay in my house.”
“Thanks.” A bit of the tightness coiling my muscles loosens, and I flex my grip on the phone, rubbing at the pinched skin where its sleek lines indented my flesh. It’s best we avoid any scenarios that might throw Zuri into unwelcome attention or, worse, make her the project of my overenthusiastic mother and Sonya.
As Gavin lists the relatives descending upon the wedding, I’m only half engaged. His earlier observation again gnaws at me, unveiling a truth I’m not prepared to confront.
“Glad you’ve got yourself that fake fiancée already. Mom’s likely to pay you a visit any day.”
His words jolt me more effectively than my morning kombucha. “Wait, what do you mean ‘pay me a visit’?”
“She’s gearing up to interrogate you about this new fiancée of yours. And just so you’re aware, she’s been briefing Sonya on your impending return.”
Seriously? My enthusiasm plummets at the mention of my mother’s relentless schemes. By the time I end the call, my thoughts are in a tumult. It’s six o’clock—I’m already ten minutes late for work. Today, however, my tardiness isn’t without reason. Conversations with my brother have an uncanny ability to disrupt my schedule, but I look forward to catching up with him. Good thing, he always times his calls before I step into the office.
Mondays unfailingly usher in a deluge of work, but today, the welcome diversion keeps my mind tethered to my responsibilities, especially with the month’s end looming on the horizon. The routine is rigorous: reviewing departmental performance metrics, scrutinizing financial statements, and pinpointing inefficiencies poised to derail productivity, among a host of other duties. These tasks, too vast to conquer in a single day, spill over to consume my week with an unrelenting pace designed to ward off distractions. Yet, even this methodical madness cannot prevent my thoughts from drifting to Zuri each night as I check my phone. Despite the long hours crafted to negate the need to bring work home—my attempt at drawing a boundary—the silence of my phone echoes the chasm I’ve placed between us. It’s for the best, of course, though the hollowness now gnawing at me suggests otherwise.
By Sunday, the cycle breaks, and I join Nico and Wes, my confidants in trivial and significant matters on the golf course. Amid our leisurely game, Nico veers the conversation to the subject I’ve adeptly avoided: Zuri. “So, you’re okay with ghosting the charming Zuri, then parading her as your fiancée at the wedding?”
I huff, my evasion settling heavily. “We shared a moment,” I confess, acknowledging the depth of our connection for the first time, even as I question my convictions. “A genuine moment. And I can’t afford that right now.”
Wes halts our progress with a gesture of his club. “Those are the complications I warned you about.”
A rabbit darts across our path, emblematic of my attempts to escape reality. “I thought I could navigate this fake-dating scenario, but with Zuri, it feels different.”
Nico whistles, and a rare seriousness overcomes his usually lighthearted demeanor. “It’s a sign, you know. That you’re still open to the idea of love.”
Resuming our game, I position the golf ball with a focused determination, grip the club, and channel the tumult of my emotions into the swing, striking the ball with excessive force. It arcs through the sky, a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil and reluctant admission. “Perhaps I am falling… just a bit.” My acknowledgment lifts an invisible burden, even as the reality of my feelings settle in.
The remainder of the game passes with more jokes and jibes, yet my thoughts incessantly revert to Zuri. Her essence permeates my senses, and her floral vanilla-infused scent lingers in my memory, evoking images of her close to me, her laughter, her touch. Little wonder my focus falters and Nico claims victory over me, a loss that costs me dinner.
During my drive home, the city lights twinkle like distant stars, and my mind circles back to that connection with Zuri. In the brief fortnight she graced my life before I consciously distanced myself, I caught myself looking forward to the workdays with an eagerness I hadn’t known, all for the chance glimpses of her during her unexpected visits. The silence that now stretches between us carves a void in my space, a loneliness that hasn’t been so evident in years. Perhaps it’s time to confront my feelings head-on. Given our arrangement, the fallout of any potential rejection should theoretically be less daunting, cushioned by the pretense of our relationship.
Yet, as I park and reach for my phone, intent on bridging the gap I’ve created, my thumb stalls above her name. Yes, I’m still wrestling with the resurgence of past fears—a potential heartbreak.
The phone, a silent witness to my internal struggle, remains cradled in my grasp. I’m at a crossroads, teetering between the allure of what could be and the shadows of past pains. Again, caution prevails. I exit the car, the weight of unresolved what-ifs accompanying me, as inescapable as an unbalanced spreadsheet.
***
It’s Tuesday. I’m stepping back into the fortress of my office after navigating a high-stakes meeting when the buzz of my desk phone snatches my attention. My mother’s name illuminates the screen, and dread nips at me—a prelude to the inevitable storm her calls usher in.
But I answer anyway.
“Jeremy, dear, I’ll be in the Bay Area today.” She speaks before I can say hello, but it doesn’t register until she adds, “We should go out to lunch.”
I weigh my options against the immutable force that is my mother’s will. “Mom, today’s schedule is packed tight with meetings.” I barely conceal my plea for a deferment. A mental buffer against her spontaneity is not just preferred—it’s essential.
“Absolute nonsense.” She dismisses me with the ease of someone accustomed to bending reality to her whim. “I’m already in San Francisco. I’ll swing by your office, and we’ll dine out. Consider it done.”
The battle, as always, ends before it begins. “Sure.” A sigh deflates my protest. What else can I do if she flew from Colorado to see me? Already, the call has concluded in our customary, abrupt manner—no declarations of affection.
With the call ended and no indication of when this impromptu visit will occur, urgency propels me. I must address a critical detail before her arrival—my fictitious fiancée.
Scrambling like a day trader during a downturn, I sprint to my sparse desk. Other than a lone pen and sticky note poised next to my computer, the surface is meticulously clear. “Great.” I mutter under my breath, my gaze landing on Zuri’s photo tucked beside my mouse pad. I’m not clinging to her image, but lately, I’ve found solace in glancing at it, in reminiscing about the moments we’ve enjoyed, the future we might’ve created.
It’s a candid capture of us, laughter shared over chocolate, embodying the illusion of a perfect couple. My chest tightens, closing in over the space I’ve put between us.
I reach for the photo and tap it against my chin. Where could I place this picture to hint at my relationship to Mom? A picture frame would be ideal. I stride out of my office, photo in hand, and spot Jill behind her desk, her gaze on the computer and her lollipop in her mouth.
“Those lollipops aren’t good for your teeth,” I caution, half-heartedly.
She pulls the candy from her mouth. “I brush three times a day. My teeth can handle it—and your dental plan is good.” She smirks. But her gaze shifts to the photo, and her brow rises. “What’s that?”
Admitting the oddity of my request, I nod to the family photo on her desk. “Could I borrow your picture frame for a few hours?”
Jill snatches the photo, a grin unfolding. “My, my, my. If this isn’t my boss, smitten.” Her head tilts. “I’m surprised Zuri hasn’t been around since the awards ceremony. You two were the coziest couple on the dance floor.”
“I need a frame,” I press. “My mother’s visiting soon, and I’ve got to convince her I’m genuinely in love.”
“But you are in love, aren’t you?” She opens a drawer to reveal a stash of frames. “Lucky for you, I have spares I haven’t used yet.”
She hands me a sleek, silver frame. “Will this do?”
“It’s perfect. Thank you.” I stand there, arms awkward at my side.
She inserts the photo before handing it over, one corner sticky where her fingers smudged it. “You can keep the frame, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I hasten to my office, her warning words bouncing against my back.
“You’d better treat that girl right. She’s a keeper, you know.”
I don’t turn to engage in response. She must’ve sensed something since Zuri hasn’t made any impromptu visits lately. I don’t need a reminder of the complexity of our situation.
Back at my desk, I position the framed photo so I can admire it, yet it’s visible to anyone entering. This visual cue had better deter Mom’s persistent attempts to link me with Sonya. Still, the setup feels like a declaration of a relationship that’s both ridiculously nonexistent yet palpably real in my heart.