Chapter 19 Clark
CLARK
Saturday morning arrives cold and cloudy, threatening rain. But as they say, “April showers bring May flowers.” The month is almost over, along with the Love at First Wag contract. I’m not sure what that will mean for my best friend/fake girlfriend and me. But first, we have to survive Easter.
My Jeep is loaded with our bags and an elaborate travel crate system that makes it look like we’re relocating a small zoo. Which, honestly, isn’t far from the truth.
“Your parents are really okay with us bringing all of them?” April asks as we navigate early morning traffic toward the airport.
“They insisted. My family operates on a ‘the more, the merrier’ philosophy—whether you have two legs or four.”
“That’s sweet.”
“Wait until you see what they have planned. Mom texted me last night about Easter baskets and something involving bunny ear headbands. I’m afraid to ask for details.”
April laughs, and the sound eases some of the tension that’s been building in my chest since we decided to do this.
After a moment, she asks, “What are we going to tell them?”
There it is. The question we’ve been dancing around for days.
“I don’t know. What do you want to tell them?”
“I asked you first.”
“Well …” My leg jiggles.
She fidgets with her purse strap. “We should probably be on the same page before we get there.”
“Agreed. So ... options?”
We pull into the airport parking lot, and I’m saved from answering by the chaos of unloading five dogs and their travel crates. The charter flight company we’re using is pet-friendly, but even they look slightly overwhelmed when we show up with our entourage.
“That’s a lot of dogs,” the attendant observes.
“We’re aware,” April says with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
I imagine she’s less concerned with how travel is going to work with the pack and more than slightly worried about meeting the parents as fake girlfriend and boyfriend.
Once we’re through security and waiting to board at the private terminal, April picks up the conversation thread like we never left it.
Ordinarily, this is a good thing. But these circumstances have us both on edge.
It would be so much easier to avoid the confrontation altogether.
Though maybe, not in the long run. My mother is very observant.
She and Badaszek could form a super alliance and conquer nations.
“Okay. Options. We tell them the truth about the fake dating.”
I consider this. “Pro: We’re not lying to my family.”
“Con: We have to explain the entire campaign, which sounds ridiculous out loud. And kind of shady. Also shallow. I mean, why would we agree to such a thing?” She scoffs as if it’s absurd.
It is, but if you look at it from a lovelorn fool’s perspective, it makes perfect sense.
But then I’d have to confess my feeling and that could get really messy really quick.
“It really does,” I admit. “Option two: We don’t tell them anything and let them think it’s real.”
“Pro: No awkward explanations.”
“Con: We’re lying to your family.”
We both fall silent as we’re called to get on the airplane.
April takes the window seat, and I settle in beside her.
We gave the dogs some calming treats and now they’re secured in the cargo area, where it’s climate-controlled and comfortable—I insisted on getting a tour when I first started using this company. Still, I can tell April is worried.
“They’ll be fine,” I assure her.
“I know. It’s just ... Purdy is still so nervous about new things.”
“She’s got Moose. He won’t let anything happen to her.” I nudge her with my elbow. If we were really dating, I’d put my arm around her, snuggle her close. What will that look like in front of my family? We didn’t draw those lines when we made up our rules.
Once we’re in the air, April says, “There’s a third option.”
“Which is?”
“We tell them we’re dating, but we don’t specify that it’s fake. We just ... let them draw their own conclusions.”
I turn to look at her, uncertainty rippling through me. “So, we don’t lie, but we don’t volunteer the whole truth either?”
“Exactly. If they ask direct questions, we answer honestly. But we don’t lead with ‘Hey, by the way, this is all a big charade for a charity campaign.’”
“That could work.”
“Or it could blow up spectacularly in our faces.”
“There’s that possibility too.” I adjust my baseball hat.
My mother isn’t nosy per se, not like Sophia Snodgrass-Schuster or Mrs. Gormely, but she loves to yap.
My father jokes that after they say goodnight to each other, she routinely has no less than three conversation topics to cover before she actually goes to sleep. Usually, he dozes off halfway through.
I let out a shaky breath, anticipating that Mom will throw some curveballs, not to be sneaky, but because she loves being involved in my life. But then another concern arises. “What if they know the truth, but the other dinner guests get curious?”
April thinks for a moment. “We can tell them that after being friends for ten years, we, um, realized there was something more.” Her voice is careful, measured.
I nod. “Like what we told the interviewers. That sounds plausible.”
It’s basically what actually happened for me, anyway.
She adds, “The fake dating thing just gave us an excuse to explore it.”
My heart hits turbulence, drops at least ten thousand feet. “Is that what we’re doing? Exploring it?”
April’s gaze meets mine, and for a moment, I think she’s going to say yes. That she feels it too—that this thing between us that stopped being fake somewhere along the way.
But then the pilot announces our descent, and the moment dissolves.
We land in Oregon mid-afternoon, collect our very excited dogs, and rent an SUV large enough for our canine entourage. The drive to my parents’ house on the eastern side of the state takes about an hour through rolling hills.
“I forgot how beautiful it is here,” she says.
“It’s too bad your parents moved back to the coast right after you graduated.”
She laughs. “After my mother insisted they move inland because she wanted to try out that rustic mountain life like the latest in fashion trends, she only lasted a year. Missed her social life.”
There’s something sad in April’s voice when she mentions her parents—usually, I just hear frustration and irritation.
I reach over and catch her hand. “Hey, everything okay?”
She shrugs. “They didn’t even bother to call to see if I’d be coming home for Easter.”
It wasn’t that long ago, but I now realize she didn’t go home for Christmas either. I wonder if they’re slowly erasing her from their lives since she’s not living up to their standards of “the daughter they can brag to their friends about.”
“Whatever happens this weekend or whenever ... you always have me, you know that, right?”
“Friends?” she asks, but the sadness is still there.
I squeeze her hand. “Always.”
However, I cannot help but fear that going back to “just friends” might be impossible now.
My parents’ house comes into view, and the dogs rustle as we slow down. April’s jaw drops at the multitude of Easter decorations. Plastic eggs and garlands adorn the trees. There are inflatable bunnies, pastel streamers, and in the center, a giant wooden cross.
“Wow,” April breathes. “Your mom really commits.”
I shake my head. “You have no idea. You see, while she loves Christmas, Easter is her thing, and all these decorations are a bid for grandchildren. Yes, she asks me when I’m going to settle down every time we talk.”
April swallows thickly and we’ve barely parked before the front door flies open. My entire family spills out. Mom leads the charge, arms outstretched, followed by Dad, my sister Claudia, who is a couple of years younger than me, and my twin brothers—who triumphantly just turned twenty.
“Clark! April! You made it!” Mom engulfs us both in hugs that smell like vanilla and home.
“Hi, Mrs. Culpepper,” April says.
Mom immediately pulls back. “It’s Cheryl, honey. We’ve been over this. I am so glad you’re here. I’ve always hoped Clark would officially bring you home, you know,” she whispers.
April catches my gaze, likely wondering if I heard that. Yes, yes, I did.
Mom turns her attention to the SUV. “And you brought all the dogs! Oh, let me see them!”
The next ten minutes are a three-ring circus as we release five very excited dogs into my parents’ huge, fenced backyard.
Moose and Lulu immediately start a game of tug-of-war with a stick.
Scout herds Buster and Purdy into a corner like he’s managing sheep.
My brothers are laughing, and Claudia has already claimed Purdy as her new best friend.
“Come in, come in!” Mom ushers us inside. “You must be exhausted. Dinner is warming—oh, which one is Purdy? She’s precious! And this must be Lulu?”
“Mom knows all their names,” I mutter to April.
She nudges me. “Because she follows your social media.” Then she narrows her eyes at me and, in a hush, asks, “Are all the dogs so she stops pestering you about grandkids?”
I shake my head. “What? No.” If only she knew the truth. The dogs are purely for April. To keep her close. To offer her what she loves. But I wouldn’t say no to marriage and kids.
I help dad with the luggage and my sister Claudia pulls out the hockey sticks for street hockey later. “Clark, when are you going to wife her up?”
I freeze, then through the open window in the kitchen, I hear my mother say, “Now, about sleeping arrangements—”
Not wanting this to be awkward for April, I sprint into the house as Mom leads April down the hallway, and I brace myself.
She and I made it through senior year without ever seeing each other’s bedrooms. Not that there was anything incriminating in mine, but still.
It feels strangely intimate for her to see where seventeen-year-old Clark pined over her.
But it’s not there.
“We’re doing a remodel!” Mom announces brightly, opening a door to reveal a completely gutted bedroom with exposed studs, tools everywhere, and drywall stacked against one wall.
“What happened to my stuff?”
Breezing past my question, she says, “We’re also doing the master bath over. Finally. Isn’t it exciting!?”
“But what about my trophies and Legos?”
April giggles.
Mom says, “This means our only available space is the basement.”
“Is my stuff down there?”
My dear, beloved mother cups my cheek. “Of course, honey. You know I never throw anything out.”
It’s true—we could open a thrift store—but I’m surprised she didn’t tell me that my room is no longer there.
“Clark, you’re not the only daydreamer in this family. I always wanted a craft room. Now, this will be the perfect space for my scrapbooking.”
She leads us downstairs to a large, finished space. And there, against the far wall, are my brothers’ old bunk beds along with numerous plastic storage tubs, which are labeled with my name and must contain my belongings. I really hope the Darth Vader helmet is still intact.
“I know it’s not ideal,” Mom continues, oblivious to my relief and April’s uncertain smile.
“But with five dogs, we thought the basement would be perfect. There’s a door to the backyard right there, see?
And we set up water bowls and toys. The twins still come down here to play video games, so you’ll never get lonely. It’ll be like a sleepover!”
“Oh, goodie.”
April, looking slightly panicked, says, “Thank you, Mrs.—Cheryl.”
“Wonderful! Get settled, and come up whenever you’re ready. Don’t forget, tomorrow, we’re going to church at nine, then hosting Easter brunch, followed by our famous Easter egg hunt!” She disappears back upstairs, calling for Claudia to help make a salad.
April and I stand in the basement, staring at the bunk beds.
“Bunk beds,” she says.
“Bunk beds,” I confirm.
“I call the top bunk.” She clamors for it.
I playfully reach for her. “Absolutely not. What if you fall?”
As she moves to sling her arms in front of her chest in protest, our arms brush and tangle. “Clark, I’m twenty-eight years old. I’m not going to fall—”
Our eyes somehow drift together and collide at the same time.
My thoughts slow, but before they come to a complete stop, I can’t help but wonder what she’s thinking.
April’s lips part slightly and she bites the lower one before a loud bark interrupts us, snapping us both back to reality.
I say, “You tripped over a leash a few weeks ago and the other day, you stumbled, nearly taking out a mailbox.”
“That was Scout’s fault!”
We’re both laughing now, and the tension returns to the safe place we keep it, bookended by the words best friends.
That night, after dinner with my family—where Dad asks about hockey and Mom asks about The Barkery and everyone pointedly doesn’t ask about our relationship—April and I lie in our respective bunks, talking in the dark.
“Your family is really great,” she says quietly.
“They love you.”
“They’re so … nice. I mean, that word doesn’t quite suffice, but it’s refreshing not to be told every single one of my life decisions is disappointing.”
“April, I’m sorry that your parents aren’t more supportive, and, uh, nice,” I say boldly.
“Yeah. Me too.”
“But I meant what I said before. I’m here for you. My family, too.”
“Thanks,” her voice is small.
However, I’m not sure she’s convinced.
“They’ve asked about you for years. Every phone call, every visit. ‘How’s April? How is her business coming along? Can I send her some of those coconut macaroons she loves?’ You’re truly part of this family.”
She’s quiet for so long, I think she’s fallen asleep. “That means a lot.”
“It’s true.”
“Clark?”
“Yeah?”
“If I were going to fake date anyone, I’m glad it’s you. Even if it’s complicated and weird and probably a terrible idea.”
I smile in the darkness. “Me too.”
“Goodnight.”
“Sweet dreams, April.”
I lie awake long after her breathing evens out, thinking about how being this woman’s best friend and now fake dating her has completely ruined me for anyone else.