Chapter 12 #2
“Because I’m in too deep!” My voice is rising. “What am I supposed to do? Tell Dom oh by the way, that dad I’ve been telling you about for five years? Dead since I was twelve. Sorry for the confusion?”
“Yes,” everyone says in unison.
“You people are not helpful.”
“We’re very helpful,” Dimitri says. “We help you remember the details. Alex keeps the timeline. Your mother plays along when Dom sends packages—”
“The puppy gift package arrived yesterday,” Mom interrupts. “Squeaky toys. Very nice ones. I’m saving them for the church silent auction.”
“Perfect.” I drop my head into my hands. “My fake dog’s toys are going to charity.”
“What did you name him? I couldn’t hear,” Maya asks. She’s fully invested now. “The puppy. Winston?”
“Winston,” I confirm through my hands.
“After Churchill?”
“After Winston from New Girl,” Alex corrects. “Dylan was binge-watching when Dom asked for the name.”
“So your dead father’s purebred wiener dog is named after a TV character.” Nikko is cataloging this. “This is incredible.”
“This is my nightmare.”
“This is what happens when you lie to your boss,” Sofia says sagely. “You get tangled.”
“I’m so tangled I’m basically a pretzel.”
“What have you told him lately?” Dimitri is genuinely curious now. Pulls out his phone. “About your father.”
I think back through the past few months of conversations with Dom. The casual check-ins. The way he remembers to ask.
“That Dad’s thinking about retiring,” I say slowly.
“From what?” my mom asks.
“Insurance adjusting.”
Alex's hand finds mine under the table. She knows. My real father was a lawyer. I can't even give my fake father that.
My real father. Robert Wells. Dead at forty-three. It was sudden and unexpected.
I haven’t been to his grave since the funeral. Can’t. Every time I try, I freeze at the gates.
But I can describe his fake life in perfect detail. His fake health problems. His fake retirement plans. His fake fucking wiener dog.
“Dylan.” Dimitri’s voice is gentle now. Sets his phone down. “Why did you start this lie?”
The real question. The one nobody’s asked in five years.
I look at Alex. She knows. She was there that night. Concert tickets. Phoebe Bridgers. Floor seats. Dom called me in for weekend work and I panicked.
“I wanted to go to a concert,” I say finally. “With Alex. We had tickets for months. And Dom called me in and I—” My throat closes. “I said I couldn’t because my dad was in the hospital.”
“And then he kept asking about him,” Alex says quietly. “Every week. How’s your father? And Dylan couldn’t take it back.”
“So I kept going.” I stare at my plate. “Every week. New details. New stories. Five years of building a man who doesn’t exist.”
“But he did exist,” my mom says. Her voice is careful. “Your real father. Robert.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” She’s not angry. Just sad. “Because you haven’t visited his grave since—”
“Mom. Please.”
“I’m just saying.” She reaches across the table. Takes my hand. “You’ve built this elaborate life for a pretend father. Maybe because you can’t face that your real one is gone.”
I can’t breathe. Can’t speak. Can’t look at her.
Eleni chooses this moment to bang her sippy cup on the high chair tray. Breaking the tension. Demanding attention the way toddlers do.
“Well,” Sofia says briskly, standing up to collect plates, “we should send Dom a thank you card. From Winston.”
“Absolutely not,” I say.
“Paw print signature,” Nikko suggests.
“I hate all of you.”
“You love us,” Alex corrects. Her hand finds mine again under the table. Squeezes. “And we’re going to help you maintain this absolutely ridiculous lie because that’s what family does.”
“Also because it’s hilarious,” Nikko adds.
“Also that,” Alex agrees.
“So.” Dimitri pulls his phone back out. “What should we tell Dom next? We need to keep the story straight.”
“You’re making notes?”
“Someone has to.” He’s typing already. “Winston. Wiener dog. Brown. Purebred. Just arrived. What else?”
“He’s very energetic,” Alex supplies. “Keeps Dad active.”
“Loves walks,” my mom adds. She’s really getting into this now.
“Barks at the mailman,” Sofia contributes.
“Sleeps in Dad’s bed,” Maya throws in.
“Oh my God,” I mutter. “We’re really doing this.”
“We’re really doing this,” Dimitri confirms. He looks up from his phone. Meets my eyes. That serious look now. The father look. “Your real father would laugh at this, I think. Robert had a good sense of humor.”
My throat closes again.
“He did,” my mom agrees quietly. “He would think this was absurd. And he’d help you keep the lie going because he’d want you to keep your job.”
“Even though the job is terrible,” I whisper.
“Especially because the job is terrible.” Dimitri sets his phone down. “You need the money. You need the experience. You need the reference for after the bar. So if Dom wants to believe your father is alive and has a wiener dog, then your father is alive and has a wiener dog.”
“And we’ll all remember Winston’s milestones,” Sofia adds. “His birthday. His first vet visit. Whatever you need.”
“This family is insane,” I say.
“This family loves you,” Dimitri corrects. He reaches across the table. Takes my hand. His grip is warm. Strong. “Your father—your real father—would want you to know you have us. Always. Dead dogs, live dogs, fake dogs, whatever.”
I can’t speak. Can only nod.
Alex’s thumb traces my palm under the table. Our silent language.
Translation: See? This is why we can’t tell them. They’d do anything for us. Even die.
I squeeze back. Translation: I know.
“Now.” Dimitri releases my hand. Picks up his phone again. “When is Winston’s birthday? We should be consistent.”
“November,” Alex says immediately. “He’s a Scorpio. Like Dylan.”
“Perfect.” Dimitri is typing. “November. Scorpio. Any other details?”
“He’s afraid of thunderstorms,” I hear myself say. “Hides under the bed.”
“Good. What else?”
And just like that, we’re back to building the lie. All of us. Together.
My fake father’s fake dog. Getting more real by the minute.
Because this family—this loud, chaotic, loving, slightly insane family—will help me maintain an absurd lie to keep my terrible job at a firm that covers up murders.
Because they love me.
Because they’re all I have.
Because sometimes love looks like remembering the birthday of a dog that doesn’t exist.
“He needs a middle name,” Nikko says. “Dogs should have middle names.”
“Winston Bishop,” Alex says immediately. “After the full character.”
“Winston Bishop Wells,” my mom agrees. “Very distinguished.”
“Perfect for a purebred,” Sofia nods.
“I’m in hell,” I mutter.
“You’re at family dinner,” Dimitri corrects. “Same thing, sometimes.”
But he’s smiling. They’re all smiling.
And for half a second, I forget about the ring burning in my pocket.
For half a second, it’s just this. Just a family helping me maintain the world’s dumbest lie.
Just love, showing up in weird ways.
“Next week we’ll work on Winston’s training progress,” Dimitri announces. “Dylan, be ready with updates.”
“This is my life now.”
“This has been your life for five years,” Alex reminds me. “We’re just making it official.”
“I need more wine,” I say.
“We all need more wine,” Sofia agrees, already pouring.
The Winston conversation continues around us. Nikko suggesting fake vet visits. Maya proposing a fake Instagram account. My mom offering to create fake photos using that AI thing she learned about.
This family. This absurd, wonderful, loving family.
Who will help me lie about anything.
Who will protect me from everything.
Who I’m lying to right now about something so much darker than a fake dog.
The guilt tastes like ash.
But I smile anyway. Laugh when Dimitri suggests Winston needs a sweater for winter walks. Contribute details about the fake dog’s fake personality.
Because this is what performance looks like.
And I’m very, very good at it.
Even when it’s killing me.
The food keeps coming. Dimitri has this sixth sense. Your plate gets half empty, he’s there refilling it. Your water glass drops below half, he’s pouring more. You’re full? Too bad. Eat anyway.
“Baba, I’m full.”
“Full?” He looks personally offended. “You barely touched the lamb.”
“I ate three helpings.”
“That’s an appetizer.” He’s already adding more to my plate. “In Greece, we don’t count helpings. We eat until we’re happy.”
“I’m happy.”
“You’re miserable. I can see it.” He sets the serving spoon down. His hand on my shoulder. “So eat. Food helps.”
If only it were that simple.
“Dimitri, Dylan weighs more than I do,” Maya tries to help.
“Exactly! You’re both too skinny!” He’s outraged. Personally offended that the women in his life aren’t eating enough. “Sofia, tell them.”
“You’re both too skinny.” Sofia doesn’t even look up from cutting food for Eleni.
My mom just shakes her head. “Don’t bother arguing. I’ve been trying for fifteen years.”
Nikko returns from the kitchen with dessert. Baklava. Fresh, dripping with honey, still warm.
“Nikko, they’re full.” My mother hides her smile.
“They’re not full. Look at them.” Sofia replies without looking over.
“I’m looking.” Nikko sets the dessert down anyway. “They look traumatized.”
“From your cooking, maybe.” Alex tries to joke.
But Nikko doesn’t smile. Just looks at his sister. Then at me. That look again. The one that says we need to talk and you know it.
“Can I talk to you?” he says quietly. To me. Not Alex. “In the hallway?”
My stomach drops.
Alex’s hand tightens on mine under the table.
“Now?” I try to sound casual. Confused, even. Like I have no idea why he’d want to talk.
“Just for a second.”
Alex’s eyes meet mine. Her look says: Don’t.
But I can’t refuse. That would be more suspicious.
“Yeah. Okay.” I stand. My legs feel shaky.
“Dylan—” Alex starts.
“I’ll be right back.” I squeeze her hand. Try to smile. “Probably just wants to complain about Dad’s fake dog. You know Nikko.”
But Alex doesn’t smile back.
Because we both know that’s not what this is about.