Chapter 12
Ellie
There are just over two weeks until ‘Greg's Super Fun Weekend Palooza’—that’s what I’ve been calling it in my head—and Patrick was right. We really don’t know anything about each other, at least anything that actually matters, and it didn’t take long for me to realize I was in over my head.
The second I walked into his office, the receptionist inadvertently messed with my confidence.
When I said I was there to see Patrick, Debbie introduced herself and immediately wanted to know everything about our relationship.
Until then, I was blissfully ignorant in my ‘fake-relationship’ bubble.
I thought I could fake my way through with smiles and pleasantries, but that was so naive of me to think.
Thankfully, she mostly asked me questions about myself, but there were a couple about him.
She asked if I’ve met his family yet, and I pulled some bullshit response out about how our relationship is still new and how he hasn’t met my parents either.
Thank god for that.
I’d rather not expose Patrick to my mother unless it’s absolutely necessary.
I keep getting stuck in a repeating loop of thoughts: How are we supposed to fake date through a whole weekend without knowing anything about each other?
How am I supposed to be the doting, perfect girlfriend if I can’t answer a simple question about him?
There is a good chance that we might be separated at some point over the weekend, and what happens if the other can’t jump in to fill in the gaps?
Which is why I am getting ready to go out on a Wednesday night for a fake dinner date—even though I'd much rather be sitting alone in my apartment curled up on the couch reading. The only consolation is that this is not a real date, and I’m not trying to impress Patrick.
If this was real, I would be freaking out, trying on different outfits, and obsessing over every single insecurity I’ve ever had.
Thankfully, there is no need for nerves tonight. At least, there shouldn’t be.
Deciding that comfort is key, I pull on a pair of leggings and an oversized band t-shirt. We really should’ve thought about this lack of knowledge issue during our discussion of boundaries/rules, but who can blame us? Neither of us have fake dated before, so we’re just doing our best.
Well, I don’t know if Patrick has fake dated before…
I jot that down on my notes app below the forty-five other questions that I’ve compiled to learn the in’s and out’s of Patrick Murphy.
My Birkenstocks are comfy on my feet, and as I’m about to leave the apartment, I stare at the calendar Nick and I keep on the wall to keep up with each other’s busy schedule. He likes being overly dramatic, so there is a giant heart around tonight’s “dinner date with Patrick”.
Rolling my eyes, I head out the door.
We meet at my favorite Mexican restaurant that I’ve been going to since I was a kid.
As I walk in, a tray of fajitas is carried past me, and the aroma of peppers and hot frying oil is pungent in the air.
They have the best chips and salsa, and I knew I’d need something comforting since I am about to bare my soul to Patrick.
Okay, maybe not bare my soul, but I’m sure there are going to be some deep questions.
I consider myself a pretty open book, but only if people ask. And, I have a feeling he will ask.
Patrick walks through the front door, greeting the hostess with a kind smile.
It gives me a flashback to the ‘before time’.
That’s how we used to interact before all this.
Pleasant acknowledgements and brief greetings created a mutual relationship of worker and customer.
He scans the restaurant, and I know he spots me by the way his face lights up.
I'm sure I’m just thinking too much into it, but he looks at me like he’s honestly happy to be here.
Get a grip, Ellie.
As he approaches the table, he is wearing those damn casual clothes again that fit him stupidly well. When I saw him this morning, I figured he would come straight from work, but of course, he has shown up looking as attractive as ever.
“No slacks?” Trying to get him to laugh—and hoping it masks my obvious attraction to him—I pull out my best disappointed puppy dog look as he walks up to the table.
“Unfortunately, not. I wanted to be comfortable, so you could get to know the real me.” It’s nice that he jokes with me because it makes me feel like I can joke with him too.
Honestly, there is nothing more boring than trying to joke around and getting nothing in return, so I feel grateful that Patrick has an actual sense of humor.
Noticing him holding the same notebook from before, I turn my phone to show him my giant list of questions. “So, you came prepared too?”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” He smirks, and I have to check myself to make sure I am not physically melting in my seat. Somehow, he has a charismatic air to everything he says, and my attempt at being unaffected falters.
It’s not long before we devour two baskets of chips and three cups of salsa making our way through the questions. Keeping it fair, we take turns.
“Let’s start off easy: Favorite color?”
Patrick says green; I say black.
“Favorite food?”
I say crab rangoons; he says ice cream.
“What can I say? I’m a dessert man.” I can’t knock him. Dessert heals all.
“Favorite TV show?”
He says The Office; I say I can’t pick a favorite.
“It’s like a parent picking their favorite child! I refuse to do it!” Patrick moves on.
“Where did you grow up?”
I say I’ve lived here my whole life; Patrick says right outside of Raleigh.
The questions start to build on themselves. “What made you move?”
“I came up here for college and stayed because the job market is better—and I like the faster pace of everything. My family still lives in North Carolina, but I’ve made a home here.” He counters, “What made you stay?”
The question catches me off guard so much that I have to think about it. My usual response for living here is ‘I like the seasons’ or ‘the colleges are good in this area’, but that’s not the answer I want to give him.
Digging deep, I find the truth. “I don’t love change.
Actually, change scares the shit out of me.
I like knowing where I am and what the good restaurants are.
I like living with Nick and having someone I know I can trust. I like being close to my parents.
I don’t see them much, but I like knowing they aren’t far.
It freaks me out thinking about starting over somewhere completely new. ”
It’s best to keep my current feelings about my parents to myself because I don’t need this to turn into an Ellie pity party. I wince when I realize that I've been picking at the skin on my thumbs, and now that I’ve noticed the stinging, its are all I can think about.
Keeping my hands in my lap, I continue my thought. “I know that a lot of people thrive on change, but I’m not one of them. And, I think I’m okay with that.”
I look up to see Patrick entranced from my confession; his silence makes me regret saying anything. I should’ve just said that I like the weather. He probably thinks I’m so fucking lame, but before I can spiral further, he breaks me from my thoughts.
“Thank you for sharing that with me.” The genuineness in his tone is abnormally comforting. “It really helps me understand who you are and how you approach things.”
Our conversation continues, but I make the executive decision that we should order food since we have barely scratched the surface.
We are at a point where the questions can go a bit deeper, and it is something we need to do.
This is not just about being able to rattle off random facts about each other; we need to be able to understand how the other one thinks and reacts.
There is zero judgment coming from Patrick, and it makes me feel like I can share anything.
I am not nearly as honest with everyone else as I have been with him, but it’s nice that I can be.
This leaves me wondering if he possibly feels the same about me, but I snap out of that quickly. It’s messing with my head trying to figure out what Patrick thinks, and I need to stop. This is all just to get better at fake dating him. It’s not like we’re actually building a relationship.
He grabs a chip and casually asks, “What is your biggest fear?”
Coughing on my water, I try to find some words. “Geez, so we’re just diving in deep then?”
Before I can answer, a familiar voice comes from the front of the restaurant. It’s eerily recognizable, but I can't quite place it until I look past Patrick and see the unimaginable.
My eyes get wide, and I try to plan my escape. A diversion might also work, but when we lock eyes, I know there is no getting out of it.
“Oh my god, no,” I whisper under my breath.
Patrick gives me a concerned stare, and I put my head down on the table, awaiting the inevitable, because he has already seen me.
“Eleanor? Eleanor, is that you?” Patrick turns to look at the middle-aged man approaching us, and I can see him putting the pieces together.
We don’t look exactly alike, but we have the same eyes and face shape.
When I was a baby, everyone joked that we were twins, but I grew out of that when I was about ten.
Picking my head off the table, I take a deep breath.
“Hi, Dad! What are you doing here?” I try to be cheerful, but it’s difficult. Patrick stiffens in his seat—his relaxed demeanor changing instantly when he hears the word dad.
“Well, your mom was craving tacos, so I told her I would go pick some up. I’ve lived with her long enough to know that there is not much I can do when she has a craving.
” He lets out a loud cackle. By the time he manages to calm himself down, he just stands in front of us, waiting for an introduction.