8. Laine
8
LAINE
“I hope you bought those cowgirl boots.”
I sit up from my bed, my mouth popping open. “Are you toying with me right now?”
Sutton’s laugh is a delight, even when I can barely hear it over the sounds of the city backdropping our call. “Not this time.”
“What changed?”
“I got a job offer…”—he pauses for dramatic effect—“at Imagineer Books.” I can hear Sutton’s smile through the phone.
“ You’re lying! Sutton, that’s amazing.” My grin is so wide it actually hurts. Even if Sutton thought it was a long shot to get his dream job right out of college, I never doubted him for a second. “I’m so proud of you! Everything is falling into place for us.”
“I can’t believe it. And…” He pauses, and I can picture him furrowing his brow as he thinks out what he’ll say next. “I figured if I can step forward in my professional life, maybe I can do the same in my personal life. ”
I click the heels of my thrifted cowgirl boots together, like a western Dorothy. “Please tell me I get to come too.”
“Laine, I would be honored to have you join me as my fake girlfriend.”
“Hurry over so we can work out the details!”
“I’m already on my way,” he promises before hanging up.
First things first. I find Ophelia Brook’s contact information on my phone and text her.
How would you feel about a collection of articles painting the lives of a quaint Montana town?
She replies quickly.
Go for it. With your writing voice, you could do a piece on the invention of shoelaces, and I would love it.
My entire body feels the effects of the respite. After months of stress, I have my golden ticket. Go to Montana, write some stellar articles, get hired as a full-time journalist at Wonderings , and help Sutton in the process. It’s foolproof. And when I am hired on, I’ll finally be able to prove to my parents—and to myself—that I can have a real career, a path.
Next up: find some way to keep Sutton riding this high wave.
I rifle through my dresser and find the most cowgirl thing I own to accompany my new (to me) boots. Luckily, I still have my cutoff denim shorts from freshman year. They’re two sizes too small now, but I squeeze into them, trying to ignore the way my love handles spill out over the top. It’s worth it for the bit. Next, I add a white eyelet lace tank top. To finish the look, I fish out my pink bedazzled cowgirl hat I wore to a Harry Styles concert years ago.
With a minute to spare, I pull up a classic country playlist from Spotify on the Bluetooth speaker. The song is unfamiliar to me, but it has a steel guitar and an opening line about a pickup truck, so I think it’s fitting enough.
I wait by the front door, opening it at the first knock by Sutton. He eyes me up and down, his smile erupting into a full laugh. I do a spin, kicking a leg up at the end to show off my boots. “Howdy,” I say with a twang in my voice, tipping the brim of my hat. “I’ll fit right in, huh?”
“Absolutely,” he says, wrapping an arm around me in a sideways hug that pleasantly surprises me.
“So, when will you officially become Mr. Cowboy-Slash-Editor?”
“Mr. Cowboy-Slash- Assistant -Editor.” He returns my grin. “I start in three weeks.”
I clasp my hands together under my chin. “Perfect timing with the wedding. And at your dream publisher. How do you feel?”
“Great. Anxious.”
“Sweatin’ like a whore in church?” I ask.
Sutton scoffs. “I don’t know if that’s something you’re allowed to say these days.”
“Probably not,” I agree. “I’ve been googling country phrases, and that one really stuck out.”
“The crass ones always do. Well, I’ve been gone so long I might need a refresher.” One side of Sutton’s mouth lifts. “What are some others?”
“Let’s see…” I size him up. “I’d say you’re looking finer than frog’s hair. But you look as nervous as—oh, what was it—as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.”
“Not bad, Rodriguez. What other research have you done?”
“That’s as far as I’ve gotten. So, you need to help me. I need a crash course on the Davis family. ”
Sutton sinks onto the floor, leaning back against the bed, a faraway look in his eyes. “Let’s do that another day.” I open my mouth, but he must already know what I was going to say, because he adds, “I promise we’ll talk about it. I’ll get you caught up. But tonight, I want to pretend that our trip to Montana is just a celebratory one. I don’t want to think about my brother or my ex. And I especially don’t want to think about my father.”
“Deal.” I sit beside Sutton and turn the TV on, scrolling through our options. “But we have to watch a movie that will give me some kind of insight into cowboy living. Brokeback Mountain , Tombstone , Legends of the Fall —”
Sutton coughs. “ Legends of the Fall? ” His mouth spreads into a disbelieving smile. “Do you know the premise of that movie?”
“Not really. But I know it takes place in Montana.”
“In it, brothers fall in love with the same woman,” Sutton says, raising his eyebrows at me.
“A bit too close to home, then,” I say, clicking my tongue.
“A bit. How about The Man from Snowy River ?” Sutton suggests, dropping his gaze to his hands. “I haven’t seen it in years. But it’s a cowboy movie. And it was my brother’s favorite.”
I search for the movie with the remote. “I’m surprised you would want to watch his favorite movie tonight.”
“Not Wells,” Sutton says, his voice a near whisper. “My older brother. Duke.”
“Oh,” I say, matching Sutton’s quiet tone. His brow furrows low. Sutton has never mentioned a second brother. “What’s he like?”
Sutton shakes his head. “I’ll tell you about him another night. Not right now.”
Sutton was so tired last night he fell asleep on a pile of blankets on my rug thirty minutes into the movie. He didn’t even wake this morning when I prodded him with my finger, so I wrote him a note telling him I would return with a meal. In a surprising turn of events, Dad invited me and Mom out to a “family breakfast.”
“How’s Sutton?” Dad asks, his mouth downturned in anticipation of bad news.
I already told them about the upcoming wedding.
“Sutton is doing amazing . He just got a job offer yesterday at his dream publishing house, where he’ll be an assistant editor for children’s and middle-grade books.”
My parents’ faces are the perfect representation of how I feel. Their eyes widen, glinting with delight, and the creases that were forming between their eyebrows soften.
“Aaaand,” I say, fanning my hands out like a cheerleader, “I just agreed to do some freelance work for this amazing indie magazine, Wonderings . If all goes well, they could hire me on full-time.”
“Laine!” they shout in unison, mirroring each other’s disbelieving expressions.
“It’s perfect, because if I get hired to write for them full time, I’d have fresh assignments constantly, which would really hold my attention. Guess what my first assignment is?”
“You’re doing an article on the coolest English professor at NYU,” Mom says, deadpan.
Dad nudges her. “No, it’s going to be on the most talented—and criminally underrated—playwright in the city.”
“Solid backup choices,” I say as the two of them argue over who is more deserving of a magazine feature. “But I’m actually going to be writing articles all about the culture of West River, Montana!”
“Sutton’s hometown?” Dad asks .
“Home of Mr. Cowboy,” I affirm. “We’re leaving for Montana this weekend.”
Mom raises her eyebrows. “You’re going to the wedding?”
“Not only that, but I’m going as Sutton’s fake girlfriend .” My laugh fades out as I process my parents’ body language.
Dad straightens and glances over at Mom, trading a worried look. They have a silent conversation between the two of them in a matter of seconds. Apparently, their years of separation haven’t impeded their abilities of parent-to-parent telepathy.
Mom is the first to speak. “Laine, are you sure about this fake-girlfriend plan?”
I frown, caught off guard by their reaction. “Of course I am. It's just for fun. So he doesn’t have to show up alone.”
Dad sighs, no whisper of his proud smile left. “I understand you want to support Sutton, but pretending to be in a relationship can…blur the lines. It can complicate things. What if emotions get tangled up? What if it becomes more real than you intended?”
“That’s ridiculous,” I insist, narrowing my eyes. Their concern washes over me like a cold, chilling wave. “I appreciate your worry. I really do. But Sutton and I are best friends. We know this is just a silly thing to make the wedding easier for him.”
Dad's face softens, and he reaches out to grab my hand. “Just…be mindful of genuine emotions.”
We talk for a while longer about the trip’s details, but I can still see hints of worry in my parents. Not wanting to let their hesitation rub off on me, I rush through my meal, eager to get back to Sutton and his calming presence.
When I get back to my apartment, to-go box in tow, Sutton lifts his head off his pillow on the floor, giving me a crooked smile that shows off one dimple. He ruffles his brown curls with one hand. “Good morning,” he says, his voice raspy. Looking at him now, dimly lit by the TV, I can understand a bit more why my parents are concerned.
Now that Sutton is no longer my TA, it’s easier to see him objectively. And objectively, he’s…I don’t know. Handsome is too simple of a word. Gorgeous, I guess. A strong bone structure and nose, piercing eyes, and those rare but endearing dimples.
“Are you sure you want to come to Montana with me?” Sutton asks. “Now that you’ve had a night to think it over?”
I hand over his food, the smell of the fresh pancakes and bacon filling my tiny apartment. “I’ve already been watching YouTube videos to learn how to lasso. Can’t let that go to waste.”
Sutton chuckles, leaning his head back and smiling at the ceiling. There’s a moment of silence between us, but it’s not the comfortable kind we had during our study sessions. Now, I feel the weight of my parents’ warning hanging in the air like a bad omen. But when Sutton turns his head, directing his smile back toward me, the coiled tension between my shoulder blades releases.
I wouldn’t dare ruin our friendship, not for the world.