The Real Deal

It’s a friendly peck. It’s not romantic. It’s the antidote to the porch kiss. It’s a reminder that we aren’t real. That he’ll give me what I want because that’s his job. I need the reminder. I need it badly. Because there’s a part of me that’s starting to think bits and pieces of us seem real. And the real thing is far too dangerous, so it’s wise to remember the score.

It’s only later, as I pour a lemonade and watch the younger kids play, that a new reality smashes into me. Libby likes Theo. My mom likes Theo, even though she tried valiantly to pretend she didn’t. Tess’s husband really likes Theo. Nearly everyone seems to like my fake boyfriend.

That’s the pebble in the shoe.

That pride I felt a little while ago, when Theo gave Libby a pep talk? It’s as misplaced as Theo’s jealousy. I have nothing to be proud of, since he’s not really mine. In a few more days, I’ll count out some greenbacks, hand him his money, and thank him for a job well done. He’ll return to the bar and his nascent acting career, and I’ll return to painting bodies and avoiding men like Brody the Basement Dweller and Landon the Liar and, frankly, everyone else.

The trouble is, I won’t truly be done with Theo when this is over. He’s not a TV show I turn off, or a book I finish reading. He’ll spill over beyond the reunion because my mom will ask about him. My father might wonder what happened to us. Libby could inquire about the guy I brought home for the long summer weekend. My sister surely will poke and prod and ask. And I’ll have to invent a story for why we split. I had it all planned out perfectly with Xavier: I intended to say we realized we were better as friends, and we’re still buddies. Isn’t that grand? It was a no-harm, no-foul ending.

What will my breakup story be for Theo, this guy who helped my dad? The guy who gave my niece a pep talk? The guy who entertained my mom at the train station?

My heart plummets as I play out the disappointment my family will feel. I can already hear the sympathy in their voices. Maybe I should say he turned out to be a jerk, but somehow I know I won’t be able to bring myself to utter that lie.

He’s not a jerk at all, and even though it’ll be a fake breakup, it will hurt in a way I never anticipated.

I down the rest of my lemonade, pretending it’s a new amnesiac drink, and it makes me forget we have to break up in four days. I take the glass to the kitchen and set it in the sink, when someone taps my shoulder. I glance down and it’s Libby’s younger sister, Emma.

She’s sixteen and still a sweetheart. She bats her big brown eyes, since she knows I’ll do anything for her when she does that. “Can you paint my face before dinner? Something pretty.”

Like I can say no. I learned how to paint on kids. These girls were my lab rats. “Of course.”

Her brown eyes widen. “You brought your paint?”

“Do I look like the kind of aunt who’s totally unprepared for you to make such a demand of me? I brought a travel kit for this very reason. Now, get me a chair and your face, and make some demands of me!”

The painting starts before dinner and continues once we’re done feasting, too.

From my perch in an Adirondack chair on the big wraparound back deck, I work through my family and friends. Soon Emma sports an emerald green vine wrapped on her cheek. Bob’s grandaughter Hannah begs for me to turn her mouth into a dog’s, and now she looks like a cute little puppy. Bob’s grandson Benny wants a football on his eye, so I paint that.

But Tess shakes her head when my mom suggests she take a turn. Tess holds up the baby in her arms to justify her no.

“You are aware I’m capable of holding the baby,” my mom points out.

“I know, Mom. But she needs me,” Tess says, running her hand down Andi’s back.

“She needs her family, and we all fit that bill.”

“I’m fine, really. I wasn’t around when April was painting faces when she was younger, so I’m not really missing out.”

I swivel around and point at her. “That’s exactly why you need to take your turn. You were off in college while I was learning how to do this, and you need to know what you’re missing out on this second.”

I stand up, walk over to my sister, and pluck the baby from her grip. Tess tries to protest, but I drop a kiss on Andi’s forehead. “You’re the cutest baby ever,” I say, and Andi coos at me; then I hand my littlest niece to my mom, who waits with outstretched arms.

“Does she ever let you watch the baby?”

“Yes, but not enough.”

“I’m nursing and you’re busy,” Tess calls out.

“She’s pigheaded and stubborn,” my mom counters.

“I wonder where she got that from,” I say to my mother. Then I shoo her off. “Now, go enjoy your extra baby cuddles.”

My mom mouths a thank you.

To Tess, I say, “You go get your big sister butt in the chair.”

“If she needs anything…,” Tess says to our mom, but then trails off when she sees our mom is already in the house, singing to her granddaughter.

Tess takes her spot across from me.

“What would you like?”

She blinks her blue eyes at me. They’re blank, as if she can’t comprehend what she likes. My poor sister. Her baby-brain case is a bad one.

“I have an idea,” I say.

“Sure, tell me.”

“Cherry blossoms are feminine and beautiful, and the cherry tree is also strong. It’s a symbol of spring and renewal,” I say, thinking that’s what my sister needs right now.

“Sounds lovely.”

As I paint her, we chat. I don’t ask her a single question about the baby. I ask her about the bakery, about new creations she’s made, about crazy requests from customers. As I finish the pretty blush-pink lines on her face, she’s told me a tale of a customer who said the coconut cupcakes remind her of her trip to Hawaii, and now that customer stops by once a week to feel like she’s returned to paradise.

I haven’t fixed my sister’s tiredness. But maybe for a few minutes, I’ve taken her out of the routine she seems stuck in. As I finish, Cory wanders over.

“She’s totally a babe. Right, Cory?” I say to her husband.

“She always is.”

“I do look kind of strangely hot,” Tess says as I hold up a phone mirror app to show her my handiwork.

“Then go take him upstairs and see if he rips off your clothes,” I whisper as I nod to the inside of the inn.

Cory nods at the speed of light. He might even pant like a dog. “I’m game.”

Tess rolls her eyes, as if I’ve suggested something ludicrous. “Yes, that’s exactly what I want to do right now at the Sunnyside.”

I speak the next words slowly, like I’m talking to a child. “Because there isn’t bonking going on here at an inn?”

“Nope. Because the only action I want is at home with my California king,” Tess says, like a naughty confession.

Cory’s shoulders sag.

“Want me to paint a pillow on your husband’s face, then?”

She rises from the chair. “Now, that’s a brilliant idea. Right, hon?”

Cory heaves a dejected sigh, saying nothing.

I bend to my black leather bag of paints and stuff a few small jars back in their slots, when I sense someone walking near. I look up to see Dean. He holds a bottle of beer and tips it at me. I smile back and brandish a paintbrush. “Admit it. You want a butterfly.”

Dean laughs, but before he can respond, someone slips into the hot seat in front of me.

Theo. “I want you to paint me.”

The way he says those words make my skin shiver. They all sound delicious dripping from his tongue. I want both halves to be true—he wants me, and he wants me to paint him.

For this sliver of time, I want real.

He pulls his chair closer, the wooden legs scratching noisily across the deck. His knees nearly touch mine. I consider whether it’s possible to climax from knees knocking together.

Twilight dips across the sky, and even though we’re surrounded by my family, the way Theo looks at me reminds me of our train ride—like we were all alone, shooting across the countryside, zipping through the night.

As my cousins scamper through the yard and my parents lounge in cushy chairs, sipping wine and drinking beer, I feel as though it’s only us here in our little corner of the deck.