The Real Deal

“Have you been looking on GigsForHire for men?”

She laughs. “Never.” She snaps her gaze to me, undeterred. “Is he an escort?”

My mouth tastes metallic as I manage the uncomfortable words. “No. But yes. He’s not a sex worker. If that’s what you’re asking.”

They cringe in unison.

My mother’s eyes narrow. “You’re going to need to explain better. What is he, then?”

“He’s a bartender. That’s true. But he also owed some money for something that happened to someone he loved, and he has been making a side living as a boyfriend-for-hire. That’s how I found him. My friend Xavier knows him, and told me he’s done this before. He picks up side work as a platonic date for women who need a buffer at events. There’s actually a decent market and he’s good at it.”

My father holds up a finger, his brow furrowed. “This morning he said he cared about you. He seemed legitimate. He showed me pictures of your cheetah.”

“He did?” I ask, a smile tickling at my lips.

“He seemed quite proud of you. This makes no sense,” he says, leaning closer, as though he needs to get a better read on this heaping dose of absurdity I’m serving up.

“He showed you my work?”

My father nods. “He bragged about you. Frankly, he helped me better understand what you do, and I’m afraid to say I don’t think I’ve always quite gotten it until then.”

I beam inside, and my smile is full wattage. “That’s the thing. He meant it. Because even though I hired him, we fell in love with each other,” I say, knowing with my whole heart that those words are wholly true.

My mom’s eyes widen. “So you hired him, and then you fell for him?”

I nod. “Yes, but that’s not what I came out here to tell you.”

“There’s more?” she asks, as if she can’t believe there could possibly be anything else to add to this insanity.

“Yes,” I say as calmly as I can, drawing a deep breath. This is when I speak the truth, when I stop hiding behind the easier path of hiring a shield. I need to tell them how I truly feel, even if it hurts them. “I want you to know the reason why I hired him. And it’s because I don’t want to be set up on dates. I specifically don’t want to be set up on dates with men from Wistful.” I meet their eyes. “And that’s because I don’t want to move back home.”

My mother frowns. Sadness flickers in my father’s eyes.

I press my hands together, like I’m making a plea. “I know you want me to. That’s why everyone is always trying to set me up. You’re hoping I’ll fall in love with the hardware store owner. Or maybe if Aunt Jeanie connects me with the mortgage broker, I’ll be so besotted, I’ll move into a cottage a mile away with him. I do understand you come at it with the best of intentions, but it’s not what I want,” I say, feeling as though a weight is sliding off my shoulders. A heavy, brutal weight. It’s freeing to speak the truth, even if it’s scary.

“I just worry about you,” my mother says softly, her voice vulnerable.

“I can’t ever stop worrying about you. You’re my youngest,” my father says, seconding her.

“But sometimes you treat me like I can’t make my own decisions about work or men.”

“Well, you did hire someone from GigsForHire,” my mom points out.

I nod, taking this one on the chin. “Maybe that was a crazy decision. But at the time I made it, it was easier for me to have a shield here at the reunion in the form of a boyfriend. You’ve all been so concerned after what happened with Landon that anyone I date from New York will be a charlatan. But Landon was simply a mistake. It happens. I’m young. I’m supposed to make mistakes.” I bring my hand to my heart. “But I love my life in New York and I love my job and I love my friends and I love my choices, and I want you to respect them, even if you don’t understand them.” I lean closer and ask honestly. “Can you?”

Crickets chirp, and an owl hoots. A squirrel scurries along the porch railing, perhaps in hot pursuit of acorns. My mom appears deep in thought, her worry lines more prominent. “I don’t entirely understand why you’d hire someone. I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.”

Her question is valid, and it deserves an honest answer. “Because it was easier to pretend. It was easier to hire a buffer than to deal with the dates, or to disappoint you with the truth. But in retrospect, maybe I should have just told you.” I take a beat. “But would you have relented?”

My father shakes his head, casting a soft glance at my mom as he answers for her. “You wouldn’t have, Pamela. You’re a determined monkey, and you’ve been fixated on setting her up.”

“I know,” she admits.

“I want to make you both happy because I love you so much,” I say, a sob climbing up my throat. I swallow it down. “And it was easier for me to avoid the truth. But I want you to believe in me, and I want you to trust that I can make my own choices, and I want you to know that my choice is to live in the city and pursue my career there.”

My mom raises her chin. “We do believe in you. We are proud of you. All we want is for you to be happy. We’re so happy here, and when you’ve had setbacks, our natural instinct was to try to get you to come back home. But I understand that New York calls to your heart.”

I smile softly. “It is my heart. I do plan to live there, and work there, and, I hope, to love there. But,” I say, bouncing in my chair, “I have amazing news. I just found out I won a huge contract to paint the models for the Sporting World swimsuit issue.”

My dad’s eyes turn to saucers. “The swimsuit issue?” His voice rises an octave.

My mom swats him. “Try not to get too excited, Joshua.”

“I don’t even know what the swimsuit issue is,” he says, feigning innocence. “It was a question. I was asking her a question.”

She rolls her eyes at him, then turns back to me. “So where does this leave you with Theo?”

“I want him back. Are you going to be okay with me being with a guy I hired off GigsForHire to trick you into thinking he was my boyfriend and then we fell for each other for real?”

My mother’s lips curve into a smile. “I might be a hard-ass, but I’m a romantic at heart. That actually sounds incredibly, nontraditionally, bizarrely romantic.”

And I laugh. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

I say good night, and as I leave, I see them both shrug and give each other that kids today look. Then they kiss. As soon as I shut the door to my room, I grab my phone and send the guy I hired off GigsForHire a text.





Chapter Forty-two

April




I stare at the text for another minute. My phone is quiet. But for the first time this evening since I heard the word scam at the ice cream shop, it doesn’t hurt when I breathe. I set down my phone on the covers. I brush my teeth and wash my face. After I finish, I hear a ping. I nearly trip on the carpet, running back to the bed. When I grab my mobile, my smile is the biggest in recorded history.




I flash back to what he said last night—just twenty-four hours ago—I don’t like going to bed angry. I slide under the covers and tap a reply, repeating his words, using them as my own.




I wait. I read a book. I play with apps on my phone. I rewind the day. But it’s well past midnight, and this day has wrung me dry. I’m not sure when I stop holding my phone, but the next thing I know, a plink interrupts a dream that I’m painting a tree like a silver frog. Tugging at the corners of my sleepy mind, the next plink pulls me out of the frog-art tree. I blink, sitting up. I rub the heel of my hand over my eyes; then my gaze lands on the window.

He’s there, crouched outside the pane. His hair is a mess, wild and windswept. His eyes shine with happiness. My heart hammers, and I fling off the covers. I shove up the window, and before he can climb in, his hands are on my face, and he’s kissing me.