Our Totally, Ridiculous, Made-up Christmas Relationship

“I was going to say for being sleepy, but crazy works.” I laugh, and I hear him snicker, too. Pulling the cover from over my head, I turn to find his face resting in my direction. There’s a large gap between our bodies, but I feel as if we are already holding one another. “Did we just have our first fake fight?”


He nods. “For a first fake fight, that was pretty short-lived. We really have to work on that. Maybe more screaming next time.”

“Maybe a little more name-calling, shoe-throwing, to edge it up a bit. Make it more believable.”

A grin makes its way to his face, and he turns it back toward the ceiling. A period of silence follows, but it’s not weird. It seems natural actually, the ease of not talking, a comfortable silence. I never had that with Danny. I always felt as though I had to entertain him, to stay interesting in order to keep his attention. Truth of the matter is, there was nothing I could have done differently—he wouldn’t have loved me the way I wanted him to. You can’t make someone fall in love with you just because you fell in love with them first. Before Danny I never realized how dangerous this emotion is—how lonely love can truly be.

Kayden clears his throat and moves around on the couch cushions, trying to get comfortable. “My older brother’s last girlfriend came on to me once after a bad fight they had. I was still trying to find a new place, and I was crashing on his couch for a few weeks. I mean, Landon was a shitty boyfriend to her, spent more time working than next to her. She deserved better. They both did.”

I listen, not judging his story, believing he wouldn’t share such a memory with me for no apparent reason. I watch his partially closed lips as he continues telling his story. “After the last fight, Landon stormed out, calling her ‘bitch this,’ ‘bitch that,’ some nasty things. And I was sitting on the couch, confused as hell on what I was supposed to do. Here was this broken girl with tears streaming down her face. So I moved over to her and held her, feeling her weak body fall against mine.

“After calming down her wrecked self, I led her to the couch and we talked. About anything but Landon. I tried my best to make her smile, to make her laugh, because I’m almost certain there’s nothing more beautiful than the sound of a woman’s laughter. Then I told her she deserved more for herself and that no one should ever speak to a woman the way Landon spoke to her. I don’t know if I sent her the wrong signals or if she was just so messed up in her head, but she crawled over to me, tried to kiss me. Said I was the brother she always wanted.”

“What did you do?”

“I sent her home. I mean, yeah, my brother’s an asshole, and sometimes it’s hard for me to stomach the idea that we’re related, but there’s no way in hell I would mess around with his girl. There are supposed to be rules about this stuff. Ya know? Lines you never cross.”

“I guess my family never got the memo on those rules.”

“Mine either. I told Landon, when he got home—how Jasmine had tried to come on to me—and he called me a liar and kicked me out. Said he had a call from Jasmine saying that I hit on her and tried to have sex with her. He believed her over his own brother because ‘that’s what Kayden does.’ He screws chicks and leaves. I didn’t even try to explain the situation to him; his mind was made-up. It was right then that I realized he wasn’t my brother. He never was.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because”—he inhales deeply and exhales slowly—”genetics make you related, but loyalty makes you family. Turns out the only family I have are my mom and my aunt.”

I laugh. “And your made-up girlfriend, jerk.” He smiles and runs his fingers through his perfect hair, pleased by my comment. I feel terrible for the way I spoke to him earlier, ashamed really. “I didn’t want meaningless sex with you.”

His lips curve up. “I know, and I didn’t want you to want to have sex with Danny.”

I nod once. “I know.”

“Maybe after all of this is over, after I’m not Richard, and you’re more…emotionally stable. Maybe then I can ask you out.” He speaks with such certainty, such truth.

I laugh again. “It may take me a while to become emotionally stable.”

He looks at me, his green eyes soft and still a bit puffy from his allergies, and when he turns away to face the ceiling, I follow his gaze, staring up at the ceiling fan that remains still.

“So what happens next?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I mean, if you’re willing to wait for me, then I can figure out my life. And you can take me to a really nice restaurant maybe. And do you dance? I love to dance. My last boyfriend made me think I loved video games but I despise them. I actually have no clue how to use the damn things and—”