by Emery Lee
How the hell does he know about the Meet Cute Diary?
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, flashing me a smile. “That’s super cool. I don’t think I’ve ever met a celebrity before.”
I snatch the napkins away from him and use them to try to sop up the mess on my shirt. My eyes burn as I ask, “How do you even know about that?”
“The blog?” He shrugs. “I’ve been following it for like six months, and I’ve seen the stories cross-posted on Insta too. And there’s that one person on TikTok who role-plays them. Hard not to notice a blog that cute.”
Tears spring to my eyes. “You think it’s cute?”
“Well, yeah. A bunch of people finding love on the street? It showed up on my dash one day, so I sent it to my cousin. She’s trans.”
I nod along, but my mind is racing too fast to keep up with any of this. Drew knows about the Meet Cute Diary. Drew follows the Meet Cute Diary.
“Anyway, there was this post about an ice cream shop like a week ago that sounded really familiar, and then one about a bookstore, and it sounded a hell of a lot like this place, and I didn’t want to come off too cocky by asking, but—” He shrugs again, leaning against the nearest shelf. “And, I mean, the mod’s name is Noah.”
I’m shaking. Holy shit. Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would come to this.
And really, all the times I’d thought about being caught by someone, I thought it’d be one of the bigots at my old school. I always worried they might find me out, figure out that I was trans and bolstering trans love instead of denouncing it all as a sin, and then I’d get expelled or suspended or prayed for at weekly school masses.
But this is different. My heart’s pounding in my chest, but it’s excited, not terrified. It’s the moment my mask has been taken off and civilian identity revealed, but at the hands of a fan, one who’s ready to give me all the gratitude my mask has denied me for so long.
Then he says, “Does that mean all the stories are made-up? I mean, given that all the ones with me in it had alternate endings.”
And I’m deflating, the breath rushing out of me as a blush heats my face. “Yes,” I say. “They’re all made-up. Fake meet cutes.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I mean, they’re cool stories, but why go through all the hassle if they aren’t even real?”
That seems like an odd question to ask since we’re literally standing in the middle of a bookstore. But of course he wouldn’t understand. He’s probably had tons of girlfriends with super cute stories surrounding all of them. He’s a gorgeous cis white guy. He can get anyone he wants, and I’m sure he’s only ever considered when he’ll get married and start a family, not if.
I could pick up any volume in this store and show him his happy ending. Of course he couldn’t understand why some of us are so desperate to make our own.
“Sometimes people need help believing in love,” I say. “I try to give them that with the Diary.” I don’t tell him about my fantasies. We’re not quite at that level of our relationship yet.
He grins. “That’s pretty great of you. I mean, trying to help random strangers like that. Most people wouldn’t bother.”
And I smile because, wow. Becca’s the only person who knows about the Diary because even after changing my name and leaving home, something about it always felt taboo. Like maybe if I voiced my reasoning behind creating the Diary, everyone would just think that I was some kid in over my head making a big deal about nothing. But hearing those words now, especially from some guy I half used to fabricate my stories—well, it’s super sweet.
But now he also knows it’s fake, and maybe he doesn’t know about the troll, but he also could, and he could feed them more info to really tear everything down.
“Can I be honest with you?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I’m not opposed to it.”
“There’s a troll trying to prove that the Meet Cute Diary isn’t real.”
He raises an eyebrow. “But it’s not real.”
“I know, but people need to believe it is, you know? It’s that belief that trans people can actually have that fairy-tale romance. I don’t want them to lose that, but if they really convince everyone it’s fake—”
“I’m sure people will just ignore it. The blog is so popular, and people practically worship you.”
But I’m not so sure. I’ve already lost almost two thousand followers, and it’s only been a few days.
“I know it probably doesn’t feel like a big deal to you, but there are so many people this is important for,” I say. “I mean, I’ve gotten messages from people saying the Diary’s the reason they haven’t killed themselves. I can’t just watch that go up in flames.”
“No, I get it,” he says. “Trans cousin, remember?”
I exhale. “So you won’t tell anyone it’s fake?”
He nods. “Definitely not. Actually, I’m gonna one-up you on that. Tell me what I can do to help.”
Which, the offer’s sweet enough that it’s already got my heart racing, but I just laugh, awkwardly turning my face away. “The truth is, the only way I know how to save the Diary is to somehow prove that all these fake stories are real.”
If this were a romance fic, this would be the part where he takes my hand in his and says, I can’t change every story, but I’m in charge of this one, and I think we can make it real. Just use me.
Instead, he says, “Just use me.”
Wait, what?
“W-what?” I say, pretty positive I accidentally spilled my thoughts out into the real world and misheard him.
He shrugs. “Let’s get dinner. Then you can post some pictures and tell everyone you know the Diary’s real because one of the stories was about you. Sound good?”
I blink, my mind failing to calibrate. Did he just suggest a fake dating AU? Am I in a fake dating AU?
“Are you sure you want to do that?”
He laughs, pushing off the bookshelf and closing the space between us. “Why not? I mean, I love your blog, so we’ll probably get along great, and I can’t really turn down a chance at a behind-the-scenes look when I’m sure so many people would kill for one. Plus, I’d hate to see the blog fall apart over some troll.”
We stand in silence for a moment, my heart pounding in my ears. I wish Becca were here to see this, or at least a camera crew so I could film it and show it to her later.
Drew raises an eyebrow and says, “So is that a no . . . ?”
“It’s a yes!” I say, a little too fast and a little too loudly. “Sorry, I mean, it’s—yeah, I’d like that.”
The front door opens, and my eyes shoot to catch Amy walking in the door.
“Drew!” Amy snaps.
Drew rolls his eyes, slipping back behind the counter. “Always ready to work, Aunt Amy.”
Amy heads for the back room, and Drew smirks at me. “We can work out the details later, okay? Over dinner?”
I smile. “Sounds perfect.”
Inbox (83)
Anonymous asked: The bookstore romance was super cute, but I guess that’s easy to do when you make everything up, huh? Are you going to answer the callouts or just keep posting these vague non-explanations? It’s pretty pathetic to keep ignoring everyone. If you’re really some master of love, you should stop hiding behind fake stories, or at least own up to it and stop being two-faced.
I text Brian to let him know he doesn’t have to pick me up because I have a date. He responds with, “Is that a joke?” so I don’t bother answering.
Despite getting pretty blatantly rejected for the position, no one sends me out of the shop. Actually, I spend the rest of the day looking for new jobs and reading out some of the Diary comments on my last post for Drew, who’s pretty thrilled about them. The good ones, anyway. I just kind of skip over the bad ones. Becca texts me back halfway through the day to say, Sorry, I forgot to post because of schoolwork. I’ll take care of it later today. So I let her know that I have a solution so she doesn’t have to worry
about it even though a part of me is kind of bitter that she just forgot about the Diary so easily.
At six o’clock, Drew locks up the shop and turns to me. “What kind of food do you like?”
I shrug. “All food. Food is good.”
“I like the way you think.”
He takes my hand, which might be overkill since we’re both only pretending to be attracted to each other, and then we make our way down the strip to where most of the active businesses are. There are some bars, some clubs, some dessert shops. Drew motions me toward a fancy little restaurant, and I really regret dribbling coffee down my already too big button-up as we step inside.
The host is dressed in all black, his hair kinda wavy like the wind swept it up into the perfect ’do on his way to work. I can’t complain as he leads us to a high-top table, which, you know, is kind of hard to reach when you’re like five foot three.
Anyway, by the time I climb up into my seat, the host is gone, having left two menus on the table for us.
“Order whatever you want,” Drew says. “I’ve got you covered.”
I sigh. “Because I still don’t have a paycheck?”
Drew laughs. “We gotta make this seem like a real date. Oh, and we should probably take a selfie before we get out of here.”
“Oh, right,” I say.
When Drew first suggested the fake date, it didn’t feel nearly as real as it does now. Of course, it’s not the date that really has me off guard but the reality of the post, of attaching my real-life face to this online persona I’ve kept separate from me for so long. “I, uh, just a second.”
I slip out of my seat and beeline for the bathroom, ducking around a shocked waiter stepping out of the kitchen. It’s a pretty fancy space considering the whole point is to take a dump, but the lights make my skin look yellow as I stare at myself in the mirror.
I can’t really say I spend a lot of time looking at my own reflection. I mean, I probably should since I deserve that kind of beauty in my life, but I hate the feeling of looking at a stranger. Like someone photoshopped my image before throwing it into the mirror, and now I’m shorter and thinner and way more feminine looking than I know I’m supposed to be.
And once I post this picture, my followers aren’t going to see me anymore. They’re not gonna see the Noah who looks like Pharrell or the Rock or Bruno Mars. They’re gonna see that person in the mirror, the one the world keeps trying to dredge up no matter how hard I work to cover it up.
But this post is going to save the Diary, and really, it’s not about me. If wearing a face I don’t feel connected to is enough to save trans love, it’s the least I can do. Besides, mod Noah is a persona I’ve worn for so long, who cares if I have to tweak it a little? No big deal.
I run some water over my hands and use it to smooth down my hair a little. Then I take a couple of deep breaths to push the anxiety away before heading back out to the restaurant and slipping into my seat.
Drew gives me a bit of a side-eye as I sit down, so I just say, “The Diary’s really important to me. I don’t share it with a lot of people.”
He nods once. “Yeah, that makes sense.”
“I just want all of this to go perfectly,” I say. “You know, for the Diary.”
Drew smiles. “Well, I appreciate you letting me in on the great big secret, and I’m happy to help. Certainly beats sitting at home rewatching Rick and Morty.”
I return his smile and reach for something to cut through the awkwardness in the air. Finally, I say, “So, do you do this often?”
Drew raises an eyebrow. “Oh, yeah, I go out with all the interviewees.”
The laughter rolls out of me naturally, like the joke was part of a script he wrote just for me. “Well, it’s technically a fake date,” I say, though, if he’s a true romance fan, he’ll know exactly how that usually ends. “And thank you for that, by the way. I really appreciate you offering to go out to help the Diary.”
He stares back at me a moment before saying, “To be honest, I’ve been thinking about you since the whole ice cream shop incident.”
I scrunch my eyebrows, my heart picking up speed. “Because we bumped hands?”
“Well, yeah, I guess, but really I was thinking about the blog post. I don’t know. It was kind of beautiful, if that’s not weird. And it was wild just how much attention it got for such a short post.”
And I smile because there’s something amazingly romantic about the idea that this guy has been in love with my writing since before he even knew me. And, well, it’s pretty funny that he thinks that’s the weird part, and not the fact that I wrote a fake story in which we got together without even knowing a thing about him.
“The point was to make people believe in love,” I say.
He smiles. “Yeah, I think it works.”
It’s like someone loosened a bolt in my jaw because I just can’t stop smiling.
Then he says, “Do you think this’ll be enough to save the Diary?”
I pause, the smile dropping off my face. “I mean, I hope so. I don’t know what to do otherwise.”
He picks at the edge of his menu, his voice rising an octave as he says, “You know, if you ever need my help with the Diary, I’d be happy to. I mean, I’m a huge fan. It’s like getting to help make a Disney movie.”
And all I can think is it’s beautiful how he’s a little timid, but in a good way.
“I would love that,” I say.
He flashes me this gorgeous smile as my heart does somersaults in my chest. It’s only fitting that our fake date would close with one of my biggest turn-ons—a smile designed to break hearts.
Once dinner’s over, Drew insists on getting me a ride and actually taking it back to Brian’s apartment with me. I don’t know if he just wants more time together, or if he’s worried the driver is going to kidnap me or something, but it’s nice, and I’ll never complain about more time spent gazing longingly into his eyes.
I hop out, and Drew pulls me aside, saying we should take a selfie by the curb to show how well our date ended. I agree, posing us for the perfect shot before thanking him and heading up to Brian’s apartment, simultaneously reaching for the front door and the key buried somewhere in my pocket only to find the latter isn’t there. What the hell? Why do men’s pants have bottomless pockets?
I groan, tapping out the Victorious theme song until Brian finally opens the door with a death glare on his face. “Why are you knocking?”
“I lost my key,” I say, stepping past him into the living room. “It’s probably in my other pants.”
“Damn it. Do you lose everything?”
“Obviously not.”
I jolt back at the sound of laughter, whipping around to find Maggie standing in the kitchen, a plate full of pastelitos balanced in one hand.
I turn to shoot a what the hell is she doing here glare at Brian, but he’s already crossing the space back to her, slipping an arm around her waist as he says, “How do you like ’em?”
She grins. “They’re amazing. I’m so proud of you.”
And then they kiss, and I struggle and fail to keep my lip from curling. “I have to go call Becca,” I say, dismissing myself to my closet.
“Okay, but you have to tell me about your date later!” Brian calls after me.
I pause, turning to see if he’s joking. But his eyes are back on Maggie, the two of them practically sliding into each other. I roll my eyes and slip into my room, closing the door behind me.
My first order of business is answering some of the messages I’ve been ignoring. Once I’ve sent out some heartfelt apologies about not answering and how I’ll be making another statement shortly, I work up this dramatic post about how the Meet Cute Diary started as my own exploration of my first relationship, and then get into this whole thing about how some of the stories don’t add up because we changed certain details to keep people’s identities secret. Then I explain that the whole bookstore story was about Drew and post the selfie we took tonight
as the final evidence.
I consider sending it to Becca first, but she’s been so busy lately. Besides, this post is supremely personal, and I don’t want to lose the nerve to post it by waiting for a response.
My hands shake as I hit post, but I’ve given it my best. Hopefully, the post will go viral in a couple of days, and not only will we stop losing followers in droves, but we’ll get a new onslaught of eager followers wanting to know about Drew and me.
Then I call Becca. She answers on the third ring, but she says, “Hey, I can’t talk long. What’s up?”
“Do you not want to hear about my date?”
Then she squeals, and I jerk my head back until she’s done.
“Okay, you have fifteen minutes, then I have homework. Go.”
So I ramble on about the fake date, starting with how he asked me out to try to save the Diary and how he’d been a huge fan for a while. I tell her about how obviously compatible we must be since he loves my writing, and how once the fake date saves the Diary, we’ll probably fall in love, since, you know, that’s how every fake dating story ends.
“Okay, but do you really think a fake date will be enough to stop this troll? I mean, after all the lengths they went to just to shit on the Diary?”
“I’ve got it covered, Becca,” I say. She hasn’t exactly been super reliable lately, so it’s probably easier for me to handle it myself anyway. “And once Drew and I fall desperately in love with each other, it won’t matter what some troll has to say about it.”
Becca lets out one of those deep God, you’re naive sighs. “Just promise me that if he steps out of line, you won’t let him walk all over you.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“You did that with Gustavo!”
She’s right, of course. Gustavo was my first date freshman year, back when I was still trying to convince myself that maybe I could be a girl if I just tried hard enough. We went to a movie, and I bought him popcorn, which he refused to share with me. Then he shushed me the whole movie and ditched me at the theater, so I had to call my mom to pick me up. And sure, I would’ve gone out with him again if Becca hadn’t stepped in and burned that bridge, but Drew’s not like that. He’s been nothing but kind to me. And I’m different now too. I know who I am. It’s fine.
