Faker

by Sarah Smith

  He stares at me with tenderness and sympathy. I realize now he’s been looking at me with those emotions in his face ever since I fell at the worksite. It makes something in my chest flutter.

  “That must have been hard,” he says.

  “It was for the best. They’re better apart.”

  “You’re so strictly business. About everything. I like that about you.”

  My cheeks flush at his compliment. “It killed my mom to leave Hawaii. She loved it there.” My chest aches thinking back on how sad she was when we first moved.

  “Do you think she regrets moving?”

  “I think so. She would never admit it, though. She cried most nights our first few months living here. She waited until she thought my sister and I were asleep, but I could hear her sometimes.”

  “How awful.”

  “If she didn’t have kids to support, she would still be living there probably.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “It’s true. She always worked, always had a job. Supporting herself was never a problem. Maybe if my dad had been a harder worker like her, or more ambitious, we could have stayed. She would have been happier.”

  “Your mom loves you and your sister. Part of being a parent means making sacrifices for your kids. She may have been sad at first, but I bet having two wonderful daughters means more than living in Hawaii.”

  “You sound like a therapist.” I rest my head on his shoulder. When his arms slips around me, I moan. I’ve never felt this comfortable talking about these tough moments of my childhood with anyone before. “You know that coconut shell I keep on my desk?”

  I feel him nod against the top of my head.

  “She gave it to me when we moved from Hawaii. She knew I would take the move pretty hard, so she wrote a note on the inside for me to look at whenever I felt sad.”

  “What does it say?”

  “‘For my beautiful anak, who’s as sweet and strong as this coconut.’”

  “That’s perfect.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice. It sends goose bumps across my skin.

  “She has the other half. She said she held on to it her first few months of living in the Midwest, to remind her to be strong for me and my sister. It’s like my security blanket, reminding me to be strong like my mom whenever I feel weak.”

  “You’re never weak, Emmie.”

  “So wrong. You have no idea.”

  “Can I ask you something else?” A deep sigh follows his frown when I nod. “How long until your classmates finally called you by your real name?”

  “Most never did.” I wince at the memory of kids calling me Pocahontas and Lilo in class and in the halls of my middle school, my face blank as I tried to ignore it. But another part of me feels joy. Tate remembers me telling him this at the hospital, and it stuck in his mind. I stuck in his mind. I’m important to him.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yeah. All through middle school. High school was better. I made friends with people who were nice enough to call me Emmie.”

  “Jesus. Little fucking assholes.”

  “It was a learning experience. I ignored them. Or pretended I couldn’t hear them.” I clear my throat. It was years ago, but every time I think about middle school, the feelings of embarrassment and hurt crash over me in waves.

  “It still bothered you though, didn’t it?” he says softly.

  “It hurt to know they wanted to be mean to me, make me feel like an outsider, just because I looked different. I was this dark Lilo-girl from a place they only knew about from a Disney movie.” I bite my lip. “I cried about it sometimes, but never in front of them. Always hidden away in the auditorium or the girls’ bathroom. I never wanted to give them the satisfaction.”

  I’ve never told anyone how I used to cry alone in middle school. Tate is the first and only to know.

  He grabs my hand, and I swear I feel tingling where our skin touches. “Forget them. They didn’t know you. They didn’t deserve to know you. They were probably jealous of you.”

  I scoff. “You don’t have to butter me up.”

  He cuts me off. “I’m not. I swear I’m not.”

  I roll my head on his shoulder. With his fingertips against my cheek, he pulls me closer. His gaze is gray and intense.

  “I know for a fact they were jealous. They saw you, this beautiful girl from Hawaii who looked different from them, and they didn’t know how to handle it. So they acted like jackasses.”

  There’s an achy pulse in my chest at the kindness of his words. Again, he frowns. Again, it sends my heartbeat into a tizzy.

  “And for the record, I think it’s sweet your mom gave you that coconut, but you’re strong on your own.”

  My breath catches. As close as our bodies are, I feel closer to him emotionally after this intimate exchange. He cares about me and wants to know so much about me. It’s not just that I’m attracted to him; it’s that right here, right now, I’m the happiest I’ve been in a long while. No worldly destination compares to sitting on this curb with Tate, except maybe my bedroom.

  “Want to come inside?” I grin up at him. My hand is already digging in my purse for my keys. He stands, then helps me to my feet.

  A hint of a smile is dancing at his lips, and I feel like I’ve won the lottery. He rubs the back of his neck. “Maybe we should wait.”

  Disappointment hits. “Why?”

  “You’re still recovering from surgery. And a concussion.”

  “It’s been almost two weeks,” I say. I’m shameless in my need to be with him.

  He runs a hand through my hair. “Believe me, I want to.” He turns to glance at my front door. “But I have a feeling the moment we walk through that door, we won’t be able to control ourselves.”

  “That’s not true.” He frowns at my lie, but I press on. “We spent almost every night together while I was out from work, and we managed just fine.”

  “True, but every day you feel better and stronger, you’ll be tempted to test the waters. So will I.”

  I let out a pouty scoff.

  “Emmie, I want you. There’s no question about that. You have to rest, though.”

  I tug at his hand. “Wait, is this because you saw Jamie and me just now? I thought we cleared that up.”

  Tate shakes his head before raking my hair from my face. “No, of course not. Look, I know I came off like a jealous jackass this morning, but you explained everything. I realize I was wrong to feel that way. What happened just now didn’t bother me.”

  I raise an eyebrow at him. His jaw clenches.

  “I get it. There’s nothing between you two. I’m just . . . I take time to process things, longer than most people.”

  “You’re introspective,” I say. “I respect that.”

  His lips press against my forehead. My eyelids fall closed. I can’t do anything other than hum.

  “Let’s take our time, okay? You need it, and I need it.”

  When he pulls me in for a hug, I press an openmouthed kiss against his chest.

  “Emmie,” he chuckles. “Please. Don’t.”

  My teeth graze his shoulder in a soft scrape.

  “Fuck,” he groans. “If there’s anything harder than walking away from you, I don’t want to know what it is.”

  I eye the crotch of his jeans. “Speaking of hard.”

  He ruffles his hair with his hand. “And that’s my cue to leave.”

  Watching Tate walk away is an exercise in patience that I don’t possess. So instead, I lunge forward and grab his hand. I let myself press into him and breathe in deep. That spicy, woodsy scent that seems to follow him everywhere will be the death of me.

  “Have dinner with me tomorrow night.”

  Surprise laces his smile. “Dinner?”

  I nod. “Maybe we can
’t do the physical stuff yet, but we can eat together, can’t we?”

  Even in the darkness, there’s a spark in his eye, like he can’t believe it either. Weeks ago it was a struggle just to be in the presence of each other. Now we have to walk away to keep from tearing each other’s clothes off.

  Under the faint gleam of a half moon, he smiles. It’s brighter than all the stars in the sky.

  “Sounds perfect.”

  sixteen

  When I walk into Three Happiness Express, I spot Tate at a small table for two in the back. This local dive is apparently his favorite place for Chinese food. I wind through the haphazard configuration of tables and chairs, and take the seat across from him.

  “You made it.” He points to my left hand. “Snack time?”

  Heat climbs up my face when I hand the loaf of Ezekiel bread to him.

  “You’ve given me so much fruit, and I love it. I wanted to give you something too.” I recall how quickly I devoured the perfectly ripe papaya after I raced home from work to clean up for dinner.

  But now before him with a loaf of bread, my nerves are shot. “Bread as a gift. What the hell was I thinking?”

  His mouth scrunches between a purse and a smile. “Stop. I like it. Thank you.” He handles it with care, like it’s made of glass. “How did you know this is my favorite bread?”

  “You eat the same turkey sandwich every single day. It was easy to figure out.”

  His half smile reads amused. “What else have you figured out?”

  “I have a sneaking suspicion that you rarely drink anything other than water. It’s all I ever see you guzzle. You’re the only person that Perry doesn’t dare confront. Must be nice, by the way. And you’re a loner to the core. Striking up casual conversations is a no-go. You only talk to people when they ask you questions or you need clarification. You grind your teeth when you’re annoyed or angry.”

  Wrinkles crease his forehead when his brow lifts. “How do you know that?”

  “Your jaw bulges every single time.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Deep down, under that bulletproof facade, you care. It’s why you got Brett fired, why you helped me at the rock climbing gym, and why you took care of me at the hospital.”

  “Damn.” Blushing, he runs a hand through his curls. They’re perfectly tousled when he lets go.

  And there it is once more. A crack through his hard exterior. More proof that the guy who pretends to be an industrial-strength jerk on the surface is actually a sweet and endearing mush on the inside.

  “I didn’t mean to freak you out. I swear, I haven’t been stalking you.”

  “It’s okay.” His face resumes the confident, knowing expression I’ve seen so many times. “I’ve noticed a few things about you too.”

  I recall how he shared his observations about me in the hospital. Before I can comment, a baby-faced server delivers two glasses of water to our table along with menus. I thank him, then fixate on the specials. I gaze around the restaurant. It’s bustling for a weeknight with loads of other diners. People dart in and out to pick up to-go orders. The local news channel blares from the TV mounted in the corner. The decor is tacky as all get-out with laminate tabletops that haven’t been replaced since the early ’80s and red-and-white-tile walls reminiscent of a public restroom.

  “I really know how to woo a lady, don’t I? Look at this place.” He focuses back on his menu.

  “You’ve already done some excellent wooing with those evening cuddles and surprise fruit deliveries.” He looks away before smiling, and my heart slides back to my chest. “I love it. This place reminds me of all the dive Chinese food restaurants my mom used to take my sister and me to on the Big Island. No frills, but food so good you don’t care.”

  “Really?”

  I nod. “Instant nostalgia the moment I walked in.”

  “The food here is the best.”

  “I’m getting peanut butter chicken. What about you?”

  “Either Szechuan tofu or sesame beef.” He closes the menu and rests his chin on his palm.

  “Wow. That’s pretty unhealthy for someone who eats the same organic turkey sandwich every day for lunch.” I raise an eyebrow at him.

  “Now that I have a huge loaf of Ezekiel bread, I can make all the organic sandwiches I want, which should offset this meal.”

  The server returns, and we order. Tate surprises me by requesting both the tofu and sesame beef.

  “You are quite the glutton,” I remark before sipping my water.

  “Leftovers from here are the best. You can take mine home.”

  “Did I say glutton? I meant to say generous fellow.” His mouth curves into a full smile. A burst of pride hits me for getting him to break for the millionth time.

  I let my eyes wander from my glass to his side of the table. He’s sitting board-straight against his chair, and he’s wearing the same outfit of dark jeans and a gray T-shirt that he wore to work today. I feel a tad silly for changing before meeting him. Denim shorts and a black tank top aren’t exactly dressy, but I don’t want to come off like I’m trying too hard.

  “You look handsome.”

  He blinks, then squints, giving off the impression he’s confused.

  “I think you’re handsome,” I repeat.

  “Oh. Thanks.” He tucks a loose curl behind his ear and cranes his neck to the side. He’s flustered and it’s adorable. “You’re very pretty.”

  I roll my eyes. “You don’t have to pay me a compliment just because I gave you one.”

  He frowns. “That’s not it at all. I’ve always thought you were pretty. It’s just not professional to tell your coworker that during office hours.”

  “Um, thank you,” I stammer. “But if that’s true, why were you so hostile to me for so long?” And there’s the million-dollar question.

  “I’m an asshole.” He says it dismissively, like it’s a no-brainer.

  I reach across the table and set my hand on top of his. “Don’t deflect. Talk to me.”

  His chest rises and falls with a single slow breath. “Nicer folks would probably call me an intense introvert.”

  “I kind of noticed that.”

  “You remember how I said my sister Natalie and I are total opposites? That’s putting it lightly. She’s Miss Congeniality. The most welcoming, friendly person you’ll ever meet. Everyone loves her. She’s been like that our entire lives. I don’t hold a candle to her.” He swallows hard, and I’m hypnotized by the way his throat moves. It makes me ache.

  “It’s okay if you’re not like your sister. You’re two different people. No one expects you to be exactly the same just because you’re twins.”

  “Tell that to my parents. And the rest of my family. And most people who know us.” He rubs the side of his face. “I have a few people I’m close to. My sister; Brendan, the doctor from the hospital; a couple of other people. That’s it. Going out, meeting new people, it’s exhausting. I’d rather get a prostate exam. During parent-teacher meetings in school, my teachers consistently complained to my parents that I never participated in class discussions. I had a hard time making friends. I still do.”

  I’m overcome with the urge to console him, to tell him he is wonderful just the way he is, but I stay silent. He’s opening up to me, and I don’t want to interrupt. Instead, I keep hold of his hand.

  “My whole life everyone—mutual friends, teachers, coaches, relatives—everyone made it a point to remark to me how different I was from my sister. They’d always have this bewildered look on their face, like they couldn’t believe we were siblings, let alone twins. It made me think there was something wrong with me.”

  There’s no anger or bitterness in his voice when he explains. Only the slightest bit of embarrassment coating his words.

  “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you.”
I squeeze his hand, hoping I’m giving him some comfort.

  “I know that now. I didn’t as a kid, though. It’s tough when you’re little and almost everyone you meet raves about your much more pleasant sibling, then makes a comment about how you’re the polar opposite.”

  Letting go of his hand, I caress his perfectly stubbled cheek. He turns his head to kiss my palm.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” When he smiles, I want to take a photo and keep it forever. Such a far cry from the way he used to look at me. When I close my eyes, I can recall perfectly the harsh expression on his face the day we met. It could blast nails from concrete. It’s nothing like the way he looks at me now.

  “Honestly, I could have handled all that fine if my parents weren’t part of it. Over and over my whole life they always said, ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’ That sort of malarkey. They didn’t understand me or my personality. They still don’t. We argued a lot. They thought it was simple to go out and make friends or be friendly and talkative like Natalie, but it’s a huge obstacle for me. It’s like they took my introversion as an insult to them. I was never as fun loving or affectionate toward them as my sister was, but believe me when I say no one is.”

  “I believe you,” I say.

  “Logically, I know they didn’t mean to hurt me. It just stings. They wish I could be more like Natalie. I can’t say I blame them. She’s the absolute best.”

  “So are you.” I reach over and stroke his curls. He moans softly. “You’re amazing. Getting to your amazingness just takes a bit longer. You make people earn it. They have to dig a little, but it’s there.”

  I ache with the hope that my words quell his self-doubt.

  “What does your sister think about all this?”

  I’m a nosy jerk to keep asking all these questions, but I can’t help it. Each nugget of info I get from him feels like a gift. Every time Tate opens up to me, it’s akin to earning a gold star. We’re growing closer by the second, and it’s the most enthralling feeling in the world.