Real Love, Fake Marriage

by Vesper Young

  I put the wrapped sandwich and boxed phone on her desk.

  At the movement, she glanced back at me.

  “What are those?” she asked. Her voice was flat.

  I smiled. It was a charming smile, meant to tell her See, Deacon isn’t so bad, I should definitely go to see Fred Blake with him and carry my phone around in case he needs me to act as a buffer again.

  She did not return my smile.

  “It’s lunch,” I said. “And a phone. Prepaid for a year, fully charged, and programmed with my number as a contact.”

  She looked at the box like I’d just told her it was the latest and greatest tarantula. Then she looked at me.

  “Who are these for?”

  “You.” Obviously.

  “No, they’re not.”

  “Yes, they are. You haven’t eaten and I need to be able to reach you.” I pushed the box at her.

  She pushed it back. “Mr. Blake, I do not want this.”

  “Ms. Killip, I’m your boss. Take them. Consider it gratuity for Friday.”

  She glared and didn’t take it.

  My phone beeped. I picked it up and read the message. It was the accountant; the collectors had acknowledged payment was received. I showed her the confirmation.

  She scanned them and some of the tension visibly left her shoulders.

  “Take them,” I repeated.

  The tension returned. “No.”

  I sighed. Most people would be happy to get a new phone. Heck, most people would’ve been happy to have a free lunch. Mindy, apparently, was not most people.

  “What’ll it take for you to accept them. A thousand dollars? Fifteen hundred?”

  Her eyes widened. “Deac—Mr. Blake!”

  But she didn’t say no. Evidently, money was her motivator, not gifts.

  “Fifteen hundred,” I repeated. “Send another email about how you want it spent. And I’d like us to go to the hospital tomorrow after work.”

  I didn’t wait for her answer, just went back to my office. The email appeared ten minutes later, with allocation information for sixty-five hundred dollars. I replied telling her to meet me at the same spot at nine on Saturday.

  Mindy 10

  I was startled awake by an irritating, wordless jingle. I scanned the room, trying to locate the sound. Hints of daylight streamed in from my permanently half-open shutters, rudely informing me the day had begun.

  It took a second to locate the source of the noise. My purse. No, my purse hadn’t become insufferably noisy overnight, I realized. It was the phone. The phone Deacon had gifted me four days ago on Wednesday.

  I glanced around for my alarm clock, but it was dark. Crap. I must’ve fallen behind on my electric. I’d gone over to Kara’s last night to watch Ryan then come home and collapsed.

  I stared at the phone. The name DEACON BLAKE filled the screen while the awful ringtone reached a crescendo.

  It took me a second to answer. I almost wished I hadn’t when I heard Deacon’s voice.

  “Where are you?”

  Double crap. This must be when I was supposed to meet him. Given my exhaustion, without an alarm I had no chance to wake up on my own.

  “I’m home. I’ll be there in forty minutes.” Provided I sprinted to the subway and they were running on time. Weekends were dicy.

  “Don’t bother. I’ll pick you up. Text me your address.”

  The phone beeped in my ear. I stared at it. He’d hung up. Rude.

  I sent him my apartment building’s location. I hated to admit it but texting was a lot easier now compared to my old flip phone. I really hated to admit that. To Deacon, the thousand dollars the phone had cost was nothing. A gift, a gratuity, he’d said. I hated gifts. Gifts had strings attached. I’d learned that lesson in an awful way. This phone was probably closer to a bribe. I didn’t know if that made it better or worse.

  I glanced down at my pajamas. I’d have to change. I grabbed the first garments my hands reached in the closet, brushed my teeth (thankfully, I’d paid my water bill), changed, and hurried downstairs. Once I was standing outside my building, I realized what an awful combination of a half-dark room and half-asleep me made for clothing selection.

  Green pants that were a bit too tight around the back, a purple sequined tank-top, and a yellow cable-knit sweater to tie it all together on a chilly day.

  I sighed. Putting my “to-be-used-for-parts” thrift-store buys next to me “business-casual-definitely-not-psycho” clothes was a mistake. The street wasn’t crowded this early, but those who were around gave me looks that ranged from confused to concerned.

  I debated going back inside, but the last thing I wanted was to make him wait any longer. I disliked being late. I needed my job for as long as I could keep it, and Deacon didn’t strike me as the type to separate work and non-work engagements when assessing a person.

  A sleek, silver convertible pulled up in front of me. He was here, and he was fast based on how far away the hospital was. I doubted this was an area executives often go to.

  He reached over and flung open the door without really looking at me. I got in. I debated saying hello, but by the way he clenched his jaw, I decided to remain silent.

  Instead, I examined him. Despite being the weekend, he still wore a (presumably expensive) navy suit. It fit him perfectly, pulling back slightly over his wrists while he gripped the steering wheel.

  He continued to ignore me so I grew more bold in my examination. Sunglasses covered his intense eyes, making him seem more suave than severe. There was the hint of tension in his jaw but it was juxtaposed by the utterly confident control that he exuded while he drove. His grip on the stickshift was casual in a way that came from years of practice. Apparently he didn’t always use the chauffeur.

  The issue with Deacon was he was frustratingly handsome. It seemed silly to only realize that now. Heck, Kara had been telling me for months how lucky I was to have such a hot boss—apparently, the manager where she bartended wasn’t anywhere near as good looking. But for the past year, Deacon had been a world apart. He sat in his office with the shades shut more often than not. Even without the physical isolation, he wasn’t just my boss. He was The Boss. The person who walks into a room and suddenly they become the center of gravity while everyone orbits around, trying to show him their best angle.

  But here, so close I could touch him, he was dangerously here. I reminded myself he was still my boss and he was annoyed at me. Just because I could touch him didn’t mean it was a good idea.

  So instead I kept looking.

  His dark hair was immaculately combed to the side in the way that makes you want to run your fingers through just to mess it up. You being a hypothetical girl who would swoon at Deacon’s appearance. Not me. I wasn’t touching.

  Eventually it was too much so I turned to look out the window. It was hard to remember the last time I’d been in a car. Yesterday didn’t count; I’d been too drawn into Deacon’s state of mind to appreciate it, and with the tinted windows, it had felt more like a shuttle than a car. The last time I’d really been a passenger, just me, the road, and some friends, when was that? College, sure, I’d been in cars of friends. But besides Kara, I didn’t have any friends anymore. No one had helped me move to my apartment; I’d sold most of “my” things when I graduated. The debt meant a taxi was too big an indulgence even if the subway was a half-hour behind schedule.

  Even with the city traffic, it felt like we were flying. The top was down so the wind whooshed past my ears. I wished I could stay in this car forever, a million miles away from my problems.

  In a few hours, I knew, I’d go back to my apartment where the electricity was shut off and have to figure out how to negotiate a late payment with fees I really couldn’t afford. The thought took some of the wind out of my sails.

  I glanced again at Deacon. My boss was driving me to see his father and pretend to be his girlfriend. I could enjoy a few hours, pretending I was someone else. Someone who would be in love with Dea
con Blake.

  Deacon 11

  I was aggravated when I pulled into the hospital parking lot. It was a step down from pissed, curtesy of the relaxing drive. When there weren’t any idiots who forgot to signal or tailgated or drove ten miles under the speed limit, I liked driving.

  I didn’t get to do it much since it was typically more efficient to work while a company driver drove me. My enjoyment of a smooth shift into fifth came second to the company’s needs. But today it worked out. I wanted to go to the hospital, present Mindy to my father for the second time, and get far away.

  But the drive was over. The time on the dashboard read almost ten o’clock. Last time, Mindy had been almost as early as I was. Today, she’d made us almost an hour late. Still, this was faster than if she’d taken the subway. I had no clue how long that would take, but I estimated it was double the twenty minutes I’d pulled off.

  I got out of the car and heard Mindy’s door shut as well. I slipped my sunglasses off and turned towards her, ready to explain that our agreement would not tolerate this lazy behavior.

  I found, however, her appearance left me speechless. I hadn’t properly looked at her when she’d gotten in the car. Plus, the tint of my glasses had, shall we say, muted the vibrancy of her outfit.

  Now I took it in.

  Her sweater was the color of Irish butter, an analogy that affirmed I was paying the price for skipping breakfast. Her blouse was practically blinding due to the sunlight shining on the sequins, though it stretched admirably across her bust. Her pants could’ve been chic, given the fit. The fabric molded to her thighs, flaring slightly at the bottom, framing her beat-up sneakers.

  It was hard to know where to look, though even with Mindy in the ridiculous outfit my gaze lingered in places they shouldn’t, not when the curves filling out the rainbow ensemble belonged to my secretary. Though then again, we were playing at being lovers so perhaps there was authenticity to be had…

  “Just get it over with,” Mindy demanded, disrupting the dangerous line I was contemplating crossing.

  “You look ridiculous,” I replied.

  She seemed surprised by my remark and looked down, as if she didn’t remember what she’d chosen this morning.

  “A bit.”

  I grinned at the reluctant admission and her lips quirked up in response.

  We didn’t get two steps before Mindy stumbled. I reached out to catch her before she fell and she grabbed my arm, practically clinging to it.

  Once she regained her balance, she examined her shoe. Her right foot had gone out the outer side which was worn through.

  The look of detest she shot the shoe was almost comical.

  “It’s because you supinate,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  “When you walk, you place too much emphasis of the stride on the outside of the foot.” I knew because I had the opposite problem of overpronating which wore out the inside.

  Except when that happened, I went to a running store and got shoes that compensated for my exact gate and tossed the old ones which had only started to wear away slightly inside.

  “You need to get new shoes.”

  She sounded defeated. “Or duct tape.”

  The thought of duct tape on shoes seemed as funny as the multicolored outfit, but she hadn’t said it in a joking manner so I didn’t laugh.

  A second later she seemed to suddenly realize she was still clinging to my arm and cast herself off, which almost made her fall down for a second time. This time when I caught her she was quick to release my arm.

  “I’m surprised you never bought proper sneakers among the two hundred grand debt you accumulated.”

  It was a petty remark, but the debt nagged at me. She didn’t have a car, didn’t wear sophisticated clothes, didn’t even own proper casual shoes, yet she was up to her chin in consumer debt.

  Her back stiffened, but she didn’t reply to the jab. Instead she remarked, “I’m surprised you didn’t lecture me for oversleeping.”

  I shrugged. Admittedly, between the clothing and the stumbling, my annoyance had slipped my mind.

  “You’ve yet to be late to the office once and you were early last time. Perhaps there was some extenuating circumstance?”

  I was curious since it was another element that didn’t fit the puzzle that was Mindy Killip.

  All she did was nod. Deadend here as well.

  We made our way to the top floor in silence. I placed my hand on the small of her back—proper boyfriend behavior, after all—and led her inside.

  My father was sitting upright in the bed with his food tray in front of him, covered in card piles. Mindy knocked on the open door to get his attention.

  The smile that lit up his face was instant as he turned to face us, though it was followed by a sharp jerk a second later he tried to cover. He always tried to hide the pain.

  “Good morning, Son. Mindy. Glad to see you!”

  I tried to cover my shock at the chipper greeting. I’d sent him a message on Friday with our time of arrival. He’d replied. He’d acknowledged we were due at nine. But at almost ten, he was delighted to see us.

  In the past, being an hour late to meet my father would’ve been an unforgivable sin. Apparently, since I’d brought Mindy, I could’ve been a week late and still been the best thing since all-night diners.

  Mindy took a hesitant step forward, and since my hand was practically magnetized, I was drawn into the room as well.

  “How have you been, Fred?”

  He beamed at her inquiry. “Oh, I’m doing swell. Been playing solitaire to pass the time. Bit stuck, though.”

  Mindy leaned over to see his spread. “Hmm, how about this?” She moved a card over; I moved into a seat next to them.

  And that began the next hour of playing solitaire as a team. I mostly watched and listened to the polite chitchat they made. My father put on an exceptionally good face in front of her, praising every play she advised. In the past, Frederick Blake had been a miser with praise. Now he was like Ebeneezer Scrooge after seeing the third ghost. Though Mindy was infinitely prettier, I mused.

  The thing that made their interactions especially fun to watch was the contrast between the precise way Mindy examined the board and the instant flush when my father would burst out with “Bully, brilliant move!”

  At one point the two were stumped by a particularly confounding scenario so I began to scan the room. Movement at the door caught my eye. Scrubs. The attending, I realized.

  I quietly excused myself. My father was entrenched in the game and didn’t notice, but Mindy’s eyes followed me. I ignored them and walked out.

  The doctor led me a few feet away before turning toward me, clipboard in hand. He looked grim, but with doctors, I suspected that was just their natural disposition.

  “Mr. Blake, I need to update you on your father’s prognosis.”

  I nodded.

  “The cancer is advancing despite treatment. I’m afraid it’s beyond our abilities now. This would be a good time to alert any other family if they want to pay their respects.”

  “How long?”

  “By my estimate, a month at best. Likely half that.”

  “Bullshit. You told me he had three months when he first came in. There has to be something you can do.”

  The doctor sighed. It didn’t sound like the prelude to Oh, my mistake, there actually is a miraculous treatment available so let me get right on that.

  “I’ll be happy to forward the exam results to your office if you’d like a second opinion. The fact your father has managed this long is a testament to his resilience, but unfortunately, that only goes so far. He’s too old for anything experimental without forfeiting any quality of life. In my professional opinion, the best thing would be to keep him comfortable. He enjoys your visits. This is borrowed time.”

  Borrowed time.

  I felt the doctor’s eyes on me. Doctors had a way of examining people no matter if they were patients or not. He seemed to realize
I was lost in my own dread and left.

  “I’ll have them fax over the test results” were his parting words.

  Borrowed time. What I wouldn’t give to buy more time outright.

  I went back to the hospital room.

  “Everything okay?” she asked quietly.

  She frowned when I didn’t reply. But what could I say?

  The rest of the visit was a suffocating blur, albeit a short one. Half of me never wanted to leave and the other half wanted to get on a plane and be anywhere else forever. But that would be irresponsible. We stayed for only twenty more minutes.

  “Come back soon,” my father said as we exchanged goodbyes. “And you too, Mindy. Any time. You kids do each other a lot of good. My boy is just too serious,” he muttered, half to Mindy and half to himself. He got that far-off look for half a second.

  “Come back soon,” he repeated.

  “Of course.” Hopefully, this wasn’t a lie.

  ***

  I could pinpoint the moment Mindy started to leave. It was after the double doors of the entrance had shut. She glanced around, orienting herself away from the parking lot as she scanned for something, maybe a bus stop.

  Irrationally, I didn’t want her to go. There was something childish in me that didn’t want to be alone with the news my dad was dying.

  It was the weekend. I didn’t have any right to her yellow and purple company, but it wouldn’t stop me from demanding it.

  “Let’s get lunch.”

  She turned back towards me. She evaluated me in a wholly uncomfortable way, but I didn’t break her stare.

  “Sure.”

  We went back to the pub from last week. It was less crowded, but contained the constant hum of conversation all bars had that made your conversations feel private.

  The same hostess greeted us. She seemed to recognize us and smiled as we entered.

  “Hello there,” she said with a friendly grin.

  “Hi. Two of us.”