Page 44 of Movers and Fakers

“If you’re encouraging,” Jasmine replies.

“Just be honest,” I say, countering Jasmine’s words.

Marigold may despise Hayes, so that colors her judgment some, but I know she’ll always be straightforward with me.

She takes a sip of her coffee, then levels me with her too-observant gaze. That’s the thing about being friends with a writer. They always see too much.

“Are you afraid of something going wrong or of it going right?” She plucks my fear from the place I buried it and dusts it off for everyone to see, like an archaeologist with a fossil. “If your family loves him, you have to deal with that when it’s all over.”

The living room falls silent. I pull my knees up to my chest and set my chin on top of them.

“I don’t like lying to them,” I mumble. “But I’m so tired of the constant pushing. I love them, I just need a break.”

It’s hard to say the words out loud. Each of my friends has some sort of difficulty involving family. Jasmine lost both of her parents a few years ago. Marigold’s mom is the worst. Saylor’s dad abandoned her family when she was young. Talking about my family problems, when they’re really just based on them caring too much feels … childish.

“Have you thought of telling them how much it bothers you?” Jasmine asks in a gentle tone.

I shake my head. “I’m being ridiculous. They just want what’s best for me. There’s no reason to ask them to pull back because it’s a little frustrating.”

Jasmine looks like she wants to say more but is conflicted.

“So … what about Hayes?” Marigold asks. “If you’re not going to tell your parents, are you sticking with tonight’s plan?”

My lips turn down. “I guess so.”

“Maybe they’ll hate him,” Marigold offers.

I snort at her version of helping.

“Maybe. But that won’t help the whole avoiding blind dates that my mother organizes situation.”

“Sounds like you’re caught between Scylla and Charybdis,” Marigold remarks before taking a big bite of cinnamon roll. I stare at her. “A rock and a hard place.” She clarifies her literary reference while chewing.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” I poke my cinnamon roll with the prongs of my fork, feeling only marginally better after telling them what’s going on.

“Can I see the photo?” Saylor asks after a beat of silence.

Jasmine and Marigold both shoot her looks.

“What? Don’t tell me you’re not curious,” she defends, then gives me puppy dog eyes. “Pleaseeee.”

I heave a sigh and grab my phone from my lap, pulling up the photo and holding my phone out to her. Saylor eats the bite of cinnamon roll she had on her fork, then reaches for the device like a toddler reaching for a lollipop. She sucks in a breath through her nose and squeals with her mouth closed when her eyes land on the photo.

Marigold and Jasmine cast aside their judgy looks from before and lean over to see. Both of their eyes get as wide as the cinnamon roll on my plate.

“You two are the cutest couple to ever exist,” Saylor gushes after she finishes chewing. “Can I frame this?”

I frown and take my phone back. “No. It was fake. We’re not a real couple.”

“I hate to say it, but she’s right. He looks like a lovesick fool and you …” Marigold trails off. “Look like you more than tolerate him.”

Her words make me stiffen.

“You let him kiss you,” Jasmine emphasizes.

I shake my head rapidly. “That was barely a kiss. We haven’t kissed. It doesn’t count.”

I’m doing a poor job of convincing anyone at this table with my words. Including myself. Heat crawls up my neck to my face.