Fake It Till We Break It

Chapter 1

Josephine

         I rub my eyes wearily, slumping against the steering wheel of my car. If I could just find the energy to put the key in the ignition, I could at least drive myself home.

         For a moment, even just starting the car seems like a noble but unreasonable dream. I settle for lifting my arms to cushion my head, resting it on top of the wheel as I rest my eyes. It’s terribly uncomfortable, but I’m too tired to care.

         Finally, I rouse myself enough to pick up my cell phone, calling my dad. While I wait for him to answer, I turn the key to start the engine. After five rings, I know he must be working at the coffee house.

         “Hello?” he answers, his voice rushed.

         “I won’t keep you,” I start. “Just wanted to say I’m leaving the hospital. She’s sleeping. Are you busy?”

         “I was waiting on someone. Not a lot of activity today, no,” he replies.

         A part of me feels guilty at being relieved to hear it. If the shop was bustling, I’d feel obligated to hurry down and help. Now, with my mom sleeping anyway, I don’t need to stay with her or rush off to work. Maybe I can cram in a nap before I head in.

         It’s a reasonable thought, and the only reason I feel guilty for it is that I know we need the business. I shouldn’t be happy things are slow, not with the medical bills we are facing.

         “I’ll head down a little later,” my dad says. My mom doesn’t need constant companionship, of course. Still, we try not to leave her for too long. She’s been sick for awhile, and we know she’s bored of what seems to be an endless string of days stuck in a hospital bed. Keeping her company and providing entertainment is the least we can do.

         “Okay,” I answer. “I think I might take a quick nap before I come in?” It’s phrased like a question, leaving him room to argue that he needs me right away. He doesn’t.

         “Good. You need more rest than you’re getting. You’re going to end up in the bed next to your mother,” he warns.

         I chuckle darkly at the thought. We are all stretched too thin these days. “You’re one to talk.”

         He laughs, but the sound of the shop doorbell chiming in the background alerts me that a new customer might be coming in. I quickly say my goodbyes and hang up the phone.

         The drive home feels like it takes forever, possibly just because I am bored of doing this day after day. I finally arrive, moving as fast as my tired body can toward my pillow. I need food, I need fresh clothes, I need a shower. But I don’t need any of them as badly as sleep.

         Still, I set my alarm to ensure it’s only a brief cat nap. When it goes off, I can’t say I feel rested, but I feel better. It’s a start.

         I hurry around the house to get ready for work, noting he still isn’t home. Maybe things picked up at the coffee house after all. Of course, it could also just mean someone didn’t show up for their shift, and he can’t leave the crew short-staffed. I hope for the former, but even the latter would save us money on payroll.

         I rush out the door just in case business is booming and they need me. It’s a wishful thought, I know, but it’s there. Call me an optimist.

         I wave hello to the skeleton crew as I walk in the door. We run bare bones these days, without adequate money to pay for more workers than absolutely necessary. Of course, this means my father and I are stuck picking up the slack.

         I don’t see my father and make my way through the back rooms to find him. When I finally locate him in his office, he is staring anxiously at a piece of paper. My heart skips a beat, his nervous expression apparently contagious.

         “What is it?” I ask quietly, already dreading the answer. My mind spins with possibilities. A new bill from the hospital? Bad results from one of mom’s many tests? No, it can’t be that, I think. The doctors would deliver that news in person…wouldn’t they?

         He looks up from the paper in surprise, noticing me for the first time. Quickly, the glum look settles back on his face as he reflects on my question. “An eviction notice,” he finally says with a sigh, not even trying to hide the problems from me anymore. How could he? There are too many.

         I rub my hands across my face fretfully, feeling my pulse race at this newest bit of bad news. It is bad for all of us, but my heart really breaks for my poor parents.

         They started their business fresh out of college, putting their blood, sweat, tears, and every dime they had into it. Over time, it became a success – not the instant kind, but the hard earned kind that made them glow with pride when they got to tell others they had expanded to a second shop. Maybe someday, there would even be a third.

         Most of their money went toward future progress, but the business did provide a more than adequate and comfortable living. My childhood could not be considered deprived, by any stretch of the imagination, even though my parents expected me to contribute to the family with age appropriate chores around the shop.

         And then mom got sick. Not only did the bills pile up like snowflakes, but she could no longer help out. Running two buildings quickly became overwhelming. The second coffee house was sold, a painful but necessary decision to reduce our workload and pay for her care.

         We had thrown ourselves into the one that remained, determined to at least keep half their legacy alive. This one bore my mother’s name with the moniker Amy’s Coffee and Pastries. The idea of losing it stole the breath from my lungs and felt like a poignant, bitter reminder of the very real fear we still might lose her.

         Finally, I just walk around the desk to give my father a hug, unsure what else to do. “How can I help?” I ask simply, even as I know this is a question that we are all desperately trying to answer.

         He pats my back, taking another deep breath. “You just do what you do best. Get behind the counter and let me worry about the rest. This isn’t a problem a child should need to deal with.”

         It isn’t a problem anyone should have to deal with, I want to argue. Besides, I am 25, hardly a child. But I know what he means, so I just give him one more comforting squeeze in response.

         Then we break apart, and I walk away to begin work. At the door of the office, I turn back, studying his forlorn expression as he gazes down at the letter again. He must sense it, because he raises his head and tries to give me a reassuring smile. It comes out more like a grimace.

         I smile back, and it is just as weak as his. “Hey, Dad…” I begin, not sure what I am going to say next but feeling the need to say something.

         I end up settling for the only thing I can think of. “I love you.”

         For the first time, some degree of genuine peace flickers across his face. “I know,” he replies. “It’s the only thing that keeps me going, anymore.”

         I just nod, understanding exactly what he means.

Chapter 2

Aiden

         I study myself in the mirror, making sure my tie is knotted in a perfect square and everything looks impeccable. I’m not usually a sloppy man, but my father has such high, borderline impossible, standards for etiquette. Even the tiniest slip up, something no one else would even notice, will give him an excuse to jump all over me.

         I’m determined to make sure he has no ammunition. I scrutinize myself one last time, fiddling a bit with my hair. Then I finally turn away, satisfied with my appearance. Let’s see you find something to complain about now, Dad.

         The thought feels a bit hollow, like a thread I don’t really want to pull. I’m sure he’ll find something to start in on me for, even if I can’t imagine what right now. He always does. I wish I felt as confident as my snarky inner voice sounds.

         It’s not just him I’m worried about impressing, though. I’ll be meeting my family for lunch while we prepare for another business meeting later today. That’s why I have to be dressed to kill, and God help me if I spill anything on my clothes. What’s the neatest thing a person can order for lunch, anyway?

         Our business meeting is with a big shot investor my dad wants to impress. But it’s not just any investor – it’s the father of my ex-girlfriend. Whenever I think too hard about it, it’s enough to make me break out in a clammy sweat. So I try to ignore it, finding it preferable to agonize over my reflection instead.

         I’m not going to miss this chance to show off the mistake she made, though. I hope her dad sees me and is so impressed, he goes home to tell her all about it. I hope he points out that she made the worst decision of her life, cheating on me.

         She threw out a perfectly good man. No, an excellent man. This is my one chance to really rub it in. I want her drowning in regret.

         To be honest, I’m kind of glad she blew up everything we had. It had been messy at the time, but it was for the best. We weren’t going anywhere. Now that I’m free of her, it’s obvious I’m better off without her.

         Still, I’d like to see her squirm a little. Just a little lesson she can keep in mind for the future. Before she does the same thing to some other poor, unsuspecting guy.

         When I arrive at the restaurant, my parents and sister are already seated and waiting for me. I greet them respectfully, already feeling my dad’s eyes burning into me as he checks me over. I settle in my chair as he begins to talk.

         He starts right away in business matters. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, relieved that he didn’t find anything to criticize about my appearance. My sister twirls the straw in her iced tea, looking bored.

         My mother, on the other hand, fidgets in her chair and keeps fussing with the tablecloth. For a moment, I stop listening to my father, watching her smooth out roughly the hundredth wrinkle in the material that no one but her can see, anyway.

         She’s nervous, I realize. A red flag goes up in the back of my mind. The conversation, or perhaps the correct word is monologue, of my father pauses abruptly when the waiter comes to take our orders. My sister’s face lights up, thankful for the temporary respite of literally any other topic.

         As soon as the waiter leaves, my father starts again. I listen warily, still wondering why my mother seems so anxious. And that’s when the bomb drops.

        “He’s a vital investor for our company. You know as well as I do how much we could do if we put our funds together.” My father is looking at me expectantly, waiting for a response.

         “Yes…” I agree slowly, hesitantly. I can sense a trap snapping shut, but I don’t know how to avoid it.

         “Now, we can strike up a partnership. That’s all well and good, but that only gets us so far. He funds one project, and then we have to hope he funds another, and another. Right? There’s only one partnership that’s permanent.”

         My mother won’t look at me. My father’s jaw is set, prepared for an argument that hasn’t even begun. My sister is squirming down in her seat, and I half think she might crawl under the table.

         “What?” I finally ask in confusion. This strange code he’s talking in makes no sense to me. What is he getting at?

         “You and Ada,” my dad answers simply. I feel my cheeks heat up, frustrated just by the mention of her name. “It’s not like you don’t know each other. Heck, you already dated. If the two of you get married, it creates a permanent bond between both of our companies.”

         He leans across the table. “We’ll be on equal footing, merged and both with a child benefiting from it. It’s the greatest motivation there is for him to be fully on board. And you, more than anyone, stand to gain a lot by the success,” he concludes. His voice stresses the last part, trying to persuade me.

         I can hardly hear him, though. I’m too distracted by the ridiculous idea that he thinks I’m going to marry Ada. The woman who cheated on me with my best friend. Just an hour ago, I was thinking how fortunate I was to escape that trap once. I’m not going back willingly, for any amount of money.

         Suddenly, I am hot and nauseous and dizzy. There’s a ringing in my ears. I can see my father’s lips still moving but none of it sinks in. I shove the chair back from the table, standing up abruptly.

         “Excuse me,” I manage to bite out. My father has drilled manners into me. Even in a moment like this, it comes out like a reflex.

         I turn to walk away, so furious that my skin actually tingles from the anger. I’m not even sure where I’m going. Anywhere but here, I guess.

         Before I know it, I am pushing open the restaurant door and walking outside. People coming in turn away from me, and it registers somewhere in the back of my head that they must see the hostility on my face. It doesn’t surprise me, though. I feel violent right now, so full of rage that it makes me ill.

         I am not normally an angry man. But even I have my limits. To set up this whole deal assuming I can be coerced into marrying Ada. To charge ahead without even asking my opinion, when clearly it all hinges on a relationship I don’t even want.

         It’s obvious now that he had this in mind the whole time. He just waited for the last second to spring it on me, hoping I would be backed into a corner and unable to refuse.

         “Aiden, wait!” I hear my sister’s voice but ignore it. I pace anxiously back and forth on the sidewalk in a desperate but unsuccessful attempt to calm myself. Soon, I can see her standing next to me out of the corner of my eye.

         “Ada’s a bitch,” I blurt out, not even caring that I’m cursing in public and in front of a nice restaurant, too. “A bitch. I won’t do it,” I insist, as though convincing her is the same as convincing my father.

        She puts her hand on my arm, a gesture that is meant to be comforting. I feel my blood pressure spike instead, wanting to yell and scream. I swallow it down, barely, some part of my brain remembering this isn’t her fault.

         “Let’s go get a coffee,” I suggest. I need some time to figure out what I’m going to do, and I can’t go back in there yet. More importantly, I need to calm down. Maybe a coffee and a chance to clear my head will help.

         She slips her arm into mine, escorting me down the sidewalk as if I might run away any second. For all I know, she’s right. I just might.

         We walk in silence until she finally speaks up, the first opinion she’s voiced on the matter. “For what it’s worth, I think Ada’s a bitch, too,” she agrees loyally. Despite myself, I laugh.

         But deep down, it just confirms what I already know. There is nothing my father can do that will convince me to marry that horrible woman. Nothing.

Now how do I get out of it?