Our Totally, Ridiculous, Made-Up Christmas Relationship

Why do I have the feeling this is all going to blow up in my face?

The snow isn’t falling too hard, and the drive is mostly filled with my own awkward silence with the phone against my ear and moments of me looking through my rearview mirror staring at his strikingly stunning facial structure.

“So…” he sighs into the cell phone, “what should I know about you that your family would expect me to know?”

“Oh.” I straighten up in my seat, thinking of what facts my family normally mocks me with. “I’m left-handed. I went to college for a semester before dropping out and going down the road of acting. Didn’t really lead to Hollywood for me, but that’s all right. I like being behind the scenes, hooking people up with their dreams of the big screen.”

“That’s a lie,” he says, as if he knows every fact about me already.

“What?”

“You gave up on acting. You settled.”

“You don’t even know me,” I argue, somewhat taken aback by his sudden claim that he knows I gave up on acting. Which…I kind of did.

“No, I get it. It’s a scary business not knowing where your next paycheck is coming from, and the older you get, the harder it becomes to explain to your friends that you haven’t broken into the industry yet. But you swear all you need is one chance. The right audition to get your foot in the doo

r. Yet somewhere in your gut you hear the words ‘give up’ taking over. Those words start becoming stronger each and every day, and soon even the whiskey won’t tune them out. Then you’re sitting in another audition for another part you won’t get and you pause and wonder why you did it all. Why you missed so many birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, Sunday dinners. All for what? The love of your craft? Your passion? Let’s just say I understand why some people would walk away from all of this.”

“Story of your life?” I snicker, glancing in my rearview mirror toward him, but I stop laughing suddenly when I see his face tighten up and his cheeks hollow out.

“Story of my life.” He runs his hand over his mouth and shakes it back and forth before losing his somewhat somber expression. “But then again, this isn’t about me. It’s about Richard. So, tell me more and more about this character of mine. What’s my motivation?”

“Um, you’re a work-a-holic. Which should have been my first warning sign…” I sigh, trying to fight back yet another wave of tears. I should have realized that Richard didn’t work that late into the evenings. He was never able to hang out with me. It’s all adding up, how he probably told his girlfriend he was on business conference trips when really he was seeing his mistress. Oh my gosh, I’m the mistress. This is all becoming a bad Lifetime movie. “Can we not talk about Richard?”

“We won’t talk about Richard.”

Perfect. I wish he weren’t in his car, because talking on the phone like this is awkward. Plus, I have sweaty ear.

“Um, Jules?” he whispers into the phone.

“Yes?”

“You can put your phone on speaker, you know. Then maybe you won’t swerve all over the freeway.”

“What! I’m not…” A horn blows at me as a car sweeps past.

Speaker phone it is.

I am a fucking asshole. I can’t believe I lied about being signed to the agency, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go back to my parents and tell them that I didn’t land the agent. The smug look on Dad’s face would kill me alone. I was almost certain Jules would do some kind of background check, to make sure it were true, but she hadn’t. She just…cried.

This chick is crazy. It’s been twenty minutes on speaker phone and she’s been crying over her ex-boyfriend for the last eighteen. Plus she drives like a blind person, all over the road. Let’s just say that I’m happy I’m not in her car.

My phone’s volume has been on low for the last five minutes, because I can’t listen to her ‘Oh woe is me, I’m in my mid-twenties and single while my hot younger sister has a baby with the ex-love of my life.’ She really needs to work on her communication skills with strangers, because she has really laid out all of her life problems to me in two minutes.

I’ve dated girls like her—or well, I’ve at least slept with them. The cling-aholics. They do just about anything to keep a guy from leaving them, which makes us want to run even faster. I noticed the look of desperation when I kissed her. Don’t get me wrong—surprisingly she has to be one of the top three best kisses of my life. Her lips are gentle and full and they taste like strawberries. But the look in her eyes after we pulled away is what scared me shitless. She looked at me as if we were an item. A real item—not this made-up relationship thing.

I don’t even know why I agreed to this. I guess I want an opportunity to shove it in my dad’s face. To say I booked a job, to say I’m on the right path. For me not giving a damn what he thinks of me, I hate how I try so damn hard to prove him wrong.

Hitting the volume up, I hear Jules still whining. Great. Back into my acting role… “Look, Jules. I don’t think you give yourself enough credit. You deserve better than these guys. You need to set rules for yourself.”

I can already tell that she hops into bed with any guy who looks at her for more than a minute while already planning the wedding. For someone who’s in her twenties, she sure acts like a teenager. But truth be told, most chicks do. I blame Disney and their fake Prince Charmings.

If I’ve learned anything from watching movies with Hailey, it’s pretty clear Prince Charming is gay. He’s definitely more interested in Cinderella’s high heels than he is in sleeping with her. And if he isn’t gay, all of his sweet talk is just to get her out of that dress and into his bed. The only dude I have any respect for is the guy who tried to get Belle to marry him by threatening to send her dad to the psych ward. At least he was up front with what he was after. He pretty much said, 'Listen, I’m hot as hell. You’re hot as hell. I have great hair. Your hair is all right. Let’s shack up, make some babies, and then call it a day.’

“You think so? You think I need rules?” Her voice pulls me out of my thoughts and back into the conversation—a conversation I’m sure is pointless. Most girls never listen to advice, even when they ask for it.

“I know so.”