Mister Fake Fiance

–Unknown: Your boss doesn’t know you.

–Unknown: Isn’t he a playboy?

–Unknown: He’ll leave you when he knows the real you.

–Unknown: It’s not too late. Warren knows the news wasn’t your doing.

I see texts from another number.

–Unknown: I’m worried about you. David Darling doesn’t know you like I do. I don’t want to see you get hurt.

Must be Warren. I start to put the phone away, but it starts ringing. David said his mom was trying to reach me yesterday, so…

“Hello?” I say.

“Erin, thank God!”

I tense up immediately. Warren.

“I was worried when I couldn’t reach you,” he continues. “Your dad said he couldn’t get in touch either. Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” I say stiffly. Hearing his voice after seeing somebody that could’ve been Katrina is making me feel worse. They’re reminders of happier and more innocent years…and the painful end to that phase of my life.

“I can’t believe David Darling! Is he serious about marrying you? Does he even know everything?”

Every question makes me bleed. I grit my teeth.

I want to snap at Warren, tell him that David isn’t some shallow douche, but something stops me. Seeing Katrina—or whoever that was—is stoking my fear. She was sweet and nice too. She’s the girl I shared my dreams with while giggling under the sheets at sleepovers, the one I joked around with and told my secrets.

Then she changed. It happened when Mom died, and Katrina learned that I could end up like Mom. Every word I shared with Katrina came back to cut me. My dreams and secrets were openly mocked and laughed at.

The saddest and most frustrating thing is that I don’t even know precisely why she turned on me the way she did, when witnessing Mom’s public breakdowns hadn’t bothered her enough to end our friendship. It’s like a switch got flipped inside her, and the only thing that mattered was that she didn’t want a weirdo like me around.

David isn’t an immature teen, but that doesn’t mean he won’t change the way he views me. I can’t bear the thought of it.

“It’s really none of your business,” I say finally.

“So you haven’t told him. I knew it. Erin, you need to rethink this. He doesn’t know you like I do. He won’t care for you the way I do—”

Resisting the urge to throw my brand-new phone against the wall, I hit the red button to end the call, then block his number. I can’t listen to him anymore. It hurts too damn much.

Warren wasn’t lying when he said he cares about me. He cares about the pity I’m going to elicit. He cares about the contribution I can make to his career. He cares about how good it’ll look when he doesn’t abandon his mentally and emotionally deteriorating wife.

But I don’t want that. I want what I just saw outside—a normal, happy life. Katrina—or her lookalike—seemed so content, walking with her child and a husband who dotes on her. And I’d bet money that the man she’s with isn’t with her because an eventual mental illness is going to help him.

I accept that that’s why I proposed the fake engagement to David. It wasn’t about my dad or Warren or the reporters swarming around me. It was about my selfish desire to have something normal for a while, even if it’s make-believe.

The skin around my eyes grows hot, my nose stuffy. Shit. I’m about to cry.

Tightening my jaw, I blink away the tears and sniff. Don’t want people staring or whispering. I had enough of that back home.

Remembering what David said about his mother trying to get in touch, I find her text.

–Unknown: Regarding the party, what would you like to have? Any allergies or special requests? We’re very flexible.

Sniffing again, I start typing that I’d love some of those brownies that David raves about, then I stop. I shouldn’t—it’s a step toward opening up. People think that sharing a favorite food or making jokes isn’t intimacy. And they’re sort of right, but those things lead to more. With food comes conversation. Jokes that can make you laugh. And when you laugh with people, you feel safe with them.

I just want to be perceived as normal…as long as possible. That means not letting anyone in too deep.