Fake It 'Til You Break It

Only when he’s out of sight, do I realize I was holding my breath the entire time.

I roll my eyes at myself.

It’s about to be a long ass year.Krista, as always, is the last of us four to climb out of the pool. She dries off quickly and ties a towel around her before joining us on the picnic table.

“Okay,” she starts. “You’re freshly single and in need of some hardcore lovin’. What movie do you jump into to get it?”

“Fast and the Furious,” Macy shouts, way too eager, making the rest of us laugh.

“Carley?” Krista asks her as she piles her plate full.

“Hmm, how about The Boy Next Door.” She wiggles in her spot.

“A murderous lunatic is your type?” I tease.

“He brought J.Lo to her knees, literally, okay,” she jokes. “That’s my man.”

“You guys are lame, Christian Grey me, please!” Krista shouts.

“As if we’re surprised.” Carley laughs.

“Demi?” Macy asks, a chicken wing shoved halfway in her mouth.

“Takers, all day.” I nod.

The three of them pause before they all change their mind and go with my answer, too.

“Talk about a dream team.”

“Right?” I agree. “I’d go for Hayden Christianson to TI in a hot second.”

The four of us laugh, and then Carley elbows me in the ribs.

I look up and through the screen door to find my mom primping in the mirror.

It’s crazy how much I look like her, only the less perfected version, as I’m sure she’d call me.

Long, dirty blonde but not quite brown hair, almond-shaped eyes the same shade of green, a deep, ripe lime-like color. She’s always said she blessed me with the heart shape of my lips, though I’m pretty sure hers were created along the way with the help of a needle or two. We’re both pushing five-nine, but she stays in four-inch heels to give herself more height.

The difference between us though is she walks around like a California Barbie where I’m more Barbie’s best friend.

“You talk to her about my birthday yet?” Krista whispers.

“No.” I sigh, wiping the sauce off my fingers before pushing to stand, my towel falling from my middle as I do. “Might as well do it now.”

The girls follow behind.

The second we step through the door, my mom openly scrutinizes us in our bathing suits, likely picking us apart in her mind.

“Girls.”

“Hey, Ms. Davenport.”

“Mom, can I go to Krista’s party next weekend?” I ask her.

My mom turns to me. “You want to talk about this now?”

“Since you’re here, yeah.”

Her features sharpen, but she plays it off, smiling at herself in the mirror before meeting my gaze in the reflection. “So, this is the party that is two nights in a hotel along the beach with its own private bar and DJ? A hotel that has been blocked off for nothing but high school seniors for a spoiled little girl’s eighteenth birthday?” She looks over at Krista. “No offense, sweetheart.”

“Hey, it’s true.” Krista laughs.

I hold in my eye roll. “The hotel that’s safe and owned by Krista’s dad, yes. That’s the one.”

“Honey, there will be no parents there, and I’ll be out of town, so I can’t come to your rescue if something happens.” She makes sure to shake her head in faux concern.

‘Course you won’t be home, who’s shocked?

Not me.

This entire conversation is a pointless one anyway, and all formality.

I ask for something, she plays out the whole scene, makes it seem dangerous, makes herself sound concerned in case my dad asks me about it later, but it’s nothing more than a mother-daughter role we play.

A role we both know and understand and don’t acknowledge.

“Actually, Ms. D, my parents will be around, they’re staying at our property around the corner, but they’re coming to dinner one night and they’ll be checking in at the hotel here and there. It’ll be super chill. Dinner, some dancing, rides on the boardwalk.”

I look from Krista to my mom.

“I swear I’ll be safe,” I add on. “You already know how Krista’s dad is, there will be staff security surrounding the hotel, and she just said he’ll be around if needed.”

My mom nods, in too much of a hurry to get out of here to go full-on pretend I have reservations mode. “I suppose that would be okay, so long as you answer when I call and keep in contact all weekend.”

She won’t call. “I will.”

“And please, Demi, safety in the bedroom as well.”

Macy sits forward. “So... if you don’t care if she has wild sex all weekend, what’s the point of contemplating her going at all?”

I fight a smile.

My mom, of course, misses the contempt in Macy’s question – or chooses to ignore it, she’s good at that – and laughs, grabbing her purse off the countertop. “A reminder of safe sex is always worth mentioning. Nobody wants to get pregnant and ruin their lives in high school.”