My Fake Fiance's Secret Baby

It wasn’t just a letter, though. That I might have been able to handle. But no, life is rarely that simple. Along with the letter, twelve pages at first glance, was an engraved invitation. That might sound like sarcasm, but no. It actually was an engraved invitation. One that cordially — actually the word used — invited me to the family reunion that mom had planned in our hometown in Virginia, despite everyone pretty much agreeing that it was a bad idea. Really the first thing any of us had agreed on in a good long while.

It wasn’t that my family didn’t like each other. We just didn’t really have anything in common, so there wasn’t much grounds for comparison or conversation. The only one I really got along with was Aden, and that was mostly through our shared amusement at the others. Particularly my silly little sister Sasha who had fucked off to Australia the first chance she got. We couldn’t blame her for wanting to escape, but neither Aden nor I could think of anything more cliché. We didn’t like cliché. If Martin Amis hadn’t beaten us to it, by many years, we could have collaborated on a book called The War Against Cliché.

Suddenly feeling very awake, I found my phone in my coat pocket and went back to the couch, dialing mom’s number. She answered on the second ring as was her custom.

“Hullo, dear!” she said brightly, her drawl a lot stronger than mine.

“Hi, ma,” I mumbled.

“Oh, dear.”

“What?”

“Aw, sorry, nothin’. It’s just ya sound awful Yankee these days.”

“They won the war, you know.”

“But the skin of their goddamn teeth!”

“I know, ma. Listen, I got your lovely invitation and —”

“Ya’d love ta come, ah know, Junebug. It’s just so excitin’!”

“I —”

“You know Chester’s blood sugar level is actin’ up again. He’s been gettin’ sicker lately. Just can’t seem to accept that he’s been diagnosed as a diabetic. Keeps sayin’ he’s been healthy his entire life.”

I knew what she was doing. It was a transparent ploy to get me to come to the reunion only with an extra bit of potential survivor’s guilt thrown in. My mother didn’t just give guilt trips. She ran the travel agency.

Cruel and underhanded as her tactics might have been, I couldn’t deny that they worked like a running clock with fresh batteries. There was no way I wasn’t going to the reunion to see my poor, ailing dad if what mom had said was true, or at least mostly right. She did have a tendency to exaggerate.

Thoroughly manipulated by one of the best and suddenly looking at an unwanted trip, I felt suddenly motived to try and figure out what was going on with Chris once and for all. If he did only want a physical relationship, I would cross that bridge when I came to it.

I knew full well that I shouldn’t just show up at Sure Thing during the day, even if I was friends with or related to most of the people who worked there. I needed a cover story to get me in so I could talk to Chris — in his cubicle, if necessary.

Brewing a large pot of coffee, putting it into a mug first, I headed down to the car, a plan already evolving in my head.

“Are you trying to make me fat?” Camilla asked as I put the pastry bag down on the reception desk.

“Impossible,” Jinx Dalton, the copywriter, said, heading for the coffee machine.

“Just wait a couple months,” Camilla snapped, rubbing her baby bump.

“That’s not fat, that’s beautiful, growing life,” Jinx said, making Cammy both smile and blush at the same time.

“We still on for the ping-pong tournament?” Camilla asked him.

“You know it.”

“Ping-pong tournament?” I asked when she turned back to me.

“Office tradition. We break up into doubles teams, and the losers pay for the monthly office party.”

“Monthly office party?”

“There are also vintage arcade machines in the staff room.”

“You’re kidding me.”

“Not a bit.”

“Prove it.”

“Follow me.”

Scooting out from behind the desk, Camilla made her way to the staff room, the baby weight still at a minimum. Knocking to make sure that no one else was in there, Camilla opened the door flicking on the light. There, along the far wall were three vintage arcade consoles.

“Well, blow me down.”

“Told ya. They’re also set, so they don’t need quarters.”

“Any openings?” I asked, only half kidding.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, if you ever need an on-site nurse, give me a jingle, yeah?”

She shrugged. “It would be up to Cooper, he’s the new manager, but sure.”

I laughed. “I don’t suppose Chris is around.”

“Nice segue.”

“Thanks?”

“I’ll go check,” Camilla said.

I followed her back to the reception desk, making sure to keep my distance in case she was miffed at me for asking her to sneak me in again.

Cammy flipped through some computer screens. “His schedule looks clear. You remember where he is?”