Page 5 of The Match Faker
“No, no. We don’t want you to feel uncomfor?—”
I stand abruptly, cutting her off. “It’s not uncomfortable,” I say, despite the way the word acts like a noose around my neck. “I just want everyone to get along as well. Especially now that I can introduce Mitchell tomynew partner.”
I’m still wearing that smile as I leave their office a few moments later and jog down the breakneck spiral stairs. The expression is a Band-Aid to the sharp pain in the balls of my feet and the numbness creeping into my pinky toes. The smile doesn’t falter until after I’ve locked myself in a bathroom stall and leaned against the door, my palms sweaty and my stomach churning.
“Fuck,” I whisper. The only response in the blessedly empty bathroom is the rhythmic drip of a tap. Why couldn’t they have just fired me? It would be preferable to this. Because now, on top of being a laughingstock, I’ve turned myself into a liar. I most certainly, definitely, do not have a boyfriend.
I kickthe cursed booties off, flinging them into a pile of my sister’s shoes. My throbbing feet are so relieved to be bootieless I can’t even bring myself to grumble about her mess or line my boots up with the other shoes on the mat. “Jade?”
The TV is too loud. The hall light, the kitchen light, and I’d bet the bathroom, and her bedroom lights are on. I could choke on the artificial scent of Provencal lavender fields, Jade’s favorite candle.
But at least I’m home.
The century-old floorboards creak as my little sister stomps around the corner from the living room. When she stops in the hallway, she glares pointedly at my hands.
“What?” I ask, dipping my chin. Only then does the realization hit me. “The donuts.” A frustrated huff escapes me. I left them on my desk.
Jade resembles a potato sack in her baggie blue sweats. Her short hair is pulled back from her face in chunky barrettes as she grows it out from her latest experiment with a pixie cut. A crease appears between her brows as she growls, “Where are they?”
Her attempts at intimidation are lost on me though. The little girl she once was sits just below the surface, complete with button nose and freckles that don’t fade in winter.
“Hello, sister,” I say in an attempt to distract her. “How are you?”
Her nostrils flare. “Don’t change the subject. You promised you were bringing me donuts.”
My stomach sinks. “I know. I’m sorry. I had a terrible day. I forgot them at work.” I hang up my coat and hers—which was draped over the small bench at the front door—then gather herschool and gym bags along with my work bag and hang them all on the hooks above the bench. I’ll deal with her shoe pile later.
With a harrumph, Jade shuffles back into the living room, where another documentary about cheetahs—her most recent hyperfixation—plays and a cornucopia of snack foods sit on the coffee table. The couch sags in the middle as I sit next to her.
Despite her disappointment, she leans into me. “What kind of donuts did you get?”
“All your favorites.” I snuggle into her in return and pet her hair.
“It was Butch, wasn’t it?”
Once, I ordered an overpriced gift box of four hand-stuffed gourmet chocolate chip cookies for Jade’s birthday and had them delivered to the office to surprise her with that night. Butch interrupted my business call to ask me if he could try them. Not actually listening to him, I whispered furiously with my hand over the phone,I’m on a call, yes, yes, whatever, and hetook the whole boxlike the villain from an absurd children’s movie.
She’s never forgiven him.
Neither have I, honestly.
Either way, I omit that Butch did in fact enjoy two of our donuts today.
“I have news.” Aptly timed music from her nature program accompanies my announcement. From the tone, a baby gazelle or injured wildebeest is about to be eaten alive. That’s how I felt today, like the weakest member of the herd. Easy pickings for Anaïs’s plastic smiles and Butch’s hushed whispers.
Jade grunts.
My heart pounds once again, but I force the words out. “Mitchell is getting married.”
“What?” She lurches with such force that a half-eaten bag of chips falls to the ground. “To who? You just broke up like amonth ago. Oh my word.” She presses her hand to her chest. “Was he cheating?” she whisper-hisses.
“I don’t know,” I say around a mouthful of floor chips. The news is still sinking in, like waves of realization from deeper and deeper depths. The shock, the betrayal, the humiliation. Emphasis on shock and humiliation. And let’s not forget my foolishness.
“But that’s not the news.” I grab her by the front of her U of T sweatshirt. “I told Anaïs and Butch that I have a boyfriend.”
Jade slowly chews a carrot stick, unperturbed by our sudden closeness. “Jasmine Rosemary Palmer,” she says sternly. “That was a lie.”
“I know.”