Chapter 17

 

Elsie

 

I told Karsheeda where I’d be for the weekend, just in case I came up missing, but I didn’t tell Priscilla a thing. These last few days I’ve been free of her antics have actually been pretty nice. She’s a friend, but sometimes, her mannerisms and attitude get to me. I’m surprised I’ve tolerated it for so long.

I’m surprised about a lot of things lately. Who would’ve ever thought I’d agree to leave town with a guy I hardly know to pretend to be his fiancée? What the heck am I doing? We’re thirty minutes into our drive to Boone and my stomach turns sour. And Trevor is unusually quiet. Great. He waits until I agree to go away with him to get all weird on me.

“So, did you tell your friend, Priscilla, where you’d be this weekend?” he asks.

“No.”

“Did you tell anyone?”

I glance at him sideways. He has on a sweater the color of coffee creamer, a pair of khakis and brown Sperry’s on his feet. No socks. Call me crazy, but I always found it odd for men to wear shoes without socks.

“Ellie?”

“Oh, um, yes. I told my co-worker.”

“Humph,” he says.

Humph. What does that mean? Okay, now I’m getting nervous. “You didn’t want me to tell anyone?” I ask.

“You can tell whoever you want,” he says, grinning. “I just think it’s odd that you didn’t tell your best friend.”

“Oh.” I can see how he thinks that’s odd. It’s odd for me not to drag Priscilla into every aspect of my world, but sometimes it’s not good for everyone to know everything about you – even if they are your friend. Or sister. Or brother. Sometimes, we need our own secrets – things we don’t share with anyone.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” he asks.

“Because I didn’t feel like hearing her opinion about my decision to go with you.”

“Have you told her anything about me?”

“No.”

“Nothing?” he asked, his thick eyebrows raised.

“No. Not a thing.”

“I’m your little secret, huh?”

I don’t respond. I look at him, tracing his face with my eyes, memorizing it. “I guess we should get to know the basics about each other so your mom doesn’t suspect anything.”

“Right,” he says, agreeing with me.

“Okay…what are your favorite foods besides steak?”

“Uh…fried chicken, brussel sprouts—”

“Brussel sprouts? You’re kidding?”

“No, I love ‘em. I’m sure mom will make some this weekend, and before you count them out, you should really try hers. She’s a phenomenal cook.”

“O-kay…”

“What about you? What are your favorite foods?” he asks.

“Um…chicken, potato salad, anything stir-fried.”

“Anything?”

“Yes.”

“So, if I make stir-fried alligator, you game?”

“Yuck. No way.”

He chuckles. “You said anything.”

“Okay, well let me be more specific. Veggies, chicken, shrimp or steak.”

“Ah…got it.”

“What kind of music do you like?” I ask.

“Jazz, old school R&B. You?”

“Um…” I say, thinking about it.

“And if you say Taylor Swift, I’m turning around and taking you back home.”

I can’t speak for laughing so hard. “Okay, honestly, I do like some Taylor Swift songs, but she’s not my favorite artist. I’m more of a Jill Scott, Floetry kinda girl, although me and Karsheeda be turning up to some trap music to get us through the workday.”

“Trap music,” he repeats, shaking his head. “That’s what’s wrong with the world today.”

I laugh, then get back to the questioning by asking, “So, what do I say when your mother asks if we’re having kids.”

He shrugs. “You tell me. Do you want kids?”

A hot flash slams into me. The process of making kids with this man would be magical. Giving birth to his green-eyed babies would be an honor. I’m so heated thinking about it, I have to crack a window.

“Oh, are you warm? I can turn the heat off.”

Shoot, he could turn the AC on and I’d still be warm. “Why are you asking me if I want kids? I need to know your answer because I’m certain your mother knows whether her only son wants babies. If I say no when the answer should be yes, that’ll certainly raise some red flags.”

“You’re right. Yes, I want children.”

“How many?”

“As many as you can pop out.”

My giggles fill his jeep. “Okay, stop talking like you’re actually my man and let’s look at this objectively.”

“I am your man this weekend, and that’s how you should be looking at it, too.”

“Okay,” I say, lowering the window a tad more.

He glances over at me, then returns his attention back to the road. “You’re too young to be having hot flashes.”

Not when I’m sitting next to a guy as hot as you. I glance over at him and he has this evil smirk on his face like he knows what he’s doing by making certain comments to me. When I’m cool enough to get my head back on right, I put the window back up which was probably too soon because the next thing that comes out of his mouth is, “We should probably practice showing affection. At some point, they will need to see us kiss.”

“Kiss?” I say, throatily.

“Yes, you’re my fiancée. We need to be somewhat affectionate.”

“But I thought you said your mother frowned upon that kind of thing.”

“To a certain degree, yes, but she would like to know that you actually love me.”

“Jeez. I didn’t think this would be so confusing.”

“What so confusing about it, Elsie? When I step up to you to plant one on you, just receive it. That’s all you have to do,” he says, palming my thigh. “Oh, and that reminds me...”

Steering with his left hand, he leans over and opens the glove box with his right hand and says, “Do you see that little red box right there?”

My heart rate quickens when I lay eyes on the box because I know what it is. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Open it. Tell me what you think.”

I take the box, close the glove compartment, then open the small box.

He reaches up to turn on one of the interior lights so I can see the ring in all its glory.

“You want me to wear this?”

“Yes. You have to look the part, right?”

“Right,” I respond. “Was this Rachel’s ring?”

“No. I just bought that one.”

“Just for this weekend?” I inquire and I can hear myself panting when I ask him.

“Stop panicking, Ellie. This isn’t real, remember? The ring is, but we’re not. Remember that. We’re friends. You’re doing me a favor.”

“Right. Got it.”

“Then why do you look like you’re about to pass out?”

“Because that is exactly how I feel. What if I screw up and say something I’m not supposed to say? What if your mother doesn’t like me? Have you considered that as a possibility?”

“I don’t think that’ll be a problem. My mother likes everybody.”

“Even imposters?”

He chuckles. “You’ll be fine, now put the ring on, please.”

He waits until I slide the ring on my finger, then he turns the interior light off again. “Now, lay back and relax for the rest of the drive. You need to be on your A-game upon arrival.”

“Okay,” I say, but my stomach is flipping so bad, I feel like I can’t do this. But it’s too late to turn back now. In thirty more minutes, I’m Rachel.

Just as I close my eyes to relax, my phone beeps. It’s Priscilla. I make the choice not to answer and in good ol’ Priscilla fashion, here comes the flurry of text messages:

 

Priscilla: Um, hello?

Priscilla: Remember me?

Priscilla: YOUR BEST FRIEND?

Priscilla: where r u?

Elsie: I decided to go see my parents. Will call u when I get a chance.

 

I hated to lie, but since I’m playing the role of a liar this weekend anyway, what’s the harm in getting in a little practice?