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I crack open an eye. An unfamiliar alarm clock tells me it’s seven thirty in the morning. Ginger Scoops never opens before noon, so I’m rarely awake at this time. Why...?
“Valerie.” Someone’s shaking me.
Peter.
Right. I slept with my fake boyfriend last night.
Although I can’t say it feels “fake” anymore.
He probably wants me to get up so he can go to work, though I hate the idea of heading back to my parents’ house in morning rush hour, then hanging out with my mother all day.
“I have plans for you,” he says. When I try to pull him into bed with me, he laughs. He lifts me up and sets me on my feet. “Let me show you.”
He leads me into the kitchen, and I can’t deny it smells amazing in here. Was he baking before I got up?
Nah, that would be ridiculous.
But then I see the rack of muffins.
“Fresh pineapple-carrot muffins,” he says, then taps a plastic container. “This is homemade granola. You can have it with the yogurt or soy milk in the fridge. There’s also orange juice, strawberries, and blueberries. Here’s the French press, all set up for you with the coffee grounds. You like coffee, right? If you want tea, here’s the cupboard with the tea and teapot. If you want wine...”
“Wine? I don’t need wine for breakfast, Peter.”
“Ah, but I didn’t plan on you staying just for breakfast. I thought you could stay all day.”
“But you’ll be at work.”
“Yep. You’ll have the whole apartment to yourself.” He spreads his arms wide. “All for you. You can use my TV to watch Netflix, or read any of my books.” He gestures to his bookshelves. Since he was an English major, it’s not surprising that he has a lot of books. “Or have a bubble bath. I got some supplies. They’re under the sink in the bathroom.”
This is all very thoughtful, but I’m a bit confused, and it must show on my face.
“You said you were tired of being around people all the time,” he explains. “You wish you could live alone. This is the best I could do. You can introvert it up for the day, and I’ll be back at five.”
Oh.
“This is too much,” I whisper.
“Nonsense. I’m just letting you enjoy my empty apartment for a while. You can use my laptop, too. I wrote the password down on a notepad.” He pauses. “Do you not like it?”
Peter usually has a calm confidence about him, but now, some uncertainty has crept into his voice.
“It’s wonderful,” I tell him.
In fact, it’s the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me.
He gives me a hesitant smile. “My extra keys are on the kitchen table. Just text me if you need anything. I might not reply right away, but I’ll check my phone regularly. I can talk to your mother, if you like, and tell her you won’t be home this morning.”
“No, that’s not necessary. I’ll text her myself.”
And then I’ll have a full day—nine hours or so—with no one to make demands of me. With no obligations to be social. It’s overwhelming.
In a good way. Like that orgasm last night.
My cheeks heat at the memory.
Peter grins. “You’re free to masturbate in my bathtub, if you like. Just be sure to tell me about it afterward.”
“Peter! I wouldn’t...”
Or maybe I would.
“Dammit,” he says softly. “I wish I could watch, but sadly, I have to go to work, like, five minutes ago, and this day is for you.”
“But you didn’t know I was staying over until last night.”
“I had hopes, though.”
I stand on my toes and kiss him goodbye, and he heads out the door with an easy gait.
I feel like he’s walked off with my heart.
* * *
I’m not super hungry after Thanksgiving dinner last night, but those muffins smell amazing, and if I have a muffin, the granola will feel left out, so I better have some of that, too. I make a small bowl with granola, yogurt, and blueberries, then sit down at the kitchen table with my breakfast and a cup of coffee.
I’m suddenly overcome with a strange urge: to take a picture of my food.
I snap a photo with my phone and send it to Chloe. Breakfast at Peter’s. He made me muffins.
Her response: Aw, that’s so romantic! Two seconds later: So you finally spent the night together?
Yeah.
Good for you, Chloe says. Are you going back to bed again after you finish breakfast? *wink*
Nah, he’s at work. I’m all alone here for the day.
Oh my God! That’s so exciting for you!
I chuckle. Chloe understands how much I’ve wanted a day alone, even if it’s not her idea of fun.
I put down my phone and eat my breakfast. The muffin is warm, and I slather it with butter—no mother to tell me not to. The yogurt and granola are delicious, too, as is the coffee.
It’s probably especially delicious since he set it up for me. He woke up early to bake me muffins!
The thought makes me almost giddy.
After I finish eating and wash my dishes, I look around the room. It’s eight o’clock and Peter said he’d be back at five.
Hmm, what should I do?
* * *
By two o’clock, I’ve watched six episodes of a TV show, read for an hour, and eaten leftovers for lunch. I heated up the turkey and a little dressing in a frying pan with lots of gravy. I also helped myself to another muffin because they really are delicious.
Now, I’m sitting at the kitchen table, another cup of coffee in front of me, enjoying the light in Peter’s apartment at this time of day.
All of a sudden, a strange urge comes over me.
I picture myself sitting here with my laptop, working on some code. The joy of finally, finally figuring out a problem and fixing a bug.
I like making things, but not building something physical like a chair or table, or sewing a dress. We spend so much time on our computers and phones, and that’s what I like to make: software. Something that does what I want it to do.
I haven’t had this urge in a long time.
I miss my job.
Of course, my job wasn’t exactly what I thought it was—or rather, the people at my job weren’t who I thought they were, and afterward, nobody would hire me.
Sure, people talk about getting more women to study STEM, but what we need more than anything is for men to stop chasing out the women who are already there and want to stay. Like me.
Something clenches painfully in my chest.
I take a deep breath and blow on my coffee.
It’s okay, it really is.
I’m working with my best friend, and I’m fake dating—real dating, perhaps?—an amazing guy who is letting me spend the whole day in his apartment. He baked me muffins and gave me a great orgasm last night, and he didn’t even blink at the strange way my body acts.
Something catches my eye on the fridge. I walk over, and sure enough, it’s the puppy card I gave Peter, held to the fridge with a caterpillar magnet.
I smile. Life is perfect.
Almost.