“Come on, they can’t all be terrible! How many kids will be there?”
Oh, fuck, I hadn’t considered that. I don’t necessarily want children, and I prefer to pretend I don’t have internal reproductive organs. Still, I fear my ovaries might explode at the sight of Oliver interacting with my young nieces, nephews, and cousins. “Eight? Yeah, eight.”
“That won’t be so bad!” Oliver says eagerly. “We’ll just pick them over the adults. Easy peasy.”
I sigh, then rub a hand down my face. “Easy peasy.”
Oliver chuckles softly. “Hey, we’ve got weeks before we have to worry about this, okay? Let’s watch a movie or something to take your mind off it. We can figure out the details later.”
He’s right. Stressing about it won’t change anything—it’ll just make me miserable. I manage a small smile. “Yeah, okay.”
Oliver leads the way back to the living room, where he plops down on the right side of the couch. In one motion, he stretches his left arm over the back of the sofa and extends his legs in front of him, propping his socked feet on the coffee table. I sit in the center of the couch and prop my feet up next to his.
Once we select one of my comfort movies—Across The Universe, to be specific—Oliver’s left hand brushes against my left shoulder, and I shiver.
The film opens on a man sitting alone on a beach; an eerie swell of strings plays in the background as he looks straight into the camera and begins to sing. My entire body breaks out inchills as the Beatles' lyrics lap over my consciousness like the waves in the scene.
“Is there anybody going to listen to my story? All about the girl who came to stay. She’s the kind of girl you want so much it makes you sorry. Still, you don’t regret a single day.”
“Ooh, are you cold?” Oliver asks, rubbing the goosebumps on my arm. “You’ve got chillbumps!” He gives my whole body a light squeeze, pulling me closer.
I gulp. “Yeah, sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry! It just means we have to cuddle.”
As I’m held in the safety of Oliver’s long, slender arms, breathing in his comforting scent and soaking up his warmth, only one thought echoes through my skull:
God, I’m so fucked.
Monday, November 10, 2025
“Jude, you’ve got to be shitting me,” Celeste exclaims.
“I wish I were,” I reply.
Celeste shakes her head and turns to Max. “Are you hearing this?”
Max’s head is in his hands. “Yeah, I hear it.” He looks up, meeting my gaze, perplexed. “How do you end up in a real-life fake-dating trope? I can’t even get a text back!”
Celeste rolls her eyes. “Max, focus.”
“Sorry.”
“So, what do I do?” I plead.
“You could just say you’re sick,” Max suggests. “Tell your parents you came down with the flu. Covid. Food poisoning. Anything.”
“But Oliver is so excited,” I lament. “And that will just make my parents want to meet him over winter break. Oliver says Christmas is important to his family, so he won’t be available.”
“That sounds like a perfect answer to your problems!” Celeste interjects. “Just tell them you and Oliver broke up after Thanksgiving.”
“Then they’ll try to set me up with a stranger again by Christmas!”
“Jude, youhaveto stand up for yourself,” Max insists. “Tell them you don’t want that.”
“And risk losing my financial aid? I can’t!”
Celeste lets out a frustrated groan. “Then just dissociate during the matchmaking and be honest with whoever they try to set you up with! There is no easy solution here.”
