He laughs and then I hear him jump into the water, splashing loudly but thankfully not getting any of the spray on me. I peek out from under my arm to watch him swim down the shoreline, his shoulders moving smoothly through the water.
I feel my face burn as I think more about last night. He seemed so shocked about my never having a boyfriend. I guess it is surprising, I mean, I am thirty-three years old. I swallow, trying to shove the memories aside, as well as the burning embarrassment.
He’s gone for long enough that I really do doze off, so content and warm in the sun, my head still pounding. I don’t hear him until he’s climbing back up the ladder of the dock.
Violettttt, he sings my name softly as he pulls himself out of the water and onto the wharf, his deep voice jolting me awake. That voice could wake me from the dead, I think, my body covered in goosebumps. Don’t you want to come for a morning dip with me? It’ll help with that hangover I’m sure you’re battling after last night.
Let me die here, I wail at him, more dramatically than I intend. I can’t see his face, but his laugh sounds almost surprised.
No one’s dying today, he says. I hear him walk away. I feel both anguish and relief. No, this is good, this is better. Better to sulk in my own miserable company.
A few minutes later the footsteps are back. I try not to react.
Here, he says, handing me a glass of water. Drink that, then this, he hands me a bottle of Coke. At my skeptical look he adds, It’s good for the hangover.
To my surprise, dismay, delight, he sits down beside me.
About last night, he says, and I have to stifle the groan that tries to escape me. I worry that he’s going to say something like, don’t be embarrassed Violet, we all say stupid things when we’re drunk. And that will be what kills me today.
Instead, what he says is this: I have a proposition for you.
For a split second I think, a proposal????? In marriage? Then I snap back to reality, the words registering fully. Proposition, Violet, is an entirely different word, you absolute freak.
I sit up now, no idea where this is going, and down the rest of my water. I don’t want my hungover imagination running away from me.
Which is what? I ask him.
We could pretend, he says simply, his eyes roving over my face. I really, really hope I managed to take off all my makeup last night. I haven’t even looked in a mirror this morning.
Pretend what?
Pretend that we’re together. He raises an eyebrow in question, smiling now. It would solve a lot of problems for me and frankly, it sounds like it would solve a lot of problems for you, too.
I try frantically to rack my brain for an excuse. This is a dumb idea, right? But telling my family that I met someone would get them off my back. They’re far enough away that they’d never have to interact with Finn—so there would be no meddling from them. And no way for anyone to clock exactly how far out of his league I am.
Finn continues, his voice a little bit teasing. Our contract would be good for the summer, while we’re both here.
I wonder what he would be getting out of this, and figure I should probably ask.
What’s in it for you?
I swear he flinches, but he seems to control himself, that arrogant mask coming out again. And it is a mask, I realize. Whatever the I-don’t-care attitude is that he puts out, it isn’t entirely real. I feel almost envious. I wish I didn’t care so much.
His smirk doesn’t fool me, but he says, Besides spending my summer alongside a beautiful woman? I try so hard not to, but I blush anyway. I hope with the blinding sun he doesn’t notice. He doesn’t mean it, I remind myself. He called you a weirdo less than twelve hours ago. So this is all just an act, but to what end, I’m not sure.
I also have some people in my life that I want to prove wrong. He says it like a challenge.
Your family too? I wish my voice hadn’t sounded quite so hopeful, so pathetic.
He looks at me for a long time. I swallow hard, and have to force myself not to buckle under that gaze. The cockiness and…something I can’t quite put my finger on.
He nods. Them, yes, and others. But also to myself.
What do you mean?
That I can be someone’s boyfriend—a good one, too. I haven’t exactly— he ruffles his hair nervously, but it falls perfectly back into its swoops. I haven’t exactly been given the chance to do it right. And I want to know that I could, under the right circumstances.
I have so many questions. But I’m honestly still nauseous—both from the night before and from this conversation. I mull it over. It’s an easy choice for me. I would get to tell my family I met someone, we were together until we weren’t, and they would hopefully back the hell off and leave me alone.
