Somehow, over one glass of wine, we’ve gone from fake dating to fake moving in to fake dog dads.
“Well,” Connor continues, his voice so casual that, for one second, I wonder if I’m hallucinating all of this, “I’ve been looking at some places. Nothing fancy, but somewhere with better insulation. Maybe a small yard.”
“A yard would be perfect for a dog,” Mom agrees, like Connor has just presented her with the missing piece of my entire life.
I open my eyes and just sit there, frozen, as Connor describes our fictional house hunt in surprising detail. He mentions actual neighborhoods. Actual features missing from our current building. Things that sound suspiciously close to what I’d actually want in a future home.
But that’s the problem.
It doesn’t fucking matter what I’d want.
None of this is real.
And the more sweet, believable lies he piles on top of each other, the worse it’s going to be when I eventually have to end this.
“Well, if you two already have some options in mind, we can help with the down payment,” Dad says, bringing us right back to his offer.
But Connor shakes his head. “That’s incredibly kind, Daniel, but it’s not necessary. I’ve been saving for a while. We can manage it on our own.”
I stare at him, my brain lagging behind the conversation.
Well. At least he isn’t agreeing to take my dad’s money.
But saying he’d put his own money into this? Why? Wouldn’t it be easier to say we’ll think about it someday? Maybe? Eventually? Not act like he’s already prepared to do it. That makes it feel real. Serious. Like there’s a timeline. Like we’re already further along than I ever meant for my parents to believe.
And why is he going this far?
It’s one thing to play along with their questions, to give vague, harmless answers about our future so we can survive the weekend. But this isn’t vague anymore. This is detailed, concrete lying about a life we’re never going to have.
Because as soon as this weekend is over, Connor and I go back to being neighbors.
Maybe friends, if I’m lucky.
We are not a couple moving in together, adopting a dog, and starting a life.
But now my parents think that’s exactly what’s happening. They’ll expect updates. Apartments we’ve toured. Neighborhoods we liked. Maybe even what kind of dog we’re thinking about getting. I won’t be able to go quiet about Connor for a month and then casually announce we broke up. It will be weird. Painful, even. They’ll assume I did something wrong, because of course it would be my fault if I ruined things with a guy this perfect.
And I can’t exactly keep the lie going, either. Not after this. Not when my mother is one glass away from adding him to a family group chat and asking what he wants for Thanksgiving.
If this goes on much longer, there won’t be a clean way out.
“You’re a good man, Connor,” Dad says, giving Connor the kind of approving smile that makes it clear he has officially passed some invisible test. “But we can help with Noah’s part of the down payment. I know his job at the rescue doesn’t bring in much, and it wouldn’t be fair for you to cover everything.”
“Yes,” Mom says, nodding before Connor even has a chance to respond. “And of course, you’re not married yet, so maybe a wedding first would make it easier for the two of you to accept the money from us—”
A wedding?
I stare at her, because apparently we’ve skipped right over moving in together and landed somewhere near save-the-dates.
While Connor politely tries to untangle himself from the mess he just created, I finish my wine, set the glass down, and get up from the couch. Nobody seems to notice as I move to the window.
Great.
Fantastic.
I’m apparently now a background character in my own fake relationship.
I stare out at the dark lake until the room behind me blurs into voices and candlelight.
