Page 23 of Fake it With Me

They continued listening to whale songs. The sounds filled the kitchen along with Daisie’s laughter and Liza’s terrible voice impressions and my own occasional commentary. It felt easy. Natural. Like we’d been doing this for years instead of days.

“This one’s a mother calling to her baby,” Liza explained. The sound that came from the laptop was different. “Baby whales can get separated from their mothers in the ocean, and the mothers will call and call until they find them.”

“What if they don’t find them?” Daisie asked, her voice suddenly became small. “The ocean is so big.”

“They almost always do. Mother whales are very determined. They don’t give up on their babies.”

Unlike some mothers, I thought but didn’t say. Unlike Sasha, who walked away without looking back.

I plated the breakfast and brought it to the table. We ate together while whale songs played in the background. Liza and Daisie kept up a running commentary about different species. It felt like a real family having a real Saturday morning together.

And that was when the warning bells started ringing in my head.

It felt too real. Too much like something I could get used to, something Daisie was already getting used to.

I needed to be careful. I had to make sure Daisie understood that Liza was temporary. In a few weeks, we would go back to just the two of us. I couldn’t let my daughter get so attached that losing Liza would feel like losing her mother all over again.

But how did I maintain boundaries when everything felt so easy?

I really did want to be a good father for Daisie. The best father I could be. I was willing to work twice as hard to make up for having a crappy mother who’d abandoned her. But part of being a good father meant protecting her from getting hurt again, and I was starting to wonder if bringing Liza into our lives was going to do exactly that.

I just needed to play this fake relationship situation right. Keep the boundaries clear, maintain the fiction without letting it become real.

The problem was it was already starting to feel just a little too good.

9

LIZA

Ihad never been much for sports. Coordinated physical activity that involved keeping score felt like a special kind of torture designed specifically to humiliate nerds like me. So when Darek announced after breakfast that we were going miniature golfing, I felt my stomach drop.

“Miniature golf?” I repeated, hoping I’d misheard.

“It’s Daisie’s favorite,” Darek said, already clearing plates from the table. “We go every Saturday when the weather’s nice.”

“I’m really not good at golf. Or mini golf. Or anything involving balls.”

“It’s just putting,” Daisie said. “I’ll teach you! It’s super easy.”

The place was exactly what you would expect from a tourist town trying to separate wealthy visitors from their money. Brightly colored windmills and castles, a pirate ship you had to putt through, obstacle after obstacle designed to look whimsical and fun.

It was packed with families, kids running around with putters taller than they were, parents taking photos and trying to keep everyone from melting down over the slow pace.

Cloudhaven was a rich touristy place on the beach, with boutique ice cream shops and galleries selling ocean paintings for thousands of dollars. The “casual” restaurants would likely have dress codes and waiting lists.

We got our putters and balls. Daisie insisted on pink, I got blue, and Darek took red. We headed to the first hole. It was designed to look like a lighthouse, with the ball having to go up a ramp and around a curve before dropping into the hole.

“Okay,” Daisie said, taking my hand and pulling me to the starting spot. “So you put the ball here, and then you hit it just hard enough to make it go up the ramp. Not too hard or it’ll fly over. Not too soft or it won’t make it.”

“That seems like a lot of variables.”

“Just watch.” She demonstrated, tapping her ball with perfect precision. It rolled up the ramp, curved around the lighthouse, and dropped into the hole with a satisfying plink.

“Show off,” Darek said, ruffling her hair.

Clearly, the girl had done this a few times.

“Your turn, Liza!”