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I know I’m supposed to play a part—to fill the space so Graham doesn’t have to be the only single one here—but as soon as we sit down at the table, it all starts to feel…real.
All Graham’s friends are married, and all the wives are friendly, open, and funny, and they include me in their group without hesitation. It’s easy to imagine how it would be if I was Graham’s wife and not just his stand-in date.
Too easy.
I remind myself throughout the night that this is fake. They call me his girlfriend and I swallow down the lie as I answer their questions.
Graham brushes his knuckles over the back of my neck as everyone’s chatting between dinner and dessert. It’s an affectionate gesture. It’s casual and intimate, and Ilikeit.
“You okay?” he asks in a low voice as the appetizers are passed around the table and dinner menus are swept away. “Having a good time?”
“The best time,” I answer honestly, trying not to think too much. Doing my best to simply play my part and not let my heart make my head think this is something it isn’t.
“Really? Because we could duck out early, if you’re not.”
“Your friends are great.” On an impulse, I lean in and kiss his cheek. It’s a risk I can’t help but take. As he smiles down at me, a friend at the end of the table tells him to get a room and I blush violently. The table laughs and I laugh along too, and as the night goes on, with every small kiss and touch from Graham, I feel less and less like a fraud.
Maddie
Nearly two months of this arrangement have passed and everything seems just perfect. It’s like a dream I didn’t dare to dream before. Without the cost of rent, my job is more than enough to keep me afloat and contribute back to my savings. I don’t have a worry in the world, other than how so much of this new world of mine is reliant on Graham. Just like it used to be with my ex.
I swallow down that thought as often as it comes up and focus on the positives.
Meeting Graham’s friends has definitely either taken us to the next level or given me mixed signals. That combined with little trips on private jets for weekend vacations in the sun…life is very much too good to be true.
I’ve been added to a group chat with Julie, Bee, and Whitney, and they’re just as lovely, welcoming, and funny as they were at the dinner. They’re very interested in Graham and me, but I keep it light and vague. Although for the most part, I don’t have to hide anything. Like when they ask how long we’ve been together or how we met. Eight weeks and in an elevator in his building. Oh how they thought that was scandalous…if only they really knew.
Between time with Suzette after work, an after-hours meeting to schedule a charity function, and Graham leaving town twice for meetings, before I know it, the week has gone by and I haven’t seen him.
He’s busy and I’m busy, and even though the ache I feel when I think about being with him doesn’t go away, I get lost in my life for the first time in a long time. Lost in a good way, this time. Not the way I was lost with Kevin, when the days started to blur together and the only thing that broke it up was getting engaged. Which obviously ended worse than it began.
It feels like a century ago that I was worried about the rent and made that frantic call to Graham. It almost feels like a new life, even though I’m living in the same apartment.
I want it to stay like this, all new and exciting, for as long as possible.
I want things to stay okay. I think, this time, it might stick.
Since I haven’t heard from Kenzie, my needy cousin, in about a week and a half, my aunt tells me she’s doing much better. Some small part of me thinks that it might not be a good thing that my cousin hasn’t messaged, but I can’t bring myself to worry about it when I’m finally in a decent place.
Worrying never helps anyone, anyway. One of the best parts of all this is that my optimism doesn’t feel so hard, now that I have a job and Graham and a group chat with another group of women who I can really see myself being friends with.
Friday after work, I come home from the office at the end of the day and find a paper taped to the door of my apartment.
My heart jumps into my throat and my blood goes cold. In my experience, sheets of paper taped to your apartment door never mean anything good, but as soon as I swallow down my knee-jerk reaction, I realize it’s too small to be an official notice. The paper is too nice, too.
Actually, it’s a note from Graham on a page torn from the pad on his desk. It’s thick, heavy paper with his monogram on the top.
I want to see you. Come up when you get this. I’ve missed you.
That’s all it says.
I peel the paper off the door, dislodging the tape he used to keep it there, and run my fingertips over the words. This feels different. He could’ve just texted me, or called, and told me he wanted to see me. Leaving a note in his handwriting, though...
It means he wrote the note and came up here, thinking of me. It means he pressed the tape to the top of the paper and looked it over before he left. He stood here in the hall, wondering when I’d be home to see it.
It means he knew that anyone could walk by and see this.
No, he didn’t sign his name, but they’d see that someone with bold, clean handwriting wanted someone else enough to tape a note to their door.
