Chapter Text
“Bye, Martha,” Shelby calls as her assistant walks past her office, heading out for the weekend. Shelby’ll be here for a while longer, the never-ending list of things that require her specific attention calling for her whether she’s behind her desk in the office or not.
Martha stops on a dime, turning and walking into Shelby’s office where she plops unceremoniously in front of her desk. “How late are you planning on staying tonight?”
Shelby barely looks up from her laptop screen, the pressure of another deadline weighing on her even now, when she could be having a polite conversation with someone she’s generally friendly with and gets drinks with sometimes outside of work. “Umm,” she starts, finally looking up, focusing her energy on Martha. “Maybe another hour or two. Gretchen has me reviewing all the pieces that are supposed to be published next week.” It’s more responsibility than her job title specifically calls for, but Shelby’s been desperate for the editor-in-chief role for years, and is under the illusion that if she just keeps doing more than is expected of her, someday her boss will finally recognize the years of hard work, the inordinate amount of late-nights and extra hours she’s put in.
“Come on, Shelby, it’s December first. It’s a Friday. Just weeks before christmas. How important could any of this really be?” Martha’s face is friendly and warm, like it always is, but there’s a hint of concern in her eyes, like she thinks all of Shelby’s extra work is actually a little too much.
Shelby sighs, running her hands through her hair roughly. “I know, I know. There’s only one more issue we need to have finalized before the end of the year, and everything’s pretty much already in place. But you know how much I—”
“I know. You want that promotion. But all of this can wait. Come on, want to go get a drink with me? I’m meeting Marcus and my sister for dinner, but not for a couple hours.” Martha’s been dating the nicest person, Marcus, for nearly two years. Shelby’s met them a few times at different office functions and even gotten drinks with them and Martha when they started dating, still in the early stages of getting to know one another and meeting each other’s friends. The way they look at Martha, with this soft and dreamy gaze… sometimes it makes Shelby’s stomach hurt, thinking about what’s maybe missing from her life.
But no, because there are more important things to think about. Like work. Like her career. Like her goals and ambitions. Shelby always strives to be the best, to be perfect, flawless, even at whatever personal cost that may bear, because this is how she was raised.
“I wish I could, Marty, but I really need to get this done.” Shelby gestures to her monitor laptop. “I promise, though, I’ll sign off and head home after I send out these last two emails.”
“I’m holding you to it,” Martha says kindly, giving Shelby a wink before picking up her things again and heading back out the door. “See you next Monday!” she calls over her shoulder, and then disappears around the corner.
Shelby ends up staying three more hours, finally slamming her laptop shut after finishing two more projects and tying up loose ends for the week. She can get a few more things done tonight with the company of a glass of wine and her favorite take-out chinese food order. She calls for the food and then packs everything up, swinging by the restaurant a block away from her apartment on her way home.
Home, Shelby drops her keys in the hand–turned wooden bowl she’d bought at the artist’s market over the summer, shuts the door to her apartment behind her, and sighs. It’s been a long day, a long month, if she’s being honest, and the only thing that got her through it all was the idea of someday being promoted to editor-in-chief. Well, that and a glass of wine and a new season of her favorite BBQ competition show.
She toes off her shoes, shrugs out of her jacket, and pads across the entryway toward her bedroom. Stripping off her work clothes and pulling on her favorite pair of sweats, Shelby stretches, working out the soreness in her back and shoulders, pent up from meeting after meeting at the office and hours sitting hunched over her laptop. When she finally flops on the couch, it’s like the stress of her week has melted away and all that’s left is the prospect of two blissful days without anything to worry about, excluding the couple projects she thinks she can squeeze in this weekend and wrap up before work starts again on Monday.
Reaching for the TV remote on the end table, Shelby notices her answering machine—the landline a relic amongst the modernity of her apartment, but a necessity as the cell service in her building is shitty at best—blinking with a message waiting for her.
Shelby, baby, it’s your mother calling—you know, Jobeth. I’m calling again because I haven’t heard from you in weeks. The holidays are coming up and I’d just love for you to come home. We all missed you so much at thanksgiving. I know it’s been a while, but I’m dying to see you, baby. I miss you terribly. Please call me back.
There’s a pause, and Shelby’s reaching to delete the message, but her mother’s voice starts back up again.
And one more thing, Shelby, I want you to bring that girlfriend of yours. The one you told us about in college.
The message ends with a loud beep from the machine.
Fucking hell. Her girlfriend? The one who’d unceremoniously dumped her a week after she came out? Shelby certainly can’t bring her home to meet her family; they haven’t talked in years. And she’s not even sure if she wants to go home to see her family for the holiday.
Jesus. This is the last thing Shelby needs right now. So much for an evening cuddled up on the couch with the fleece blanket in a lovely shade of deep purple that she’d bought herself as a little pre-christmas treat. She hasn’t gone home for christmas in years, specifically because when she came out in college, her parents acted exactly the way she’d expected them to: first silent, then, a little more silent, followed up by asking her to never speak about it again. It was mostly her father; hopped up on christianity and self-righteousness, looking at Shelby as if she were the biggest disappointment in his life. But that’s how it’s always felt with them.
Maybe it’ll be better, she thinks, since her parents finally got divorced last year.
“Lord,” Shelby mutters, and peels herself off the couch. In the kitchen, she pours herself the much-anticipated, and now much-needed, glass of wine, and finally cracks open the cartons containing her dinner.
If she wants to go home— if being the operative word here—Shelby needs to figure out a way to tell her parents, or rather, her mother, that she and that girl from college broke up ages ago. So much for longevity and sticking with it and not being a quitter, or any of the other phrases her parents used whenever she wanted to try a different activity as a kid. Her lack of relationship, she’s sure, will end up being just one more disappointment to add to the long list of lifelong transgressions.
///
Shelby, as anticipated, works for most of the day Saturday, squeezing in a few hours here and there between yoga classes and cleaning her apartment. On Sunday, though, Shelby has her usual weekly brunch with her best friend Fatin. They’ve been meeting up like this ever since they met during their senior year of college, rarely speaking during the week but catching up on everything that’s going on in their lives with work, friends, relationships, every sunday over mimosas and waffles.
“Dude, you have to go home. What if Jojo’s finally changed her ways? Maybe it was your dad holding her back all this time and she’s a bird ready to fly, soaring high across the sk—”
“Fatin,” Shelby says, cutting her off, because Fatin’s always had illusions about what kind of person her mother could be underneath it all. All Shelby knows is that she never said a word in disagreement with Shelby’s father, nodding along, complicit in everything that was said to Shelby as an adolescent and young adult. “Enough. I get it. You think my mom is hot. I just don’t know if it’s a good idea or not.”
“Of course it is. When’s the last time you saw your siblings, anyway? Aren’t they going to be there?”
“I really don’t know,” Shelby replies honestly. “I haven’t talked to them much, either, just a few texts here and there. Oh, and we do always like each other’s instagram posts. But I know they’re both away and busy with college and classes and all that, so I’m not sure what they’re planning.”
“Okay, have you tried, I don’t know, calling them and asking?” Fatin asks, giving Shelby that look she always gives her when she knows she’s right: eyebrows raised, lips pursed, the unyielding stare that Shelby always ends up giving in to.
Shelby sighs. “No I haven’t, and I don’t think I’m going to. Besides that, what would I frickin’ tell my mama anyway? Oh, sorry mama, I can’t bring my girlfriend because she dumped me when I cried for a week straight after I came out to you, saying that she couldn’t handle me when I’m like this. It just doesn’t work. She doesn’t need to know that. I don’t know.” Shelby rakes her hands through her hair. She feels stuck; on one hand, she’d love to go home, see Melody and Spencer, see if her mama is exactly as Shelby remembers her. On the other, she feels like her lack of relationship, the fact she’s so busy with work to the point where she doesn’t even really have time for a social life, let alone a romantic one, will all be things her mother sees as inadequacies. And Shelby doesn’t want that, can’t take it, frankly. It’s easier for her to stay in her apartment, watching the ten-hour youtube video of a fireplace while she plays the Charlie Brown Christmas vinyl over and over, than it is for her to face her family.
“I have a better idea,” Fatin says, and by the look on her face Shelby already knows she isn’t going to like it. “Why don’t you hire someone to be your girlfriend?”
Shelby is someone who knows how to hold a conversation, knows how to keep things feeling natural while also moving through topics and getting things done. But at this? She’s completely speechless. “You want me to what?”
“Hire someone,” Fatin replies plainly, with a sweep of her hand across the open space between them. “People do it all the time. Well, probably. I don’t know. But I’m sure someone has done it. Haven’t you seen screenshots from old craigslist personals about hiring someone to act like your partner for a holiday in order to fuck with your family? Same sort of idea, except you’re not exactly trying to fuck with your family.”
Shelby bites her lip. “This is a terrible idea.”
“It’s a great idea,” Fatin corrects, a wicked grin on her face. “It’d be so easy. We set up a profile on a dating app, specifically say that you’re trying to hire someone to be your girlfriend for…what is it? Three days? A week? Whatever; doesn’t matter. Put a picture of yourself looking all hot and sultry, maybe something from the girls trip weekend we went on to Cancun last winter? That way you know you’ll get someone equally as hot. And then you can—”
“Fatin, absolutely not. This is a terrible idea,” Shelby reiterates. “I can’t do this. People don’t do this. And even if they do, I don’t.”
“And why not?” Fatin raises an eyebrow. “Scared?”
Shelby’s face flushes hot. She isn’t scared of anything. Hesitant? Sure, sometimes. Uncertain? She may experience this emotion from time to time. Experiencing the crushing weight of dread rooted in the constant desire to impress her parents and always, always, always falling short? Yeah. Definitely that one. “No,” she says finally, putting her cutlery down and pushing her plate away from her. “I just don’t know if I even want to go home.”
“Babe, I can tell by your face that you’ve already decided to go. Just let me help you figure out how to make it work. Okay?” Fatin’s expression is soft now, kind in a way that only a best friend can be.
“Fine,” Shelby agrees, the faintest hint of a smile creeping on to her face, because Fatin’s right. Somewhere, deep down, Shelby does want to go home to see her family, even if it means being a disappointment. Even if it means letting Fatin take charge and go wild with whatever crazy plan she seems to have come up with. Regardless, Shelby knows it’s going to be a wild ride.
///
By the time Martha gets in on Monday morning, Shelby’s first coffee of the day is cold and the pastry she’d picked up along with it is long forgotten. She’s been at her desk for at least three hours, working on one of the big pieces that Gretchen wants to have wrapped up before Christmas.
“Fresh coffee, boss?” Martha asks, one hand on the door frame as she peeks her head into Shelby’s office.
Shelby blinks rapidly and looks up, smiling when she sees the cute red sweater Martha has on, dotted with little white embroidered snowflakes. “Love the sweater,” she says first, and then nods. “Coffee would be great.”
Five minutes later, Martha’s grabbing the cold cup from beside Shelby’s laptop and replacing it with steaming coffee that smells faintly of hazelnut, and sitting down in the seat across Shelby’s desk. “So, how was your weekend?”
Martha always seems to just know when something’s bothering Shelby, be it a particularly challenging project at work, or something, rarely, in her personal life that draws her attention away from the task at hand. She’s always been more than just Shelby’s assistant, despite that being her formal title. She’s the closest thing Shelby has to a friend in her office, and Shelby bounces all of her biggest ideas off of Martha before officially putting pen to paper. Shelby’s hope has always been that once she’s promoted to the editor-in-chief position, she can do something for Martha, elevate her in a way that helps her reach her goals and get out of the spot she’s been stuck in for so long. The way Gretchen operates and runs their office, Shelby doesn’t have much sway one way or another with promoting anyone, despite being unofficially in charge of her own team. Shelby’s goals are for herself, yes, but also for her team, for Martha and the people who support her at work, the people who Shelby relies on to help her get her job done.
“It was okay,” Shelby finally says, chewing her bottom lip. Does she tell Martha about the call from her mother? About her brunch with Fatin yesterday and the hair-brained idea she’d come up with? Taking a deep breath, Shelby decides, yeah, she can share this. “So my mom left me a voicemail Friday asking me to come home for the holidays, and specifically asked me to bring home my girlfriend.”
Martha’s head quirks to the side. “But you don’t have a girlfriend.”
“I know,” Shelby deadpans. “She’s talking about the person I was dating years ago in college, when I first came out.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“You remember Fatin, right?”
Martha laughs, her eyes sparkling. “Your best friend who got trashed at the holiday party two years ago? She’s kind of unforgettable.”
Shelby’d completely forgotten how their holiday party had devolved into a round of truth or dare with about ten people who’d gone out to the bar after the official party was over, and how Fatin and Martha somehow, inexplicably, ended up kissing in the back hallway. “Oh my god, don’t remind me,” she laughs. “Well, anyway, we got brunch together yesterday and she thinks I should hire a fake girlfriend to go home with me.” She fills Martha in on the rest of the details, including the pro and con list she’d made for every different scenario, and finally asks, “Isn’t that crazy?”
There’s a long pause, and Martha eyes Shelby carefully. “I don’t know, Shelby,” she finally says, eyebrows raised in what looks like a question. “Is it crazy?”
“Martha!” Shelby exclaims, exasperated, and scrubs her hands over her face. She’d hoped that Martha could be a voice of reason. After agonizing about what to do all night—putting Shelby well behind on her usual Sunday-night process of going through every task she has to complete for the upcoming week—Shelby had decided, delirious around two in the morning, that she’d do whatever Martha said. Because Martha is usually reasonable and sensible and doesn’t try to talk Shelby into crazy plans that could never work. “You really think I should do this?”
“Shelby,” Martha says, her voice gentle. “I think you should do whatever you want to do. What I think, or what Fatin thinks, shouldn’t be the point here. So let me ask you, point blank. Do you want to go home for the holidays?”
“Yes,” Shelby admits, because she really does. She misses her siblings, misses the idea of what her mother could be like. Definitely, definitely, does not miss her father, but she thinks she could avoid him easily enough. She doesn’t even know where he’s living since her parents got divorced.
“And do you want to bring someone home with you? The person your mom thinks you’re still dating?”
Shelby sighs. “Yes.”
“I think you have your answer.”
It’s true; Shelby does have her answer. It feels weird, a little wrong, and a lot deceptive, but it’s either this, or show up girlfriendless, ultimately proving what her parents had said to her when she came out: that she’d be alone. “I think, unfortunately, you’re probably right.”
///
Later that night, around nine, when Shelby finally shuts her work laptop and puts it on the end table by her couch, the intercom to her apartment buzzes. “Weird,” she mutters, because nobody really comes over to begin with, let alone at this time of night. She presses the button and says, “Who is it?” into the mic.
“It’s me, bitch, let me up.”
Shelby chuckles under her breath, and presses the other button that unlocks the outer door. She leaves her own front door ajar and walks to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle of white from the fridge and pours two glasses. Fatin bursts through the door just as Shelby’s putting the cork back in the bottle, and she walks to the entryway, handing her friend a glass after she kicks off her shoes.
“What are you doing here, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“What, you’re not happy to see me?” Fatin smirks, sipping the wine. “Shit, this is fresh. Nice.”
The two of them walk to the living room, sitting on opposite sides of Shelby’s couch. Shelby eyes Fatin, and finally says, “You’re here about your little plan, aren’t you?”
“You know me so well,” Fatin replies easily. “Now hand me your phone. I’m making you a dating profile.”
Shelby’s chest squeezes with something almost like anxiety, not that she has anxiety, because she’s a perfectly regulated person who’s spent years intellectualizing everything that’s happened to her in her life, and she’s too busy to deal with anything like that. “Let me drive, at least,” is her acquiescence, navigating to the app store and downloading the one Fatin suggests.
Over the next hour, Shelby and Fatin set up her profile, specifically wording it to indicate that she’s not looking for romance, but rather someone to act as her fake girlfriend for a week, with pay. It feels awkward, but Shelby trusts Fatin, trusts that she wouldn’t set Shelby up to do something that’s going to end up humiliating her, and by the time the profile is all set up and Shelby’s been encouraged by a little welcome message in her inbox to start swiping of her own accord, she’s almost used to the idea of it.
Fatin leaves shortly after, recommending that Shelby shuts her phone down and calls it a night so that she doesn’t get overwhelmed by all those hotties dying to get to know her. Shelby laughs, doubtful, but agrees, and ends up falling into a fitful sleep.
At 5:00 AM sharp the next morning, Shelby wakes on instinct, her internal clock having always been set to this so-called ungodly time. She rises from her bed, moves through a few quick yoga poses in an attempt to shake the remnants of sleep from her tired body, and pads barefoot to the kitchen to make coffee. While she waits, Shelby switches on her phone, met with a flurry of notifications, all from the dating app. She has fifteen people already that want to meet her, and the idea is both overwhelming and a little relieving. Shooting a quick message off to Fatin asking her to meet up later that evening, Shelby throws herself into her day, all thoughts of the app and fake girlfriends forgotten.
Fatin shows up at Shelby’s apartment around nine again, and the two of them work through writing replies and scheduling dates— interviews—with everyone who’s messaged on the app. Shelby plans to meet up with all fifteen people this coming weekend, hoping to find someone at least a little bit normal that she’ll be able to bring home to her family for christmas, and hoping to do it the way she does all things: quickly, and efficiently.
“Well, babe, I feel like we have a lot of potential here,” Fatin remarks, a smirk ghosting across her face.
“A lot of potential for disaster, you mean?” Shelby asks. She was hoping she’d become more settled into the idea of doing all this the more they talked about it, but she’s just as apprehensive as she was at the start. “There are so many things that can go wrong.”
“Yeah, or it could go incredibly right. What if you meet someone you actually like and hit it off? You so need to get—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Shelby chides, cutting her off. So what if she hasn’t been with anyone in…a while. It’s her business, not Fatin’s. “I don’t want to meet anyone, anyway. I don’t have time for relationships right now.”
“I know, I know, you’re all about your career right now. Getting promoted. Making editor-in-chief. I’ve heard it all before. So maybe instead you’ll just find someone nice enough to fake being your girlfriend for a long weekend and then you’ll never have to see her again.
///
Shelby didn’t, in fact, find someone nice enough to play her fake girlfriend. The fifteen dates fell somewhere between comical and nightmarish, with a dash of desperation and awkwardness thrown in the mix. Everyone she’d talked to had been overeager, looking for more than just friends, or were straight up rude, expecting payment on the spot.
Arriving home, chilled from the December air, Shelby flopped face down on to her couch. What a waste of a fucking Saturday, she thought, going over everything she could have been doing for work during the last several hours. Not worth it, it’s time lost and she can’t get it back, so she might as well move forward. She can just call her mother on Monday, tell her she’ll be coming home alone, biting the bullet as she disappoints everyone once again.
Only, when Shelby shows up at her office Monday morning, early as always, Martha is already there, waiting in the dim light at her seat in front of Shelby’s desk.
“Martha, what are you doing here so early?”
“Spill it,” Martha says, a wicked grin on her face.
Shelby’s puzzled, brows pinching together as she rapidly runs through the list of things Martha could possibly be talking about right now. She sits in her chair and rests her palms flat on her desk. “Spill what, exactly? My thoughts on the newest piece that dropped in my inbox late last night?”
Martha fixes Shelby with a look, brows raised. “No, silly, any updates on your plan with Fatin. She texted me and said you had dates–er, interviews, this weekend.”
“She texted you about this? I didn’t even know she had your number.”
“She’s had it since—well. You know since when.” Martha’s eyes sparkled again.
Jesus.
“Yes, no need to remind me,” Shelby quips. “Well, if you must know, it was a total bust. Everyone was either weird or rude; just, people I could never bring home.” She scrubs a hand over her face, runs her fingers through her hair. “I think I’m just going to call and say I’m coming home alone.”
“You could do that,” Martha starts, waiting for Shelby to look at her and meet her gaze before continuing, “or, I have an idea.”
There’s a long pause, and Shelby gestures between them, wordlessly asking Martha to continue.
“You could call my sister.”
“Toni?” Shelby says, her voice thick with incredulity. Despite having known Martha for the better part of a decade, she’s never met Toni, only heard stories about her. Shelby gets the impression she’s dark and broody, cantankerous and acerbic. But Martha loves her so much, and Martha’s one of the sweetest people Shelby’s ever met, so Toni’s always been a bit of a mystery in Shelby’s mind.
“Yes, Toni. You know she’s an actor, like, aside from all the other jobs she has. She’s between gigs right now. It could be really good.”
Shelby chews her lip. “I’m not sure,” she tries, trailing off. “You’ve always made her seem—”
“Cranky? I know. That was when she was dating Regan.” Martha rolls her eyes. “They broke up last year and Toni’s kind of transformed overnight now that she’s no longer under the witch’s spell.”
Shelby laughs suddenly, surprising herself with how loud it is. “The witch? That’s the closest I’ve ever heard you come to saying something mean about someone.”
“Well, she deserves it. She sucks. And she dragged Toni around for years. Despite everything, Shelby, Toni really is a sweetheart.” Martha raises a finger, pointing at Shelby. “But don’t tell her I said that. She’d hate it.”
Shelby makes an X with her finger over the left side of her chest. “Cross my heart.”
Martha smiles, sombering. “Anyway, do you want her number maybe? If you still want to go along with Fatin’s whole plan, I mean.”
Biting her inside of her cheek, Shelby takes a deep breath. It’s just meeting one more person. She’s already met fifteen. How bad could it be? “Okay.”
“Awesome,” Martha says, effusive and giggly, like she has some secret plan Shelby doesn’t know about and Shelby’s just unwittingly agreed to the first part. “Give me your phone.”
Shelby hands it over, and Martha types in Toni’s number, passing it back after hitting save. “I’ll text her tonight,” she says, taking her phone back. Her heart, unexpectedly, hammering in her throat, Shelby’s instinct is to deflect. “But right now, I have way too much work to do.”
Martha rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Call me if you need me. I’ll be at my desk.”
The day passes by in a blur, punctuated by a salad that somewhat magically shows up beside her presumably around lunch, and before Shelby knows what’s happening, Martha’s at the door of her office again. “Shelby, it’s almost six. I’m heading out.”
“Mhmm,” Shelby murmurs absently, eyes still focused on her screen. She just needs to finish the paragraph she’s writing, fingers moving rapidly over her keyboard. Needs to finish reading the next sentence of the piece she’s editing, absorbing the words in front of her as her eyes track over the screen, crafting it into something publishable. When she finally looks up, Martha’s gone, the hallway is dark, and she checks the clock in the corner of her screen. “Oh, for frick’s sake,” she mutters, realizing suddenly that in the blink of an eye it’s become once again nine at night and she’s still working, the muscles in her back aching from sitting for so long. She quickly powers down her laptop, sliding it into her bag, and grabs her keys.
At home, Shelby drops her bag by the door. Normally she’d try to work a little longer, cozy up on her couch and get a few more things done. Tonight, though, Shelby’s too preoccupied. She told Martha she’d text Toni, and Shelby is nothing if not true to her word. Pulling out her phone, Shelby writes a message and sends it before she can think better of it.
///
When Shelby meets Toni for the first time that Friday night, she’s nervous. Not nervous in the way she’s used to; nervous excitement, nervousness buried underneath layers of preparedness and understanding that what she’s about to walk into is going to be perfectly fine. She’s not prepared for this, though, because how could she be? Is anyone ever really prepared for meeting their colleague-slash-friend’s formerly ill-tempered sister in a ploy to fake date them and lie to their families?
As it turns out, though, Toni is great. Easy to talk to, kind and relaxed, a smile always on her lips as Shelby walks her through the general idea of her plan. Toni nods along, absorbing the information, no hint of judgment in her expression whatsoever. Her voice is low, raspy in a way Shelby’s not heard before, brown eyes soft on hers in a way that’s more inviting than piercing.
“You really don’t want to just tell your family the truth, huh?” Toni asks as they’re pulling on their coats, preparing to leave.
Shelby swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry. Does she need to explain herself to Toni? Outside of what she’s already shared, none of which was particularly personal. Everything she’s said was mostly focused on what her family is like, what the expectations of the week they’ll spend in Fort Travis, Texas will be like. There’s something in the openness of Toni’s expression, the way she asks, that makes Shelby feel comfortable enough to say, “No, I really don’t.”
Toni watches her for a minute, brown eyes tracking over Shelby’s features, and then shrugs easily, letting it go. “Cool. No skin off my back.”
“That’s a nasty phrase,” Shelby laughs, wondering to herself what the etymology could possibly be to explain something like that.
“Sure sounds like it.” There’s a pause at the door, Toni pulling on it and holding it open for Shelby. “So, you’re going to pick me up Wednesday the 20th?”
Shelby nods.
“You have my address?”
Shelby nods again. “I can get it from Martha.”
“Sweet.” Toni gives Shelby one final smile before waving, starting to turn and head in the opposite direction. “It was good to meet you, Shelby. Look forward to pretending to be your years-long gay lover.” Toni winks, and Shelby feels her face flush.
“Please don’t say that in front of my mother.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Toni assures her, turning her back and holding a hand up in a wave. “Seeya soon!”
“Bye,” Shelby calls to her receding form, wondering suddenly what the actual fuck she’s gotten herself into.
///
Shelby shows up at Toni’s apartment at three o’clock sharp on the afternoon of the 20th. She lets her white BMW hatchback idle at the curb as she types a quick text, telling Toni she’s outside waiting for her. Within five minutes, she appears in the door frame with a large yellow duffel slung over her shoulder, wearing a pair of faded black jeans, a green and navy tartan jacket over a light grey hoodie, her hair held back in two french braids. She looks…handsome, Shelby thinks, before blinking rapidly, tossing the thought away.
Pressing a button on the door to open the back of the car, Shelby turns in her seat and calls back a polite, “Hey,” as she watches Toni toss her bag haphazardly next to Shelby’s in the trunk. Shelby hadn’t noticed the small bag Toni had in her other hand which she stows in the footwell behind the passenger seat before climbing into the front.
“Hey, yourself,” Toni says, her eyes sparkling. “Ready to get this show on the road?”
Shelby bites the inside of her cheek, her stomach suddenly in a knot. She wonders if it’s too late to call it all off, to call her mother and tell her Toni’s gotten hung up at work, that she’s not going to be able to make it, that Shelby herself can’t make it, and she can just stay back in her apartment like she’s done before, peacefully alone and able to do exactly as she pleases. But, no, because it’s been ages since she’s seen her siblings, and longer since she’s seen her mom, and they’re already in the car with bags packed and ready to go, and—
“Having second thoughts?” Toni asks, cutting off Shelby’s thoughts as they rapidly spiral out of control.
“Um, yeah. Something like that.” She swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry, and reaches for the iced coffee in the cup holder, taking a long sip to settle herself down. “It’s fine, really,” she insists, not sure if she’s trying to convince herself or Toni. “Just…I don’t know. Worried, I guess.”
Toni reaches between them, takes the coffee from Shelby’s hand and puts it back in the cup holder before gripping Shelby’s fingers in her own, giving them a quick squeeze. “It’s gonna be alright, Shelby. Parents love me, or so I’ve been told. If there are any problems, we’ll figure it out together, yeah?”
“Okay, yeah,” Shelby breathes, thinking to herself that this must be what it feels like to have support from another person in a capacity outside the boardroom. “Yeah, that sounds fine.”
Toni gives Shelby’s hand another squeeze before letting go, clasping her hands in her lap. “Awesome. Now that that’s settled, let’s get this show on the road. How long’s the drive again?”
Shelby blows out a breath. “About five hours, if memory serves.” She pulls up her phone, plugging it into the USB to bring the map on to the car’s screen. She hasn’t forgotten, exactly, how to get home, but more so likes to have the reminder up there in case for some reason she loses her head halfway through the drive and misses a turn.
“Nice.” Toni reclines the seat slightly, kicking off her shoes and crossing her legs over each other. “Well, buckle up, Bee. Perfect amount of time to get to know each other.”
They do, in fact, get to know each other. They take turns asking questions, sharing truths about themselves that Shelby wouldn’t normally care to tell anyone. Toni asks her about her favorite color, the dreams she had for herself as a kid. Where she went to college, if anyone’s ever broken her heart. Toni tells Shelby about how she grew up in and out of foster care, about her high school girlfriend Regan who she’d been with for close to ten years before they finally broke up, and Shelby remembers now how Martha said Toni’s become a whole different person since then.
“What was the final straw with Regan?” Shelby asks. “Like, who finally ended it with whom?”
Toni doesn’t say anything for a moment, suddenly turning in her seat and reaching for the bag on the floor behind her. She pulls out a bag of takis, peeling it open and crunching loudly on one before tilting the bag toward Shelby. “Want one?”
Shelby gets a whiff of the processed artificial spiciness, and wrinkles her nose. “No, thanks.”
Toni laughs, unfazed. “You’re so subtle, Shelby.”
Shelby turns her head, looking at Toni briefly, a smirk playing across her lips. “So I’ve been told.” She clears her throat, Toni and Regan’s breakup still stuck in the front of her mind. “Was that too personal? About, um, I mean about your breakup?”
“No,” Toni says instantly, her voice soft. “No, it’s not. Sorry. I don’t know. It’s been a really weird year, and I kind of… I dunno, feel like a totally different person now. Like Regan was holding me back all this time, trying to force me into some box that I was never gonna fit in. I finally got tired of being squeezed into the shape someone else wanted me to be, and told her we were finished. I mean, we’d broken up dozens of times before. She… she cheated on me a lot. When we were younger. And then after that it was hard for me to trust her, or anyone really. I’ve been kind of flying solo for the last year, just figuring my shit out.”
“Martha said you seem happier now.”
Toni doesn’t say anything to that, just looking out the window on her side of the car as the sun dances low on the horizon, Shelby’s favorite time of day in the winter, when dusk so quickly turns to darkness, inviting the bright December stars out.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that,” Shelby adds.
“No, no. It’s cool. Really. I didn’t know Marty felt that way, but when I think about it, she’s probably right. It hurt a lot, I guess. Breaking up with Regan for real. For good. But yeah, it’s the right thing. And I do think I’m happier now. Or at least more myself.”
“Sometimes, being yourself is the start of being happy.”
“You know much about that?” Toni asks it in a way that’s not accusatory at all, but so gentle and kind that it makes Shelby’s chest hurt.
“Actually, I don’t think I do. But someday, I’d like to.”
Toni puts her bag of takis down and turns toward Shelby. For the second time that day, Toni reaches over and takes Shelby’s hand. She laces their fingers together like it’s an experiment, like she’s trying it on for size and, finding that they fit, gives Shelby’s hand a squeeze. “I think you’ll be great at it.”
The rest of the drive passes easily, punctuated by conversation and the continued getting to know one another of two people who are about to pretend like they’ve been living together for years. It’s almost surprising when the GPS says they’ve arrived, and Shelby’s pulling the car into the driveway of her childhood home. After her parents divorce, Shelby’s father somewhat fell off the map. All the really knows is that her mom still lives in the same house, and her dad seems to send money, or checks, or there’s some kind of arrangement that’s allowed the house to stay with her mom.
Toni opens her door, sliding out of the car and starting to collect her things. Shelby, for her part, stays seated, her hands still on the steering wheel. A light knock on her window, and Shelby turns to see Toni standing there, loaded up like a pack mule, with all of their bags collectively hanging off Toni in one way or another. The look alone is enough to snap Shelby from thoughts of her parents, of her childhood, and she opens her door and steps out. “Want me to take one?”
“Nah, I got it,” Toni assures her, taking a few steps back to give shelby room to get out of the car and readjust her jacket.
They walk to the front door together, and when they get there, Shelby rings the bell, grabbing Toni’s hand at her side almost as an afterthought. Toni’s palm is cool and dry against her own clammy hand, and the way Toni holds Shelby’s hand, as if it’s easy, as if it’s second nature, reassures her more than she’d care to admit.
“Baby,” Shelby’s mother Jobeth proclaims, throwing the door open, a wide grin on her face. She’s wearing dark jeans, a white turtleneck with tiny printed christmas trees all over it, with a sweater vest Shelby can only assume came from the grandma section of the department store over top of it to finish off the outfit. “Oh, get in here you two! This is so wonderful, I’m so happy you’re both here. Come, come,” Jobeth says, ushering them both inside and shutting the door behind them.
“Hi, mama,” Shelby starts, her voice coming out a small squeak, so profoundly different from the fullness and confidence in the way she normally talks when she’s back at her own home, or at work, or with friends. Making herself small the way she’s so used to doing. “Um, this is—”
“Toni!” Jobeth bubbles, her smile broad and genuine. “Of course it’s Toni. I can’t wait to get to know you better.”
“Jobeth,” Toni says, dropping hers and Shelby’s bags in the entryway. “So wonderful to meet you.” She puts out her arms like she’s going to hug Jobeth, and Shelby’s opening her mouth to stop her just as Toni takes a step closer.
“Oh, we’re huggers. Get in here.” Jobeth wraps her arms around Toni’s shoulders, her platinum blonde hair a stark contrast to Toni’s dark brown. She holds Toni tightly, as if she’s known her forever, like Toni’s her own flesh and blood, finally come home after too long away. It stings, watching them. Shelby doesn’t think her mother’s ever held her that way. “Baby, you too,” Jobeth says, signaling for Shelby to join them in some kind of group hug.
It’s warm, and makes Shelby’s heart swell in the same moment it pierces it, because her family are not huggers. Shelby remembers a few stiff embraces with her parents over the years, but never what she imagines other families had.
When the hug finally breaks apart, Jobeth has a grin on her face, and Shelby looks at her quizzically. A finger pointed toward the ceiling and Shelby glances up, noticing for the first time the mistletoe hanging from the ceiling just inside the door.
“Oh, come on,” Jobeth drawls. “Don’t be shy, now.”
Shelby looks at Toni almost desperately, but Toni’s expression is, as always, open and cheerful. Unfazed, Toni pulls Shelby in by the hand, sliding her free hand up to the back of Shelby’s neck and pressing their lips together briefly. “Go with it,” Toni whispers, her breath tickling Shelby’s cheek. In what feels like an instant, Toni dips her low, tangling her fingers in Shelby’s hair and kissing her so softly that Shelby’s heart stutters in her chest, sparks flying through her body unexpectedly, and then Shelby’s being placed back upright at Toni’s side.
Her mother is practically glowing, and Toni’s no help, and Shelby’s more than a little confused at the way her stomach flutters in the wake of whatever the hell that was. “Um,” she starts, wetting her lips with her tongue. “Maybe we should put our bags upstairs. Will we be in my room and the guest room?”
Jobeth takes one of the bags and starts heading up the stairs. “Shelby, baby, I’m not prehistoric,” she chides. “I know you two sleep in the same room together at home, so I’ve set you both up in your old room.”
Shelby wants to protest, wants to say something to get her out of having to share a room— share a bed— with Toni, but she can’t reveal their lie. Instead, she follows Toni and her mother up the stairs, watching as the two of them chat happily about the upcoming week.
“I’ll let you two get settled, then come on down and have some dinner. I made your favorite, baby,” Jobeth says, giving the two of them some kind of knowing look before shutting the door behind herself, leaving Shelby and Toni alone.
“Your mom seems really nice,” Toni says, shrugging off her plaid jacket and tossing it over a chair in the corner. It’s an innocent enough thing to say, and Shelby doesn’t want to get into the long history of her complicated adolescence right now, so she just nods.
“Sure,” Shelby replies, reaching up and pulling out her hair tie and letting her hair fall loose around her shoulders. She runs her fingers through it a few times, working out any tangles, and sits down at the chair in front of her vanity. The same one she’d sat in on so many other occasions; practicing her makeup for pageants, making sure there wasn’t a hair out of place before one of her tennis matches. The pressure she’d felt so many times as she sat in this exact spot threatens to choke her, and Shelby stands abruptly, pushing the chair almost completely over as the legs get caught on the plush cream carpet. She clears her throat, looking to Toni. “Anyway,” Shelby says, trying to change the subject. Trying not to think about the way Toni’s lips felt against her own. “You don’t have any food restrictions, right? We never got around to talking about that.”
“No, nothing,” Toni confirms, her eyes glued to Shelby in a way that makes her feel…exposed. Seen. Like she can tell there’s something Shelby’s not saying, but she’s not going to press. “So, are you the kind of person who likes to unpack when you’re on a trip? Or live out of your suitcase for a week?”
Shelby laughs, then, feeling the tension drain out of her, letting her shoulders relax. “I’d like to unpack before dinner, if that’s alright.”
“I pegged you for an unpacker,” Toni teases, and Shelby realizes suddenly how appreciative she is of the fact that Toni’s just letting everything slide. She’s not getting caught up on the ways Shelby talks about, or avoids talking about, her family. Not pressing Shelby about the kiss under the mistletoe, or the way she’s clearly a workaholic and, okay, maybe a little bit high strung too. She seems to just…accept Shelby. Even if it’s only been days they’ve known each other, even if it’s only been hours they’ve really ever seen each other. It makes Shelby’s chest feel tight, this experience of having someone who doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives, or expectations of her. It feels freeing, almost. Something new. Something different.
Shelby proceeds to unpack as Toni tosses a pillow on the floor and lays down, scrolling on her phone. Watching her out of the corner of her eye, Shelby notices the way Toni’s features are soft and easy, notices the angle of her jaw, the delicate freckles dusting across her skin. She thinks, not for the first time, of how handsome Toni is, and thinks again that this is not a train of thought she needs to entertain. She and Toni are friends, maybe. Two people who’ve made an arrangement, more likely. They can be friendly, but nothing needs to go any farther than that.
Shelby hadn’t banked on the mistletoe at the door, or her mother being so suddenly and outwardly accepting. It’s completely unexpected, a little unnerving, and a lot weird. Maybe her parents divorce really is giving her mother an opportunity to be a different person. Or be the person she’s wanted to be this whole time, but wasn’t able to. Shelby might understand that, because she knows all too well the wrath of Dave Goodkind. The hard stares, the unkind words, and the inevitable days, weeks, or in one instance even months of silence when one of Dave’s children transgresses in some way.
When her things are finally unpacked and put neatly in the drawers of her dresser, Shelby turns, about to signal to Toni that they should go downstairs, and sees that Toni’s drifted off to sleep. Her hands clasp her phone over her chest, and her face has eased into sleep, her jaw relaxed and slack as she breathes slowly. Shelby doesn’t want to wake her, but also really really needs the moral support of a fake girlfriend at dinner with her mother. She clears her throat, squares her shoulders, and crosses the space between them.
“Um, Toni?” Shelby whispers, sitting down as delicately as possible at the foot of the bed. When Toni doesn’t reply, she tries again, a little louder. “Toni? Do you want to go have dinner?” Still nothing. Shelby remembers the way her father used to wake her at 5 am every morning to go for a run before school, throwing the lights on and calling for her loudly. The last thing she wants to do is jolt Toni from sleep, so instead she places her hand on Toni’s leg, squeezing gently. “Toni?”
Toni bolts up, eyes wide. “God, I am so sorry, did I fall asleep?” She wipes the sleep from her eyes, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed and standing up. She stretches down to touch her toes, then arms up toward the ceiling, and in the process her shirt rides up, revealing the faintest whisper of her stomach, smooth skin Shelby can’t seem to tear her eyes away from. “You good, Shelby?”
“Oh.” Shelby blushes, heat rushing to her cheeks as she trains her eyes down on the carpet. “Yeah, no problem. You must’ve been tired from the travel and all that.”
“You’re the one who drove,” Toni replies, crouching down in front of Shelby and reaching for her hands like it’s the easiest thing in the world. She holds them, waiting, and Shelby finally meets Toni’s eyes.
Shelby clears her throat. “Maybe.” She gives Toni’s hands a squeeze, and Toni smiles before pulling back, putting her hands on her knees and standing back up.
“You mentioned something about dinner?” Toni puts out a hand for Shelby to take, and pulls her up off the bed.
Shelby wishes she had something intelligent to say. In her normal life, back home at work with clients or with her friends, she never has a problem with this; never feels tongue-tied, like she wants to explain herself or her feelings to someone. It’s bizarre and unnerving, and instead of doing anything about it, Shelby lets her hand drop to her side and nods.
Downstairs, they find the dining table set with three places, candles lit around the room giving a kind of ambiance and warmth to the house that Shelby’s never felt before. Growing up, the house always felt cold, eerie, and quiet. A life lived under strict expectations to use their indoor voices at all times, never act up, and be the picture perfect family Dave Goodkind always wanted.
Shows him, Shelby thinks, because the house without him feels so much more like a home than it ever did with her father there. She wonders absently as she takes the seat across from Toni if it’s something she can remark on to her mama, but how does one say, Good job on the divorce, I like it better here without daddy around?
Jobeth makes her way into the room with a large casserole dish, and Toni’s pushing back her chair and standing before Shelby even has time to think. “Jobeth, can I help you with that? Or anything else?”
“Just the wine off the kitchen counter, baby,” Jobeth replies, smiling warmly at Toni, and Shelby’s throat feels tight.
“Got it,” Toni says, racing out of the dining room and back in a matter of seconds, bottle of wine in hand, working her way around the table to pour everyone a glass. “This smells wonderful.”
And it is wonderful. Jobeth has made Shelby’s childhood favorite, a meal her father put a stop to as soon as she started competing in pageants because it wouldn’t be good for her to eat like that, and something about it makes Shelby’s heart swell with love for her mama in the same moment that it makes her blood run cold, because it means that Jobeth knew what he was doing, that she was complicit in every thing that Dave did to his children, and something about that hurts more than if she was really oblivious all that time. Because to know that Jobeth was aware and did nothing means she never really cared enough to make a change.
Shelby shoves the feelings down, blinks rapidly to clear the burning from behind her eyes, and zeroes in on the conversation. Toni and Jobeth are talking about Toni’s work, how long she’s been acting, what her goals are. They’re so absorbed in conversation with one another that they don’t seem to notice Shelby’s relative silence, or at least Shelby thinks that until she feels Toni’s hand on her leg under the table, warm and steady, squeezing just above her knee. She doesn’t know how Toni knows to do that, how Toni can read the way she’s feeling, sense the turmoil churning in her belly, but that one simple gesture seems to lift a weight off Shelby’s shoulders, and she manages to relax enough to participate.
Before she knows what’s happening, dinner is finished, the dishes are cleared and washed, and Toni’s hanging up a dish towel to dry.
“Thank y’all so much for cleaning everything up tonight,” Jobeth says, coming up behind Toni and Shelby, slinging an arm over both of their shoulders. “That’s real sweet of you.”
“No problem at all, Jobeth,” Toni says amiably, a broad, genuine smile on her face. “You did all the cooking, after all. And it was delicious.”
Jobeth beams, and Shelby’s chest feels tight. Her mother is being so kind and warm to Toni, first with the hug and now with all this, and she thinks she should feel glad that the two of them seem to be getting along so well already. But instead it’s a sick feeling, her dinner sour in her stomach, because it’s all a lie, actually. The basis for her mama’s acceptance of Toni, of Shelby being a lesbian, is a farce. This isn’t a real relationship, and Shelby has to wonder if she didn’t have Toni with her—didn’t have someone so gregarious and affable here with her, showing Jobeth that queer people are normal, that their relationships are normal—if Jobeth would be so accepting of Shelby’s sexuality.
The tension drains out of her, though, when Jobeth pushes her and Toni toward the stairs, they’re saying polite goodnights, and Shelby’s bedroom door closes safely behind them, a physical barrier between the person she is now and the person she was growing up. Then, Shelby’s eyes land on the single, solitary bed pushed up against the wall of her bedroom, and dread seeps in when she remembers that she’s going to either have to sleep on the floor, or sleep next to Toni.
“So…” Toni trails off, reaching up and scratching the back of her neck. “You cool to share?”
Shelby nods, immediately saying, “Yeah, totally. Of course. No problem. That sounds great.”
Toni laughs lightly. “You seem really sure of yourself. If you’d rather, I’ll just bunk on the floor.”
Shelby watches as Toni reaches for a pillow on the bed, making to throw it down on the carpet, and before she thinks, she’s rushing over, wrapping her fingers around Toni’s wrist, feeling the heat of Toni’s skin against her own. “No, please,” she blurts, unthinking. Toni lets go of the pillow, and turns slightly, facing Shelby, meeting her eyes, and they stand a mere hair’s breadth apart. Shelby swallows hard, her mouth suddenly dry. She drops Toni’s wrist. “I mean, no, Toni. You don’t have to do that. Sleep in the bed.”
Toni clears her throat. “Okay, cool.”
“Cool.”
Cool? Real smooth.
Thirty minutes later with her teeth brushed, face washed and moisturized, and pajamas on, Shelby slips into her bed. Toni’s already fallen asleep, the low light from the lamp on Shelby’s nightstand casting shadows across her face, and Shelby thinks, for the second time in less than a day, how handsome Toni is. The angle of her jaw, the freckle on her cheek, the scar she’s noticing for the first time, right between her eyebrows on the bridge of her nose.
She forces her eyes shut and rolls away, blindly reaching for the light and turning it off. “Good night, Toni.”