Pretend Boyfriend (Be My Boyfriend Book 4) Read online

  I had a room, but I still had trouble navigating and cooking on my own still and Frannie being a nurse, had insisted I stay with her and take the extra bedroom in her house. But in my usual way, I protested, despite her already turning the once office into a living quarter for me. I didn’t like the thought of being a burden to her, not wanting to jeopardize or wear out my welcome, her being really the only person I had left. She had enough going on being the one of the head nurses of the emergency department and being a single mother. She didn’t need to take care of me too. To appease her, I stayed at the house during most days- she picked me up usually before work or after work dependent on her schedule, and she took me home to make dinner and sleep.

  Some nights, like the previous evening, I would stay the night though. Sometimes it was due to my own illness, but more often than not, it was help with her son Parker when she worked doubles. But even with my free babysitting, I still just felt like an inconvenience at this point more than a friend.I had landed a clerical job at the hospital she worked at- thanks to a pull of a few strings by Frannie and an unknown voucher- and luckily, they had been very accommodating. Some days I couldn’t work at all due to my migraines. Unfortunately, my sight and hearing were also affected by the crash- my right eye almost completely blind and the ear of the same side completely deaf. We had been smashed in like a crumpled piece of aluminum foil, and I was often told I was lucky to have made it, though many days I really felt like that was subjective. My left eye was not as bad, but I had always needed glasses, so the vision issues just further complicated things for me. The clerical position itself was enjoyable, and when I wasn’t plagued by headaches or intense leg pains, it was enjoyable- almost peaceful. I could zone out into what I was doing and not think about…less pleasant things.

  And so often my mind felt it was fully of less pleasant things.Walking was still hard for me however, and I used a cane to help me do so, but some days were still impossible. I had come a long way since the accident that had altered my life forever, but I still had a long way to go. Some weeks, I was lucky to get three days in, so Frannie sometimes had helped me with the hotel…which was more than embarrassing. I wasn’t sure what was worse, her fronting me the money because of my pride, or being a pain in the ass staying at her house all the time. The idea of even the slightest financial reprieve made my mouth water, like Pavlov’s dog, I was damn ready for that steak- even if it meant dealing with shitty people. Or rather, a shitty person- my grandmother seemed okay thus far and had been spoken of fondly by my mother throughout the years. However, I couldn’t help but feel a slight irritation with her as well. She seemed like a strong woman, and the fact she hadn’t opened her mouth to defend my mother back then pissed me off. My mother, the saint she was, kept assuring me she wasn’t to blame. They had grown up in a very different time, she would say, but that grandma had grown up with a very different family. My grandfather was from a long line of rich and racist assholes. It just seemed so odd that the two of them would even have gotten together. They just seemed so vastly different… “Also,” My grandmother took my hands in hers again, their smooth but wrinkly surface feeling comforting in this semi hostile environment. “There is a dowry set aside for you.”“A dowry?” My face twisted up in confusion, I had heard that word before in history class, and if I remembered the connotation of the meaning I wasn’t hip to their jive. “A trust of sorts,” My grandfather grumpily sighed. It was hard to tell if he was irritated with me for seeming not to understand the meaning of the word, or if he had been angry with my grandmother for revealing the fact. “Upon marrying and securing your place in a worthy family, of course.” “O-Oh.” My heart sank into my stomach. I was a disabled, half blind, half deaf person who worked maybe three days a week and was still a major work in progress. Though the stipend would help, this trust fund would be my ticket out when I was more physically capable of walking and functioning at the very least. But who knew when that would even be? The physical therapist was constantly telling me to just take it day by day, but how long could I leech off of Frannie’s good graces? Sure, Frannie and I had been friends since we were little, but eventually I would need to stop depending on her for rides and such and get a place of my own. Also, I was far too familiar about how people could be, and time didn’t mean someone wouldn’t get sick of you… Also, how long could I keep up paying for that hotel room? They weren’t even sure if I would ever have my sight go back to normal- though surgery was on the table- and my ear was permanently ruined, so I would need to figure out transportation in the event I did get a space of my own in the first place. I was scarred up on my legs and arms from the metal cocoon I had been pulled out of, mauled by its gnashing teeth, though luckily my face untouched save two scars above and to the side of my eyebrow. Who would want someone so broken and messed up? I not only suffered from physical ailments but post-traumatic stress disorder, and these yahoos expected someone to look past all that and marry me? Were they insane?!

  My grandmother put a hand on my shoulder and patted, seeming to notice the disappointment on my face. “You are a very beautiful girl with a bright future!” She chirped, “I am sure someone worthy of your hand will come along any day!”

  I nodded, not arguing, allowing them to both be stuck in their delusions of grandeur. They didn’t even want my mother to marry a foreigner, yet they expected me to meet Prince Charming or Daddy Warbucks and have a happily ever after? I snickered quietly to myself at the thought as I checked my phone. Frannie had messaged.

  Is everything okay? The text read. I sighed and looked up at my grandparents who looked back at me, yapping about my phone and new-fangled technology. No. Call me in five minutes. Get me out of hereeeeee! They are so cringy…I texted back quickly. Within seconds she sent me back an ‘Okay’ with a smiley face. For the next five minutes, my grandmother shook me down about my favorite things- colors, foods, hobbies- any question she could fire off she would. It was obvious she was trying to find some sort of common ground. I told her that I liked to write poetry, and it seemed to pain her, her face worked itself into a hurt like expression as the words escaped my lips. Her eyes teared up and she wiped them away with the tips of her fingers. It was obvious she had been mourning the loss of her daughter for years, lost in a past she desperately wanted to change, but couldn’t. “Your mother was an amazing poet in high school,” She sniffled, “She won all sorts of prizes and ribbons growing up. She had such a knack for weaving these beautiful tapestries with her words…” She got up and went across the room, towards what looked like the mantle of a fireplace. A bunch of little squares, of which I assumed were picture frames, lined the top of it. She came back with a rather large frame, pushing it into my hands gently. As I pulled the picture closer to my face, I saw myself. No. It was my mother, adorned with an elaborate ribbon. She had to have been only a freshman, her freckles much like mine dotted her cheekbones and nose, her eyes crinkling in almost an elvish fashion as she smiled. My grandfather and grandmother, much younger then, standing next to her with such proud looks on their faces. “Wow,” I gasped, in awe of such a beautiful picture. The three of them had seemed so happy, smiling back at me in an almost Brady Bunch-esque fashion. My curiosity piqued, I wanted so badly to wander to the mantle, and take in all those memories long lost and forgotten. I had never seen any pictures of my mother as a child, save for one or two baby pictures of herself, and one picture of her in her baton twirling outfit in high school. Her past, her parents, her friends- touched about briefly in passing, but always shrouded in a cloud of mystery. Just as I was about to brave my way over to the fireplace, my phone rang loudly. Frannie’s ringtone was a popular rap song she liked, and the song seemed to pierce my grandfather’s senses, a loud groan escaping his lips. “What on earth is that?!” He exclaimed. “Shoot, it’s my friend waiting outside, one moment please!” I held up a finger and answered my phone-a-friend call. “Heeeeeey girl!” She beamed, her voice sing-songingly pleasant compared to the gloomy, half anger fil
led vibe I was currently occupying in their living room. “You ready to ding dong ditch these old bitches?” I struggled to keep my smile and laugh forced deep down. This was supposed to be a ‘family emergency’ call, not a funny call. “Hey! Frannie what’s up?”“They are right, there aren’t they?” She sucked in a breath, “I hope they couldn’t hear me!”“Oh jeeze! It’s okay, we were just sitting here talking over some things still. I’ll be right out!” “Ten Four good buddy!” She laughed as she hung up. I looked up at them to see if they had heard her laughter, but they hadn’t seemed to. My grandmother sitting there, looking over the picture I had put down when I answered the phone, her fingertips gently caressing my mother’s face, tears streaming down her cheeks like rain. I almost felt horrible leaving her here, but I really couldn’t stand my grandfather. He was a racist, grumpy shithead and being in the same space irked me. I was sure I would have to get used to it if I wanted that stipend though. My grandmother might be a strong woman with some backbone, but it was a definite patriarchy-controlled house, and very apparent the reason left was Alfred’s foot had been put down to no have never let any racist bumpkin control her. Not the woman I knew. “I’m sorry, but Frannie has to get going,” I smiled at my grandmother. She nodded really softly, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. She looked up at me tearfully, faking her best debutante grin, my mother had stated before that my grandmother had been quite the pageant winner in her day and had all the grace and class a southern belle should. As I got up to leave, I wondered how my grandmother had ever even got tangled up with an ornery old coot like my grandfather. She helped me to the door, wrapping her arms around me in a warm embrace. “It was nice to finally meet you face to face, Gwen.” My grandmother beamed, pinching my cheek slightly. I heard a cough come from behind her as my grandfather’s hand jutted forth, a check in hand. I begrudgingly took it tepidly from his grasp, my grandfather shifting uncomfortably as I did so, flashing me a weak smile briefly.

  “It was nice to meet you both as well,” I looked away from his almost blurry figure and back to my grandmothers face in front of me. “You have a lovely home. I am sorry that we couldn’t have met under better circumstances.” My grandmother and grandfather both nodded, he turned away quickly and shuffled off back to the living room. “Sometimes, that is just how life is my dear,” She sighed, rubbing my shoulder. “I know what we have given you isn’t much, but it will be monthly. I-we- would love to see you more often.” I nodded appreciatively, check still in hand and slipped it into my purse. And there the Freudian slip had it- my grandfather hadn’t wanted to do this, nor had he probably wanted to meet me. It had been my grandmother and her kindness that my mother loved so much that had brought me here to their stoop.“I will, I promise.” I beamed, giving her one last final hug before turning to leave, the red door closing noisily behind me with a creak and a click, her heels slowly clicking away from me behind the house’s old walls. I made my way slowly down the path, my cane in hand, my legs a bit wobbly on the uneven pathway. Frannie seemed to notice, making her way quickly to me, guiding me to her beat up van. She was used to taking care of others with hardly a second thought, and without her help when my mother passed… I would have been alone. If she hadn’t come along from the beginning and helped take care of me, who knows what would have happened to me, or if I would have even had the will to survive. I owed everything I had in life right now to her, right down to the shoes on my feet, a pair she had bought me for my birthday with special comfy insoles. “I’m sorry they’re such assholes, sweetie,” Frannie said, buckling her seatbelt and adjusting her rearview mirror, her blonde hair pulled back in a green scrunchie. She was still dressed in her hospital garb, her scrubs were a cute pattern of doctor cats and yarn balls, putting a smile on my face. She had pulled an all-nighter last night, which wasn’t uncommon, and I had stayed at her house to help with Parker. I had helped him get ready that morning, matching a cute plaid shirt with some khaki slacks, pouring him a bowl of his favorite cereal. She had made it just in the nick of time to get him on the bus, a process of which I was always super nervous about embarking on, though Frannie would just insist I wait until I heard the bus and let him out the door on his own. Five just seemed like so young, even if it was just down their short driveway. “No,” I groaned as I pulled against the seatbelt which kept ratcheting in place, “Just the grandfather. My grandmother looks just like her…” I trailed off, letting the seatbelt fly past my face and back into its base position before trying again. “She’s amazing. My mother was right about her, she is such a nice lady.”“It’s tragic she ended up with such a…”“Racist asshole who thinks his shit doesn’t stink?” I laughed, clicking my belt into place. “Yeah, that!” Frannie giggled, turning the radio up as one of our favorite songs came on. As we made our way home, we became a poorly tuned karaoke duo, Frannie’s nasally off-key singing rivaling my on-key, melodious tune. We were a wonderous cacophony all the way back to the house, our last number a Cher song both of us laughing as we tried to mimic her classic alto trilling. We made our way into her place, which was a quaint little trailer on its own little acre of property. Frannie’s parents had given her the house when they moved out to Washington, trying to escape the relentless southern summers, the heat too much for their aging bodies. It was a three bedroom- one for her, one for me, and one for five-year-old Parker- who would be home from school in a few hours. We would be picking him up on the way to my physical therapy session at Saint Margarite’s, the hospital we both worked for.

  I realized even though I had fed Parker this morning, I hadn’t eaten myself. I quickly grabbed an apple from the fridge and made my way to my room, my head throbbing into my eyes and teeth. I ate it expeditiously, wanting to take a few moments before going to my physical therapy appointment to rest. It had already been a long day, and it wasn’t even half done yet. I absolutely dreaded physical therapy. Although it had helped me a lot since the accident, it was also hard and draining on me, leaving me spent the day of and after. I popped a few ibuprofens and prayed for them to work. As I drifted off, I thought of the redheaded southern belles smile and how hers matched my mothers, a small comfort through the haze of my awful headache.

  The alarm blared, and it felt like as soon as I had drifted off, I was awake again, feeling like I had been on a two-day bender rather than feeling refreshed. I shakily made my way to the living room, stumbling through the hallways and almost falling, and woke up Frannie. We were already late leaving, and we still had to pick up Parker. I sighed to myself as we sped to the school, hopeful we wouldn’t miss dismissal, we were cutting it super close. How the hell would I ever take care of myself enough to have my own place, let alone have this fantastic fantasy husband my grandparents wanted me to have? My own frustrations added to the pounding between my ears. We made our way just in time to get Parker, and she dropped me off at the hospital, her and the little guy helping me into the physical therapist’s office. It was then I remembered the check my father had wrote, cursing myself for not taking it to the bank earlier on the way home. I knew that I wouldn’t be in any shape to microwave or cook anything, and I sure as hell was going to scream if I had to eat another bite of pulled pork. I had used barbeque sauce in it, Italian dressing, spaghetti sauce- anything I could do that seemed interesting I tried. I even tried stuffing the meat into ramen cup of soups.

  Digging through my bag, I pulled the check out and gasped. Written out to me in some of the finest cursive I had ever seen, was a check for a thousand dollars. I put my hand to my mouth, my body vibrating with glee and anxiety. I hadn’t imagined that this would be my monthly allowance. I had figured maybe a couple hundred bucks to help with groceries, but nothing like this! Even so, in this economy, it wasn’t enough to live off of. As my physical therapist called me back, I groaned and shoved the check back in my bag, wondering how I was going to get some well to do guy to be interested in me- let alone take my hand in marriage.

  2

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  I
tip-toed up to the physical therapy office and peeked through the window, my normal Wednesday ritual, and I saw her there- just as beautiful as she ever was. Some may have thought I was crazy, saying that after all the damage that had been done, but to me she was the same Gwen I had fallen for those many years ago.

  Her poufy ebony hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her plump lips hanging below her semi wide nose, dappled with dark freckles that contrasted against her tan skin. For a moment my mind wandered to the thought of our first kiss, messy yet satisfying, her lips soft and full pressed against my mid-size peach ones. The feel of her body against mine as we looked into each other’s eyes, losing both our virginities to each other in an awkward yet beautiful dance of teenage lust... well, more than lust… at least for me. Though I had a funny way of showing it.Gwen had been my first true love, possibly my only love -though not the only woman I had ever dated in my life- but certainly the most memorable. We had been best friends throughout school, and basically inseparable. We had met initially when she kindergarten; she was a raven haired, tan freckled cutie with glasses who liked to sing and pick flowers. I was a brunette, pale child who was snooty and rude to everyone because I didn’t know better. Everyone hated me, except Gwen. She had often described me as just a stubborn animal who needed better training, like a dog without any manners. A real strange thing for a kindergartener to say to a second grader at morning recess, but for some reason it was a solid foundation for our soon-to-be friendship. I could still hear her tiny giggle as she handed me a dandelion off the playground, a peace offering to the misbehaved pedigree, warming my heart. Through her, I was able to overcome my snooty little rich boy act and become a better person…for a while at least. In my junior year and her freshman one, I had asked her out after homecoming- much to the displeasure of my rich, country club snob, elbow rubbing parents. If you could even call them that. They had always been more like two donors, egg and sperm, that showered me with constant gifts and things to make up for the void their constant vacancy at home always left. Both coming from money, and with more than adequate trust funds on each side, they had been set for life since birth- silver spoons tainted their mouths and their hearts, and it showed, painfully obvious to everyone else around them, even their own parents. I had often heard my grandparents on both sides whisper about how spoiled they were, and how they regretted not making them get jobs or grow up, especially where I was concerned. The had offered many times for me to come live with them in their respective homes, but I declined. I didn’t want to be anywhere far away from Gwen. Once I had reached age twelve, I was one of the ‘men of the house’ my dad explained, and they seemed to have embarked on a joint midlife crisis full of Lamborghinis and martinis. While they had had each other in their cruise down their second round of adolescence, Gwen and her family had been my partners in crime, feeding me and treating me as one of their own. My parents shit on them constantly, saying that they were nothing more than common riff raff, but I loved them more than I had ever loved my parents- especially her. After the consummation of our love early in my senior year, I had become more and more obsessed with my schoolwork, putting her to the sidelines. I didn’t want to be like my upturned nosed, snotty parents. I wanted to be self-sufficient and help people in the process. My effort was surprisingly noticed by my neglectful parents, and for once I had their eyes on me and not the liquor cabinet or door. The harder I worked, the more attention it seemed to get me from my obnoxious parents, which was something I craved and longed for more than anything.