Page 17 of Win You Over
Remington
H olden is the best fake boyfriend I could have asked for. My mother smiles at him constantly, as she pushes more food his way, and my father, who absolutely loves meeting new people, hasn't stopped talking at Holden all night.
“Has Remington invited you to the Roverly RC Car Club yet?”
I plant an open palm over my face, groaning. “Dad! You don’t need to tell him about that.”
Holden looks at me, his bottom lip caught between his front teeth, and a mischievous sparkle in his brown eyes.
“Why not? Maybe he’d like to come with us one weekend,” Dad says, moving his attention back to Holden.
Holden places his elbows on the table and rests his chin on his folded hands. The fucker is thoroughly enjoying this evening of getting to know parts of me I seldom share.
Next thing I know, Mom will probably tell him about my intense fear of people in mascot costumes or how I’m a little afraid of the ocean.
“You should definitely come with us,” Dad continues.
“There’s a great club about an hour outside of town.
They have purpose built tracks both indoors and outdoors.
We tend to alternate which cars we take with us.
You’ve seen the collection in his room?” Dad asks and is met with an enthusiastic nod of Holden’s head.
“I bought Remington his first remote controlled car when he was three. Took him to his first club meeting at five and, last year he won the winter championship series.” My entire body heats with a strange mixture of embarrassment and pride, and I’m tempted to correct dad.
I’ve won the winter championship series three years in a row.
“Holden,” Dad says. “When we’re back from Italy, you’re coming with us. I have a 1:5 scale off-road racing buggy with a two stroke petrol engine that you can use and-”
“Honey,” Mom interrupts Dad with a hand on his arm. “Let’s not overwhelm the boy. I’m sure if Rem wants to bring Holden along, he’ll invite him.”
Dad looks at Holden, then me, and then back at Mom. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Sure.”
Well, thank fuck that’s over.
“Mom! The nail lady cancelled!” My sister enters the dining room like the whirlwind that she is. Uninvited, but here anyway. Nadine’s steps halt when her eyes land on Holden and her entire reason for barging into the house she no longer lives in is forgotten.
“Oh! Hi!” she beams, coming right to the table and sitting in the seat opposite Holden.
“You must be the boyfriend. I’m Nadine. Best sister in the world, bride-to-be, prettiest member of the family.
” She holds out her hand for Holden and he shoots me a look before tipping his lips into a half smile and tentatively shaking her hand.
“Nadine,” I say. “This is Holden.”
Nadine pulls the glass dish of mac and cheese towards her and takes a forkful, then shoves it into her mouth, before closing her eyes and making the most indecent sound before promptly pushing the glass dish away.
“My sister isn’t normally such an uncouth animal. I apologise for her,” I say, aiming my snark directly at Nadine.
“Oh, bite me, baby brother,” she retorts.
“Here we go,” Mom mutters under her breath.
Nadine and I go back and forth for a few moments, throwing playful insults at each other before her attention snags on Holden again.
She points a finger at me. “You sure you want to spend two weeks in Italy with this douche canoe?” she asks in jest. I snort-laugh but then slam my lips together when I see the way she’s looking at Holden. Expectantly, waiting for his reply.
Next to me, Holden stiffens, and up close, I can see the vein on the side of his neck flicker beneath the skin.
He breaks eye contact with my sister, looking to the side towards a family portrait on the wall.
There’s a subtle change to his breathing, like he’s consciously focusing on each inhale and exhale and when I look down, I catch a glimpse of his hand fisting the fabric of his jeans.
When the silence grows heavy, like an entity of its own in the room with us, it’s Mom who breaks it.
“Rem, why don’t you and Holden go get the ice cream out of the freezer, while Nadine tells me what’s happened with the nail lady.”
Without overthinking it, I reach my hand under the table and take hold of his, prying his fingers open and slipping mine between his.
Holden’s eyes widen, but when I tug him, he stands and follows me into the kitchen.
I leave him standing next to the island while I pull out the ice cream container and five bowls.
When I turn around, he has his hands covering his face, his fingers gripping the strands of his long brown hair where they fall over his forehead.
“Hey,” I say softly, then very slowly pull his hands away from his face, while keeping them in mine. His eyes are shining with unshed tears, his lips pinched and his jaw clenched in frustration. Holden opens his mouth, but then closes it again and shakes his head.
Looking around the kitchen, I spot a notepad – one of those magnetic shopping lists – on the fridge and a green fountain pen next to my dad’s open laptop. Letting go of one of Holden’s hands, I drag him along with me until I have both items, then push them into his free hand.
It takes him a moment to understand and when he does, he lets go of me, wipes a hand over his eyes, and then starts writing.
I know I lost the bet, but I don’t think I’ll be very good at this. Your sister probably already thinks there’s something wrong with me. She’s not going to want me at her wedding.
“Bullshit,” I say with a little more force than necessary.
“Firstly, there’s nothing wrong with you.
So you don’t talk much, so what? Some people talk far too much – you’ve met my dad.
And others say really stupid things and some, like me, say really interesting things, all the time, that should totally be listened to and admired. ” That gets a crooked grin out of him.
You know I don’t choose not to talk? I watch the pen move over the paper as he continues to write. Sometimes I want to, but physically can't. Especially not when I’m around new people or big groups.
Holden presses the pen to the paper with force enough to tear it, his frustration bleeding from him through the ink and onto the page.
I want to thank your mom for the meal, and tell your dad finding out that you race remote controlled cars is the highlight of my week. I just can’t. I think maybe it’s better if you take someone else. Someone normal.
Something about those final two words rubs me the wrong way and I take the paper and scrunch it into a ball.
“There is no absolute definition of what ‘normal’ is, Holden. You’re perfect just the way you are.
I promise, no one in my family cares if you can or cannot talk to them.
” I take the pen and paper, then thrust the ice cream tub into his hands.
“Now, no more of this ‘normal’ bullshit. We’re going to eat ice cream, listen to my sister bitch about something or other, and then I’ll let my mom tell you about the time I cried and huddled into a tiny ball in the middle of a busy sidewalk when I walked past a guy dressed as the Easter Bunny. When I was fourteen.”
Holden scoffs, then follows me back to the dining room. Nadine watches us as we sit down, giving Holden a soft smile.
“Gross, you bought strawberry ice cream, Mom?” she barks when she spots the tub that Holden places in the middle of the table. “You know I don’t eat that,” she moans as if she’s a pouting three year old and not a successful twenty-seven year old fashion designer.
“Holden,” Dad interrupts, his phone in one hand. “I just checked the RC Club calendar dates and they have a new members’ evening in September, after the summer break. I’ll put a note in my diary to remind you.” He’s clearly chosen to ignore my mother's earlier comment.
“Could you not have bought chocolate ice cream?” Nadine asks, still on the topic of her least favourite dessert.
“Rem, do you know where the Track Hugger 1:7 4WD Electric Supercar is? I think that would actually be a better one for Holden to try out.”
“I didn’t know you’d be dropping in tonight, so I didn’t cater to your requirements, liewe dogter .”
Holden’s head moves like a ping-pong ball between my dad, sister, and mom.
Leaning in, my lips nearly brushing the skin of his ear, I whisper.
“I hope you’re ready for two weeks of the chaos that is the Langford family.
If you ever thought I was a bit much, just wait till you get to spend it with all four of us.
” His head turns, bringing our lips awfully close together.
“Chaos, I tell you. Utter fucking chaos.”
I take a chance and drop my hand onto his upper thigh. When his hand finds mine and he doesn’t push it away, but instead rests it over the top, our fingers twining together, my heart does a little victory lap in my chest.
Fake , I remind myself. This is for show. His little affectionate touch is for show. Only no one can see it under the table and it feels very fucking real to me.