Chapter Seven
The Lie
Once I realize what floor I’m on, I forego the elevator and take the single flight of stairs up to the suite I’m sharing with Kyle. God, what the hell was I thinking tonight? Well, I suppose for the sake of accuracy, I wasn’t thinking. Not with my brain anyway. For the second time over the course of three days, I’ve managed to piss off my lady parts. This is what I get for attempting to have meaningless sex with a complete stranger. Well played, universe, well played.
I swipe my key card and push open the door. Kyle is sitting on one of the plush sofas, leaning back into the cushions with his eyes closed. Two empty beer bottles sit on the table where his feet are resting. I kick off my sandals and slump down beside him.
“Where were you?” he asks.
“Trying to have sex with a stranger,” I sigh. “But I got this gross rash from the stupid lei from the airport and ruined it.”
“Only you, Poppy, only you,” he says, passing me the bottle in his hand.
I take a long drink and pass it back.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says.
“Me too.”
I lean into him as he wraps his arm around me.
“Was he hot?”
“So hot,” I groan. “Chris Pratt in a semi-serious role, wearing a nice suit kind of hot. And he was rumpled.”
“Damn, girl.”
“Yup. How was your day with your family?”
“Ugh.”
I lean up and kiss Kyle’s cheek, patting his leg before I stand.
“I’m going to bed,” I say. “We’ll talk in the morning.”
“Mmmhm,” he mumbles, already half asleep.
Once I’ve washed my face and taken a dose of allergy medicine, I apply a heavy layer of ointment to my chest and crawl into bed. I briefly consider getting myself off, but exhaustion quickly begins to consume me. The only thing I have time to dwell on before jet leg wins is the fact that I showed a woman named Christine my asshole…for nothing.
*
I open my eyes to the blinding sun beaming in through the gauzy cream coloured curtains. I bury my head beneath the covers and groan at the intrusion just as I hear a light knock on the door.
“I’ve got coffee,” Kyle says, from the other side.
“You may enter,” I reply.
I peek up and squint against the light, allowing my eyes to adjust before I remove the covers completely and sit up. Kyle sets a large white mug on the nightstand and once I’m certain that I’m not going to drop it on the bed, I pick it up and inhale the delicious aroma before taking my first sip. Mmm. Yes.
Kyle pulls a chair from the corner of the room and brings it closer to the bed, taking a seat and resting his bare feet on the mattress. He sips his own coffee and we enjoy a peaceful silence for several minutes.
“You wanna talk about it?” I ask, setting my mug back down on the table.
“Not really,” he says.
“Have you spoken to George yet?”
“Not since I told him that you were coming with me on vacation to fool my family into thinking that I’m straight and off the market,” he says with a bitter laugh. “He’s pissed.”
“It’ll work out,” I say. “I mean, you can’t really blame him, but he needs to understand that you’re just not ready yet to tell your family.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “I know. That’s pretty much what I told him while he was shoving his clothes into a backpack. He said he didn’t want to stay in the condo while I was gone.”
“He’ll cool off and you guys will figure something out,” I say. “Maybe some time apart is a good thing.”
“Yeah,” he scoffs. “Anyways, I’ll let you get ready. We’ve got breakfast with the family in an hour,” he says, standing and heading for the door.
I throw the covers back and take my coffee with me to the bathroom. I grab my phone from the top of the dresser as I walk by and swipe to my messages. I touch on the ongoing group message that I have with both of my sisters and type a quick text before I get in the shower.
Me: Made it. Nearly had sex with hot stranger last night. Ended up with allergic reaction in the form of a rash all over my chest. Rash killed mood completely.
I strip off my pajamas and see that my chest is now pink and not nearly as swollen or patchy, thank God. I take another dose of medicine and start the shower. As the water warms my phone beeps twice.
Bell: Are you technically a virgin again? Since it’s been so long? Does a hymen grow back, like that type of lizard whose tail grows back when you hack it off?
Tully: I’m going to google that. I’m sorry, Pop, but I’m proud of you for trying <3
I did try, I think to myself as I step under the large spray and close the shower door. That’s what matters, right? I totally stepped out of my comfort zone.
I quickly wash my hair and shave my legs. When I step out of the shower, the entire room is bathed in steam. I reach for a thick blue towel and wring out my hair before wrapping the towel around my body. I flip on the fan and wipe the screen of my phone.
Tully: It would be a medical anomaly if your hymen grew back. You are not technically a virgin again. Although, when you do have intercourse again you should consider using a personal lubricant to ease the discomfort.
Me: Thanks for the tip. Love you.
Tully: Ditto xox. Think orgasmic thoughts.
Bell: Love you too. Also, just got off the phone with Dad. He wants me to tell you that you look beautiful and that you’re smart and fun.
I blow dry my hair and pull it back into a ponytail so that it’s off my neck. It’s not even eight a.m. and I can already feel the humidity wafting in through the open window. I apply sunscreen to every inch of my skin because I’m pasty as hell and put on a bit of mascara and some light foundation. I decide to wear shorts today and pair my favourite denim cut offs with a strappy black tank top and my black flip- flops. When I enter the living room, Kyle is staring at his phone, seemingly lost in thought.
“Ready?”
He looks up at me and tosses his phone onto the couch cushion beside him. “Let’s do it,” he says.
As we make our way down to the hotel restaurant, we decide we should get some facts straight so that we seem like a legit couple.
“Where did we meet?” he asks.
“I think we should just tell the truth, it’s less confusing that way. We met when I was finished cleaning your neighbour’s apartment one day only, instead of you hiring me, we go for coffee and you realize you simply cannot live without me?”
“Perfect,” he grins.
We step out of the elevator and into the lobby. “Do we live together? How long have we been dating?” he asks.
“When was the last time you saw your family?”
“Three months ago,” he says.
“Okay, we’ve been together for two months and no we don’t live together but I stay at your place often.”
“Are you sure you’re up to this? I feel like this is a lot,” he says.
“It’ll be fine, next month just tell your mom we broke up but stayed friends,” I suggest. “Then it won’t be weird if you accidentally mention me in the future.”
“Okay, yeah, we can do this,” he says. “So, my dad isn’t friendly but he’s cordial, while my mother will be polite because it would be uncivilized to be rude. My Mimi is great; you’ll love her,” he smiles. “My brother just arrived last night and you probably won’t even meet him today anyway. He’s likely to hide in his suite the entire time and work, so he shouldn’t be a problem.”
“You aren’t even a little bit close with your brother?” I ask. I couldn’t imagine not being tight with my sisters. Sometimes we drive each other crazy but they’re my best friends.
“Not really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I don’t hate the guy. But he’s crazy uptight and all he does is work. There’s also a nine year age gap so we don’t have much in common,” he explains.
He pauses at the hostess station and tells the young woman that we are meeting his family. She points us in the direction of the patio.
I tug gently on Kyle’s hand just before we walk through the busy restaurant. “It’s going to be fine. But Kyle, when this is all over and we get back to Chicago, you’ve got to figure something out,” I say. “You can’t keep living in secrecy. It isn’t fair to you, or George.”
“I know. I promise I’ll deal with everything as soon as we make it through this,” he says. “Trust me, I didn’t plan on being twenty-five and still in the closet.”
The smell of pancakes and bacon fills my nose and makes my mouth water as we pass the overflowing buffet. I smile and lace my fingers with Kyle’s as we walk through the open doors and Kyle spots his family sitting at a large table in the corner. As we approach, I see an elderly woman who I assume is Kyle’s Mimi. An older man with dark salt and pepper hair wearing a crisp checkered shirt sits at the head of the table and beside him sits Kyle’s mother. She’s probably close to my mother’s age. Her light brown hair is pulled back in a tidy chignon and she’s wearing a pastel green silk top. It’s clear that Kyle takes after her in the gene department. I take a deep breath when we reach the table and exhale quietly.
“Good morning, everyone, this is Poppy Kramer, my girlfriend,” Kyle says, pulling me closely to his side.
Kyle’s grandmother offers me a smile, while Kyle’s parents regard me warmly. But not too warmly.
“Poppy, this is my grandmother, Rose. And these are my parents, Byron and Maureen.”
“Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say.
Kyle’s dad smiles tightly before standing and extending his hand. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Kramer,” he says.
Maureen remains seated but smiles as Byron sits back down. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says. “I can’t remember the last time Kyle brought a girl around.”
Wonder why.
“He’s told me so much about all of you,” I say.
“Isn’t that nice, dear. Come sit next to me,” Rose says with a wink.
I’m about to step forward when a deep voice stops me in my tracks.
“Nice of you to finally join us,” he says.
No.
“Relax, we’re only ten minutes late,” Kyle says.
Please no.
Kyle tugs on my hand gently and as I turn around slowly, I try my absolute best not to throw up.
“I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Poppy Kramer,” he says. “Poppy, this is my older brother, Will.”
Gone is the rumpled suit. In its place is a pair of nicely fitted tan canvas shorts and a snug white T-shirt. My eyes travel up the broad chest that was pressed against me last night, all the way up to the same clean shaven, masculine -- but not too masculine -- jaw that I was practically salivating over. There is only one word in the English language that adequately describes the pickle I now find myself in.
Fuck.