The tires crunch against gravel as I pull into my driveway, and the afternoon light hits my windshield at that angle that makes everything look washed out and tired.
Monday. Dinner at Ashley’s. Another performance for Beth.
I kill the engine and grab my backpack from the passenger seat, already mentally preparing myself for another round of pretending. The fake smiles.
My car door slams shut, and I’m halfway across my lawn when I see them.
Ashley’s standing in her driveway, and she’s not alone.
The other person has short blonde hair with that asymmetrical half buzz cut thing. I’d recognize anywhere. Arms crossed. Default expression set to “ready to throw hands.”
Trisha Lynne.
My feet slow down automatically, some primal part of my brain recognizing danger before my conscious mind catches up. Trisha went to high school with us. After Ashley and I had our falling out freshman year, they became best friends. And I mean inseparable. Attached at the hip. The kind of friendship that felt like it had no room for anyone else.
Especially not me.
“Hey,” I call out, forcing my voice to sound casual as I approach.
Ashley’s eyes go wide behind her glasses, her mouth dropping open for just a second before she catches herself.
“Oh, hey Vince.”
Trisha’s head turns toward me, and the look she gives me could strip paint off a wall. Her brown eyes narrow, her jaw sets, and I watch her arms tighten across her chest like she’s physically restraining herself from doing something violent.
“Oh...” The word drips with disdain. “Hi...” She pauses, letting the silence stretch just long enough to be uncomfortable. “What are you doing here?”
The question hits me like a slap.
She hated my guts after Ashley cut me off freshman year. Decided I was the villain in whatever story Ashley told her. And the thing that’s so fucking annoying about it is that it’s based on a complete misunderstanding. A misunderstanding that’s persisted for years now, calcified into this permanent judgment she’s made about my character.
I open my mouth to respond, but Ashley cuts in first.
“Hey Vince, how about we rain check today, yeah?”
“I go across the country for prelaw,” Trisha cuts in, her voice sharp enough to draw blood, “and you’re over here patching things up with him? Seriously?”
“Yeah, alright Ashley. I’ll see you later.”
The words come out annoyed. I’m already turning away when I hear her footsteps behind me.
“Vince, wait…”
Her hand catches my arm, and suddenly she’s close, her voice dropping to a whisper that Trisha can’t hear from where she’s standing.
“I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her tonight.”
I pull my arm free, not roughly, just... tired. “Why bother? We’re not even friends, right? I’m just helping you with your shit, Ashley.”
I start walking toward my house, my feet carrying me across the small strip of lawn that separates our properties.
“Wait, Vince, no…”
But that’s it. That’s all she gives me. The words hang in the air behind me, but there’s no footsteps following. No real effort to stop me. Just those four words and then nothing.
The anger builds with each step, hot and acidic in my chest. I shove my key into the lock harder than necessary, twist it, push through.
The living room stops me dead.
Mom’s sprawled on the couch, her scrubs traded for sweats and a t-shirt. Her feet are up on the coffee table, crossed at the ankles. Next to her, in the exact same position, is Portia. Purple hair and designer clothes looking completely out of place in our modest living room.
They both have bowls of ice cream balanced on their laps.
Family Feud plays on the TV, Steve Harvey’s voice filling the room.
Mom must have tonight off.
“Hey, honey,” Mom says, glancing over at me with this relaxed smile.
“Hey.” The anger drains out of me so fast I feel dizzy from it. Just... gone. Replaced by confusion and this weird warmth at seeing Mom actually looking happy.
Portia doesn’t even turn her head. Her eyes stay glued to the screen. “Hey, Vincey.”
I drop my backpack by the door and move further into the room, my brain still trying to process this scene. I sink into the armchair that’s next to the couch.
“What’s going on?”
Mom gestures with her spoon, a drop of chocolate threatening to fall. “Portia brought us ice cream for dinner.”
Before I can respond, Portia’s arm extends toward me. She’s holding a bowl I didn’t notice sitting on the coffee table, a spoon already sticking out of it. Her eyes never leave the TV, where some family is celebrating getting the number one answer.
I take the bowl automatically, the cold ceramic shocking against my palms.
“Thanks.”
Portia grunts.
“Vince...” Mom’s voice shifts, taking on that particular tone that means we need to have a serious conversation. “Could we talk in another room?”
“Just do it here.” Portia’s eyes finally flick away from the TV to look at my mom. “I already know all the tea.”
Mom stares at Portia for a long moment, something unreadable passing across her face. Then she nods slowly, setting her ice cream bowl on the coffee table. Her eyes find mine, and there’s concern there. The kind of concern that makes my stomach drop.
“Vince... Beth told me you were dating Ashley.” She pauses, her fingers twisting together in her lap. “But then Portia’s here and said you weren’t.”
I don’t feel surprised at all. Of course Portia told her. Of course this is happening right now.
Before I can even open my mouth to respond, Portia speaks up.
“Your son has found himself at the center of a very confusing tapestry of love and lust,” she announces, her voice taking on this theatrical quality like she’s narrating a documentary. She finally sets down her own ice cream, sitting up straighter on the couch. “Allow me to explain the situation in full.”
Mom and I both turn to stare at her.
“Vincent here,” Portia continues, gesturing at me with one perfectly manicured hand, “is currently fake dating Ashley Chambers. It started as a mutually beneficial arrangement where she needed practice for sexual encounters, and he agreed to help her prepare to seduce some man named Dante.”
My face goes nuclear. “Portia...”
“I’m not finished.” She holds up a finger, silencing me. “During this arrangement, they attended a swinging party where Vincent had intercourse with a woman named Caroline, who, by the way, was phenomenal according to Caroline herself, while Ashley attempted relations with the aforementioned Dante. However, Dante had a burst blood vessel in his testicles and ejaculated blood inside Ashley, which traumatized her.”
Mom’s mouth has fallen completely open. I want to die.
“Now,” Portia continues, clearly enjoying herself, “Ashley is using Vincent as a shield against campus stalkers while also maintaining the charade for her mother Beth, who believes they’re genuinely dating. Meanwhile, Caroline wants to continue sexual relations with Vincent behind Dante’s back.”
“And on top of all of that,” she says, leaning forward with this gleam in her amber eyes, “separately, your son has gotten the attention of a billionaire’s daughter who, for the first time in her life, is hearing the word no.”
My mom’s eyebrows shoot up, and she glances between us.
Portia keeps going, her voice taking on this almost manic energy. “Which has escalated into said daughter wanting to see your son become a blushing mess while wearing really short skirts and dresses. And honestly?” She pauses, her hand moving to press against her chest. “She’s willing to give up everything for that. Like, maybe she feels something for Vincey she didn’t even know she was capable of.”
The silence that follows is deafening. I can hear the TV in the background, Steve Harvey freaking out about something innocuous.
Mom’s staring at Portia with this expression I can’t quite read. Then her eyes shift to me, and back to Portia.
“That one is about you?” Mom asks carefully.
“Indeed.” Portia nods, completely serious.
Before I can process what’s happening, Portia reaches out and takes my mom’s hand in both of hers. The gesture is surprisingly gentle, almost reverent.
“But don’t worry,” Portia says, her voice dropping to something softer, more genuine. “I checked. His grades are good.”
I stare at them, my brain struggling to catch up with whatever the hell is happening right now. When did Portia check my grades? How did she even access that information?
Mom’s looking down at their joined hands, then back up at Portia’s face. Something shifts in her expression, some kind of understanding or acceptance I don’t fully grasp.
I watch Mom’s eyes shift from Portia’s hands holding hers to my face. The concern there deepens, her eyebrows drawing together.
“Ashley’s using you?”
The question hangs in the air, and I feel my grip tighten on the ice cream bowl. The cold seeps through my palms.
“It’s complicated,” I say, and the words taste hollow even as they leave my mouth.
“Honey...” Her voice gets quieter, softer. “Why didn’t you talk to me?”
The question hits harder than I expect. My throat goes tight, and I have to look away, focusing on the melting ice cream in my lap instead of her face.
Before I can formulate any kind of response, Portia’s voice cuts in.
“Who would want to bring that up to their mother?”
I glance up and catch Portia looking at me with sympathy in her eyes.
“Why do you know all this?” Mom asks.
Portia releases Mom’s hand and leans back against the couch cushions, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. “He told me.” She pauses, and something flickers across her features. “I think he thought I was a safe person to unburden himself to, but clearly that backfired on him. Now he’s friendless with two vultures and a goddess surrounding him.”
The word friendless echoes in my head, and suddenly I’m thinking about the last time she broke into my house.
“Portia,” I hear myself say, and both women turn to look at me. “I was thinking about it the other day. I would definitely consider you a friend.”
Portia’s eyes go wide. Her mouth falls open slightly, and I watch her entire body go rigid. The look on her face is almost comical, this mixture of shock and something that might be hope.
Then her lips curve into this slow, predatory smile.
“So you’ll let me stroke your boner through a skirt?”
“Portia!” Mom’s voice cracks like a whip, sharp and scandalized.
Portia’s eyes go wide, and she actually flinches. Her hands fly up in this defensive gesture, palms out.
“Ahh, sorry Nina.”
I shake my head, my spoon clinking against the side of my bowl. “No, Portia. Because again, you want me to be your possession.”
“Only kind of,” she says, like that makes it better.
Mom doesn’t even acknowledge the exchange.
“Vince, honey.” She shifts on the couch, turning her whole body toward me. “You know I love Ashley like she’s my own daughter. I’ve watched that girl grow up right next door. But sweetheart, I would never want you to be treated as a means to an end by her. You’re worth so much more than that.”
“I AGREE,” Portia announces, slamming her hand down on the couch cushion for emphasis.
I stare down at my melting ice cream, watching the chocolate swirl into the vanilla. My throat feels tight again, that familiar pressure building behind my eyes.
“Mom, I don’t want to lose Ashley again.” The words come out quiet, barely above a whisper. “I’m terrified of that. She was my favorite person for so long.”
Mom’s face softens, and I watch her reach out, her hand finding mine where it’s gripping the bowl. Her fingers are warm against my knuckles.
“Baby, it’s noble that you want to protect her from these stalkers. That’s the kind of person you are, and I’m so proud of that.” She squeezes my hand gently. “But I don’t know if this is healthy for you. Lying to Beth, pretending to be something you’re not... that takes a toll, Vince.”
“Are you going to tell Beth?”
Mom sighs. Long and deep, the kind of sigh that carries the weight of years. She leans back against the couch, her hand still holding mine, and stares at the ceiling for a moment.
“Vincent, it’s your life.” She says it carefully, each word measured. “I don’t want to lie to Beth. She’s been my closest friend for over a decade. But I also don’t want to make this decision for you. You’re an adult now, and I have to respect that.”
“I’m really worried about the stalkers,” I say, and the admission makes my chest ache. “Like, genuinely scared for her. If pretending to be her boyfriend keeps her safe, then...”
Mom nods slowly, her thumb tracing circles on the back of my hand. She’s quiet for a long moment, her eyes searching my face.
“Alright.” The word comes out soft but certain. “Okay. If that’s what you want me to do, I’ll keep it between us.”
Portia shoots up off the couch like she’s been electrocuted. The sudden movement sends her ice cream bowl sliding dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table, and she catches it with one hand without even looking.
“I thought you were going to be on my side, Nina,” she says, and her voice has that sharp edge to it that means she’s annoyed. “Plus no one has to lie to Beth about their relationship. That’s ridiculous. Just tell her the truth and be done with it.”
I set my bowl down on the armrest, the ice cream completely forgotten. “If it’s what Ashley wants, though...”
Portia lets out this long, dramatic sigh that fills the entire living room. Her eyes roll so hard I’m surprised they don’t get stuck.
Mom leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and looks up at Portia with this soft, almost amused expression
“Portia, honey, I have to be honest with you. I really like how direct you are. You don’t beat around the bush, and that’s refreshing.”
I nod, glancing between them. “It’s hard to hate someone who’s that honest about who they are.”
Mom’s eyes flick to me, and she gives me this small, knowing nod. Like she understands exactly what I mean.
Portia stares at both of us for a second, her amber eyes darting between our faces. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, she reaches into her Balenciaga jacket and pulls out a hundred-dollar bill. She slaps it down on the coffee table with the casualness of someone leaving a tip at a restaurant.
“Alright,” she announces, already moving toward the door. “I gotta go. I’ve got to start painting while I’m still feeling it.”
I blink. “What?”
But she’s already gone. The front door opens and closes in the span of two seconds, and I’m left staring at the empty space where she was standing.
Mom lets out this quiet laugh, shaking her head slowly. “She’s funny, isn’t she?”
I look at the closed door, then back at the hundred dollars, then at Mom. “Yeah. She’s something.”