The Stand-In(74)

“You did well today.” Sam finishes his glass, sees I’m almost done, and orders two more.

“You were patient.”

Now that it’s over, I can barely recall the day. Like most crisis situations, it comes to me in flashes of perfect recall among a background of vaguely acknowledged impressions.

“Was the kissing as bad as you thought it would be?” He glances at me over his wineglass and his tone is more curious than mocking.

I choke. “It was fine.”

“Gracie.”

I rub my nose. “It was strange, that’s it.”

“Do you want some advice?” Sam looks at me intently under the low brim of his hat.

“On my kissing technique?” I ask with utter dismay. “No. Of course not. Jesus. What is it?”

“Your kissing was fine,” he assures me. “It’s your face.”

“My face,” I echo. The problem Sam has with kissing me is my face, excellent news. I’m going to melt from shame but this is like watching a horror movie. I need to know. “Weren’t your eyes closed?”

“Before you kissed me, you looked away.”

“I didn’t.” Surely I would have known that, plus how could I have looked away from Sam about to plant one on me?

“You did it when we were practicing, too. When I’m about here,” and he holds his hand about fifteen centimeters from his face, “your eyes go to the left as if you were looking for an escape.”

I clutch my wine and hunch into the red leather back of the booth. “It’s probably because of the context. I think with a real kiss I wouldn’t.”

“That’s why I told you to look at me.”

“I thought it was part of the scene that I forgot.”

“Ad-lib.”

“What does your girlfriend think about you kissing Fangli?” I’ve been trying to find a way to confirm what Mei said, and the internet was no help. This is as smooth as I can make it.

“What?” He drops his burger and swears when it falls apart. Not so smooth, then. “My what?”

“Mei said you had a girlfriend, or hinted at it.”

“I don’t. But if I did, we’d talk about it. I wouldn’t do anything to make her uncomfortable.” He mashes his burger back together. “Why do you ask?”

“I think it would be hard if that happened,” I say thoughtfully, trying to pretend that my goal was a deep dive into relationship maintenance instead of nosiness.

“It can be. All jobs have their pitfalls.”

“Not like that, though.”

“I’ve heard actuaries can get fairly wild.” He starts eating again.

I share my fries and he shares his onion rings and we don’t say much more until we’re done eating and have a third glass of wine in front of us. It’s a cozy silence. Sam pours a glass of water and pushes it across the table to me. I drink it down because I want to work on Eppy and see Mom tomorrow as well as do my Fangli practice, and although I deserve a damn break after today, I don’t want to do any of that with a hangover.

“What happened at your last job?” Sam asks, breaking into my relaxation with his unerring ability to home in on uncomfortable subjects.

I already have an answer ready for job interviews so I trot it out. “It wasn’t a good culture fit for me. I wanted a place open to testing out new ideas.”

“If you’re going to give that answer, don’t scrunch up your body,” Sam says. “They’ll sense you’re lying.”

I look down and see both my arms and legs are crossed. “I wasn’t lying.”

“How many times do we need to have this fight? For a woman who’s currently pretending to be someone else, you’re a very bad liar.”

“I don’t like lies because I always forget what I’ve said.”

“Yet here we are. What really happened?”

“I hated my manager, the one you saw at the art gallery.” It comes out in a burst. “He was a weasel and then he fired me when he saw that photo of me in the coffee shop.”

Shit, I’ve said too much. I forgot I was hiding that. Stupid wine.

Sam puts his glass down. “He saw what?”

Time to come clean. “I called in sick the day that was taken and told him it wasn’t me but he knew it was because it looks like me. My hair, my bag.”

“Did he threaten you?”

“Not in a way that would affect Fangli.”

“You’re lying again.”

I uncross my arms. “I have a lawyer, okay? It was handled.”

“There’s more you’re not telling me.”

“Can we not talk about it? I assure you I have it under control.” This time I keep my body open and look him in the eye.

After a long beat, he sighs. “I can’t force you into talking, but between you and Fangli, I’m drowning in secrets.”

I have no answer to this because it’s true. We drink quietly, pay up—my treat since I owe him dinner, even though he protests—and leave to go back to the hotel without saying much else.

Fucking Todd spoils the party again.

***

Fangli is able to get to work the next day. She pops her head through my door to give me a hug before she leaves, and though she’s pale, her shoulders and gaze are straight. “Thank you,” she says.