Writing the Rules: A Fake Dating Standalone by Mariah Dietz (classic english novels .TXT) 📕

suit. The olive green seems very festive for the occasion.”

“Thanks. I got it last week.”

“How’s work been going?” I ask. Until this summer, I worked part-time for my mom, scheduling appointments and returning messages, but this year, she’s narrowed her client list down substantially and is mostly focused on other projects.

“Busy. I’m working on my new book, and I received an offer to do a podcast every Sunday.”

“That’s exciting. What’s the theme of the podcast?”

“Educating people about psychology. The hope is to break down the walls and preconceived notions that so many carry so they aren’t afraid or embarrassed to seek help if they’re feeling lonely, or depressed, or are going through something, or are just feeling … different.”

“I think that’s great, Mom. It sounds like it’s right up your alley, too.”

She flashes a smile of appreciation. “Want something to drink?”

“Sure. Where are Dad and Dylan?”

She pulls her chin back. “Dragging the Christmas tree out of storage.”

“Seriously?” My mom has never allowed me to put up the tree before December twelfth. It’s a tradition that she’s irrationally stubborn about.

“Dylan wanted to put it up. He’s been missing you, and I couldn’t say no.”

“You’re getting soft.”

She points a french-tipped manicured nail at me as I follow her into the kitchen. “Open-minded. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“I am.”

Mom grins and approaches the coffee bar, which is decorated for the holiday with colorful silk leaves and burnt-orange pumpkins. “Would you like some mulled apple cider? Or I picked up some sparkling cider if you’d prefer?”

“It’s Thanksgiving. I have to drink the mulled cider.” I grab a coffee cup and fill it from the Crock-Pot.

“How have things been?” Mom asks, scratching the back of her neck.

“Are you nervous?”

“No. Not at all. Why would I be nervous?”

“I don’t know. You just seem a little anxious.”

She smiles again. “No. I’m just…” She walks over to the table, drawing my attention to the additional three place settings.

“Are we having someone for dinner?”

“Yes. It was kind of a last-minute addition. I wasn’t certain because you hadn’t mentioned anything to your father or me yet, but…”

My stomach hits my lungs, and my face warms. She must have seen the game. Granted, she wouldn’t have needed to. Paxton and mine’s kiss felt like national news in my small world—the picture hit news stations and even a couple of newspapers. I was nervous initially but then realized no one could tell it was me. The shots were clearly intended to capture Paxton’s elation after the victory, and therefore the pictures chase his face, whereas I’m mostly shaded by our kiss. But my mom probably recognizes my hair, maybe she even recognizes the back of my head—mothers can do that, right? Does Paxton know? Is that why he hasn’t texted me this morning? Are we supposed to act like a couple? I feel lightheaded.

“Don’t we need five spots?” I ask. “Aren’t their grandparents coming?”

“Mike’s grandparents?”

“Mike?” I ask, pulling my chin back like I’ve just hit a brick wall.

“Don’t his grandparents live in Arizona?”

I shake my head, trying to make sense of the conversation. “You invited Mike?”

“You know his mom and I are still in the book club together, and for the past year, we’ve been doing yoga classes, and we’ve become really good friends.”

“And I’m okay with that. But that is you and her, not Mike.”

“You guys were always such good friends, and I really respect how you’ve managed to maintain a relationship. I know that was a tough summer for you, but you were both so mature about the situation, and now that he’s back—”

“Mom, he’s dating someone.” I can’t tell her that I am because that would only lead to a new set of questions, ones I don’t know how to answer since our rules specify we weren’t going to drag our families into things.

“I’ve heard.”

I stare at my mom, waiting for the decades of professional advice she’s given to clients and listeners to dawn on her like a giant sunrise, but apparently, the skies are overcast in her thoughts as well as outside today. “Mom, it’s Thanksgiving. This is a family holiday. I can’t believe you invited Mike over and didn’t even give me a heads up.”

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have given you some time to mull over this information. I didn’t realize it was going to be a big deal. I thought you’d be happy about it. Jackie mentioned how you guys have hung out and how you have a class together…”

“You guys aren’t trying to play matchmaker, right? You heard me tell you he has a girlfriend.”

“You guys are young. At this age, relationships aren’t serious. They’re how you learn about life and yourselves.”

“She moved across the country. I’d consider it pretty serious.”

“I’m not saying you have to date or marry Mike. I just know that you guys have always shared so much and had a lot in common, and because you’re such good friends and he’s here, I thought it would be nice to celebrate the day together.”

“Mike is going to rain on your parade,” I point out. “He hates Thanksgiving.”

“Who hates Thanksgiving?” Dad asks as the door leading to the garage opens, and he and Dylan come inside with the box that our Christmas tree is stored in.

“It’s nothing, dear,” Mom says. “I was just telling Poppy that the Rios are coming for dinner.”

“For the record, I was not in support of the idea,” Dad says.

Mom waves her hand like she’s brushing away his words as inconsequential. I take another drink of my cider, trying to silence my nerves.

“Poppy, help me with this tree, will you? It gets heavier every year.” He cranes his head around to look at Dylan. “Are you lifting?”

Dylan looks up from his cell phone. “Yeah, Dad.”

“Put your phone down. It’s Thanksgiving. The only people you need to be talking to are here in this house.”

“Mom invited friends over,” Dylan counters.

“Tree,” Dad says. “Focus on the tree. You’re killing my back.”

“Sometimes, you sound so old,” Dylan says.

I