Pretending Ch. 01

"It hasn't, Mom," Connie said calmly. "It's the same as it's been for the past couple of years." She checked off the "weight" block on her mental scorecard.

"Really?" said her mother. "I thought you looked a little heavy the last time I saw you, but it was probably just the outfit you had on." Zing! Thought Connie. Two for one -- insulting my weight and clothes at the same time. Her mother was amazing that way. Connie couldn't take it any more.

"Mom, I have to go," she said. "I'll let you know about Thanksgiving." Then she hung up. She hated to be rude, but the alternative was worse, so she didn't feel guilty.

She wandered out into the living room and dropped onto the couch with a sigh.

"What's up?" Simon asked, coming in from the kitchen and handing her a soda.

"Mom," she answered.

"Ah," he said. He liked Connie's mom, Lydia, well enough. She was sweet and had always been nice to him. However, she did have a tendency to push the buttons on both of her daughters. Connie usually just listened, nodded, said okay and let it go. Emily, her older sister, wasn't quite so laid back about it and he knew that Emily and Lydia had had more than a few fights. "So, what did she do this time?"

"Well, first she said perhaps I'd misjudged Ron," Connie began. Simon scoffed and she smiled slightly. "Then she reminded me how difficult my life will be because of this." She gestured at her leg, and Simon felt a pang of hurt on her behalf. "And then, since I guess she just wanted to make sure she hit all the bases, she told me I'm overweight and don't dress well." She was silent for a minute, then continued, "I always assume she doesn't quite realize how this stuff sounds, and how hurtful it is. Maybe she does, though." Connie shook her head. "I can't think like that. It's too disturbing."

Simon sipped at his soda, considering a response. Connie didn't seem too upset, so he didn't think she needed or wanted a lot of sympathy. He decided to probe a little more. "What brought all this on, anyway?"

"She wanted to know what I was doing for Thanksgiving, and whether I'd be bringing anybody with me. I think she's afraid if I'm not married by the time I'm thirty, I'll start collecting cats or something." Connie rolled her eyes in exasperation.

"What are you going to do?" Simon asked. A plan was forming in his mind, but he wasn't sure if he could really do it.

"Look into getting hypoallergenic cats," she said wryly. He grinned. "I guess I'll go home," she said more seriously. "I hadn't really thought too much about it, and I usually go home for Thanksgiving. How about you?"

"My parents are going out to visit my brother in California," he told her. "He and I are fighting about something, and with plane tickets so expensive, I decided not to go. But I hadn't thought much past that."

"That's too bad," she said sympathetically. "About you and your brother, I mean. I hope you guys can work it out. Jason was always such a nice guy."

"Oh, he is," said Simon. He drained the rest of his soda, giving himself more time to formulate his plan. Now, if only Connie would agree. "I'm not even sure what we're arguing about, this time. I'm just going to give him time to cool down about it. I'll check in with the 'rents when they get back, and see if they think it's okay for me to call him."

"I'm sure it will work out," said Connie. Simon smiled inwardly. She was always so optimistic, at least for other people.

"And it will with your mom, too," he said.

"Maybe it will," Connie said. Then she gave a short laugh. "I know, you can come with me, pretend to be my boyfriend, and then she'll be happy, at least for the weekend."

Simon couldn't believe it. This was precisely what he was about to propose, and Connie had suggested it herself. He recognized the sarcasm, but decided to jump at his chance. He couldn't let this go on much longer; he was sure he would regret it if he didn't try for more with her. "All right," he said.

"All right what?" she asked, puzzled. She'd already forgotten what she'd said.

"I'll do it," he said. "I'll go with you for Thanksgiving and pretend to be your boyfriend." To start with, he thought. He aimed to be her real boyfriend by the time they came back.

"Simon," she said, startled, "I was... I was just kidding." I don't think I can do that, she thought, panicking a little. I don't know if I could just pretend... or stop pretending when it's over.

"I know," he said, unruffled, "but why not? Your mom knows me, so you won't have to deal with the third degree. It will get her off your back for a while, you won't have to listen to her bewail your old maid status, and hey, you get to hang out with me." He gave her a breezy smile, then puppy dog eyes. "You wouldn't leave me here all by my lonesome over a holiday like Thanksgiving, would you?"

"I already hang out with you," she said with a giggle, trying to settle her thoughts. Maybe she should say okay. Maybe she should just indulge the fantasy. She was so tired of dating jerks, and she knew Simon wouldn't hurt her.

"Probably a bunch of people think we're dating already," he said. That much was true. Many times when they were out to dinner, or to a movie, servers or ushers would make a comment indicating they thought the two were a couple. Occasionally they would set the record straight, other times they just let it slide. "Come on, Con," he teased, "you know you want to." His tone masked his anxiety.

"Sure, why not?" she said. Her heart was racing, and she wondered if he could hear it pounding. It really would be better than spending several days with her mom going on about her leg, her weight, and her impending spinsterhood.

"Good, then that's settled," he said, "and I know what to do next." He couldn't believe he sounded so calm.

"What?" she asked warily.

"We should go on a couple of dates before we go to your parents'," he said.

"Dates?" she repeated.

He nodded. "Yep. We want to look convincing, right? We should go out for dinner, or to a show or something."

"I don't get it," she said. "We go out to dinner and stuff all the time. What's different?"

"Ah," he said with a sly smile, "we haven't been on a date before. That's what's different. People in a romantic relationship act differently than people who are just friends. We need to get some practice in, or she'll know we're faking." He hoped she was buying this.

"Okay," Connie said slowly. It sounded logical, but it also sounded... weird. Then again, the whole thing was preposterous, so she supposed she shouldn't go looking for everything to fit into nice, neat spaces.

"So, what are you doing tonight?" Simon asked.

Connie couldn't help laughing. "Sorry," she teased, "I have to wash my hair." She laughed harder as Simon launched a throw pillow at her, deflecting it with her arm. "Then I have to paint my nails," she continued, still giggling. She saw Simon's grin and realized he was going to try and catch her, presumably to tickle her; he knew all the spots. Jumping up, she made it a few steps towards her room before Simon's arm snuck out and caught her around her waist.

She squeaked as he tossed her on the couch and tickled her sides. When she could finally get enough air in her lungs, she gasped out, "Okay, you win. Uncle. I'm free tonight." He stopped tickling but didn't let her up. Connie closed her eyes and tried to even out her breathing, still giving an occasional giggle.

Simon stared down at her as she caught her breath. With her hair tousled and her face a little red from the exertion, she was gorgeous. If he could freeze the moment, she would look like she was just waking up. His heart jumped at the idea of waking up next to her in bed. Before he could stop himself, he lowered his head and kissed her.

Connie's eyes popped open as she felt Simon's lips on hers, and she stiffened in surprise but didn't pull away. I never thought it would feel this good, she thought, letting her eyes drift closed again. Her hands came up to rest on his arms.

Simon felt Connie tense and then relax, and relief washed over him when she didn't push him away. He increased the pressure just a little and touched the tip of his tongue to her lips. He felt a small thrill of victory when Connie responded, opening her mouth enough for her tongue to peek through. At that light touch, he felt a little control slipping away. He slid his arms under her shoulders so he could lift her closer, and kissed her more urgently, hoping she would respond in kind.

I shouldn't... we shouldn't... just pretend... Connie thought incoherently as Simon's arms wrapped around her. But she didn't want to stop, and just let her body respond as it wanted to. Her hands slid further up and she buried her fingers in his hair, drawing a contented sigh. She loved the feel of his lips on hers, of his arms around her, of their bodies close together.

Simon didn't want to pull away, but finally, gently, he broke the kiss. They were quiet as he continued to hold her, stroking her hair as she rested her head against his shoulder. God, that had been amazing. More than he'd dared to hope, or dream -- and he had dreamed about kissing her countless times. He didn't know how long he could just pretend, but he didn't want to scare her away, and he couldn't let her change her mind about the Thanksgiving plans.

x-x-x-x

Neither of them mentioned the kiss after that. They did agree to Simon's idea of going on dates and acting like a "real" couple. Connie found she simply couldn't keep her guard up all the time. More than once she realized she had forgotten the "pretend" part of the whole thing, and she gave up on trying to keep a mental buffer. She rationalized that it would make things look more convincing when they did go home for Thanksgiving.

Simon was in similar straits. He absolutely loved taking Connie out. He even insisted, most times, that he pay, even though they usually went dutch. "We have to make sure we get all the details," he had half-joked. "Wouldn't want something like that to give the game away." Connie had nodded and gone along with it.

There were more kisses, though they were different. After the first one that had surprised them both, they retreated back to light, cautious kisses, such as Simon kissing her hello or Connie kissing him good night.

They continued to have their movie nights -- more of them as the weather grew colder -- but now Connie snuggled up against him while they watched like a girlfriend would. She knew it would be terribly difficult to stop pretending when the time came. Until then, she couldn't help herself.

The Friday before Thanksgiving, Simon had stumbled home late, exhausted from work, at nearly nine o'clock. Connie offered to him fix him some dinner, but he just smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think I could stay awake long enough to eat it," he told her ruefully. "I need to brush my teeth and hit the sack. Good night, sweetie." He pulled her to him for a quick hug and kiss, then went to his room.

Connie sat on the couch, disappointed. She'd been hoping to cuddle up again while they watched something, because tonight she needed his company. Ever since the accident, she would occasionally have nightmares about it. They were frequently brought on by stress, and right now she had plenty of that from both work and her parents. She had hoped to postpone the dreams by sitting with Simon.

She sighed. She could still watch the movie, then another one. Maybe if she watched enough of them and just let her brain roam, she would forget.

x-x-x-x

Simon's eyes popped open a little after one in the morning and he was completely awake, but slightly disoriented. He lay there for a few minutes, trying to remember why he was lying in bed fully clothed. Then it came back to him and he looked at the clock. Surprised at the time, he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He was hungry despite the hour.

He stripped off his work clothes and found some sweat shorts and a t-shirt, wondering if he was hearing noises in the other room. He opened the door and stood for a minute. Is that the television? He was still a little fuzzy. Connie could still be up, he supposed, but that wouldn't be like her, even on a Friday. She didn't generally fall asleep in front of the TV, nor did she forget to turn it off.

Curious, he walked into the living room. Connie was on the couch, in her pajamas, and staring rather vacantly at the screen. Even at times like this, he noticed, with no one around, she wore pajama pants that completely covered her legs. "Hey," he said, hoping not to startle her.

She looked up. "Hi." Not knowing what else to say, she picked up the remote and began flipping channels.

Simon came and sat down next to her, running a hand over his face and then through his hair. "Couldn't sleep?" he asked, leaning back on the couch.

Connie shrugged. "I haven't tried."

"Why not?" he asked, curious. She shrugged again. Simon sat up now, concerned. Connie rarely refused to discuss anything outright, but he knew the signs. When she shrugged, when she avoided eye contact -- that meant something was weighing on her and she was trying to keep it inside. "Come on," he said gently, "tell me. You know I won't laugh."

"It's nothing," she said quietly. I should just tell him, she thought, but it seems so childish and silly.

"It must be something," he countered. "You never do this. I've known you for how many years now? And we've split this place for almost three years. I've never seen you up all night." She looked exhausted.

"It's all right," she said. "I just haven't wanted to go to bed yet."

"I'm your boyfriend, remember?" he said, trying to joke a little. "You have to tell me. That's what couples do."

Connie felt a lump form in her throat. He wasn't really her boyfriend; they were just "rehearsing," as Simon had once called it. Sometimes she forgot, but other times, like now, she was hyper conscious of it. She shook her head. "No, you aren't, not really. But thanks for offering." She turned off the TV. "I'll try going to bed now. There's some leftover pasta in the fridge if you want it. I know it's a strange hour to eat but you didn't have dinner when you got home so late." Berating herself for babbling, Connie made to go into her room.

Simon winced when he realized he'd said the wrong thing, but he couldn't let her go like this. She was obviously upset and he wanted to know why. He caught her hand and pulled her back to the couch. "I'm your friend, Connie, and I've never seen you like this. Come on, what is it?" He put an arm around her.

He nudged her head to rest on his shoulder and began to stroke her hair. It was wavy from being in a braid all day, but felt like silk and smelled faintly of strawberries. He took one of her hands in his and rubbed his thumb over the back, noticing for the first time how soft her skin was. "Talk to me, Connie," he said quietly.

With the comfort of him next to her, Connie knew she would tell him. As with any other situation, she knew he wouldn't laugh at her, or make her feel bad. She just felt embarrassed telling him, although she didn't know quite why.

"Sometimes I have bad dreams," she said after a while. "About the accident." Simon tightened his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. He leaned back on the couch and pulled her with him so that they lay next to each other. "I get them when I'm stressed," she continued, "and between work and Thanksgiving, I can just feel myself getting worked up."

"It's all right," he said. "I know they must be scary, but they're just dreams." She snuggled closer to him, seeking comfort in warmth and physical contact.

"They're horrible," she said, looking up at him. He saw the unshed tears in her eyes and put both arms around her. "It's all in slow motion," she said, her voice catching a little. Simon rubbed her back. "I see the SUV coming, I try to warn Rachel but I can't talk, then the cars hit and it feels like we're flying and flipping for hours." She couldn't stop the tears. "I feel like I lay there for days, and it hurts so much. It's like no one will find us, and we're all bleeding and Rachel's crying and..." She buried her face in Simon's shoulder and sobbed.

Blinking back a few tears of his own, Simon murmured soothing words and continued to comb his fingers through her hair. He'd never seen her this upset and it made his heart ache. After a few minutes, Connie had herself back under control.

"I'm sorry," she said. She gave him a shy smile. "I didn't mean to fall apart like that." Her green eyes were bright from the tears.

"It's all right," he told her. "That's not an ordinary nightmare." He didn't tell her that he had occasional dreams about that night as well. They were torture for him because nearly every time, in his dreams, Connie died. Sometimes she'd been thrown from the car; in others, she had a punctured lung after the airbag exploded and broke her ribs; there were more instances, and he awoke from every one in a cold sweat.

"Anyway," she sighed, "that's why I'm still up. I know I'll be exhausted tomorrow, but I can't help it. I don't want to go in there and go to sleep." She unconsciously pressed closer to him. "I've tried sleeping with the light on, and with music, and anything else I can think of, but the dreams just come."

"Here's an idea," said Simon, relishing the feel of her body next to his. Her curves fit against his perfectly. "Why don't you stay in my room?" He held his breath waiting for her response.

"There's no need for that," Connie said. "Besides, you're still exhausted. You need to sleep, too."

Simon realized she'd missed the point of his offer. He tried to phrase it delicately. "What I meant was, why don't you stay in my room -- with me?"

Connie raised up on one elbow and stared at him. "Simon, I --"

He gently interrupted. "I'm not proposing anything untoward, you brazen hussy," he teased. She blushed. "I'm just saying we both need sleep, and you've already told me a dozen reasons why you can't sleep in your own room. So why not stay with me? You won't be alone, and you'll have different surroundings. Maybe that will help. If you do have the nightmare, then I'll be there, okay?" Please, say yes, he begged mentally.

As soon as she'd begun telling him about it, all he could think about was cuddling up with her in his bed and keeping her safe from the demons. Since the night he'd tickled her and imagined that she'd appear that way waking up next to him, he'd been dying to have her do just that.

Connie looked at him, her brow furrowed. This is not a good idea, she thought. Sleeping with Simon was one of the pipe dreams she kept stashed away in a corner of her mind, along with winning the Olympic gold medal for gymnastics and finding a way to beat her father at chess. These were interesting things that were safe because they were extremely unlikely to happen.

Every step she took like this, in the name of pretending, would make it that much harder when it ended. Connie knew that. So far, she had rationalized her decisions mostly on the basis of how much easier it would make being home at Thanksgiving. This was different.

Simon broke into her thoughts. "You know, this just popped into my head, but -- what will the sleeping arrangements be when we visit your parents?" He was curious to know if they'd have separate rooms or not. That might affect his plans.

"Oh, I guess... I guess we'll be in the same room," Connie said slowly. "Emily and her husband are coming, and there are only three rooms. She wouldn't want anyone sleeping on the couch, you know how she is." Simon chuckled a little at that. Lydia wasn't exactly obsessive about neatness, but he could just imagine her trying to clean up or cook while Simon was sprawled on the sofa. She'd probably dust him; better yet, cover him with a drop cloth.