The Summer We Pretend

The first time I lied about having a girlfriend, I was sitting across from my father at a restaurant expensive enough to make me nervous about touching the silverware. Which was ironic. Because lying to my father had never made me nervous. The girlfriend part did. "So," my dad said, cutting into his steak. "Are you going to tell me what you're doing after graduation?" I stared at the glass of water in front of me. "I'm thinking." "You've been thinking for six months." "I'm a deep thinker." He didn't laugh. Okay. Bad sign. I leaned back in my chair and tried to look relaxed. Outside the restaurant windows, Los Angeles was glowing beneath the orange sunset. Cars moved slowly along the boulevard, their headlights already coming on. My father took a sip of wine. "Ethan." Here we go. "You're nineteen." "I know." "You're smart." "I know." "You've got opportunities most people would kill for." "I know." "And yet every time I ask you what you want to do with your life, you say you don't know." I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. Because, annoyingly, he was right. I didn't know. I didn't know what major I wanted to change to. I didn't know if college was even what I wanted. I didn't know whether I wanted to follow my father's business, which I had spent my entire childhood pretending I hated. And I definitely didn't know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. But there was one thing I knew. I hated disappointing him. My father placed his fork down. "I'm not asking you to have your entire life figured out." "Sounds like you are." "I'm asking you to have a direction." I looked away. Then he said the sentence that would eventually ruin my summer. "If you don't have one by the end of summer, I'm cutting off the apartment." I looked back at him. "You're serious?" "Very." "You'd actually make me move back home?" "Yes." "That's cruel." "It's called being a parent." "I thought being a parent was supposed to involve unconditional love." "It does." "Then why are you threatening me?" "Because unconditional love doesn't mean unconditional funding." I stared at him. He smiled. I hated when he did that. Then his expression changed. "So what's keeping you here?" I frowned. "What?" "You've been different lately." "I'm fine." "Are you?" "Yes." He studied me for a few seconds. Then his eyes moved toward the table behind me. I followed his gaze. A young couple was sitting there. The girl was laughing while the guy whispered something in her ear. My father looked back at me. "Maybe you need something in your life besides school and your friends." I raised an eyebrow. "What are you suggesting?" He shrugged. "Nothing." That nothing sounded suspiciously like something. I sighed. "Dad." "What?" "I don't need a girlfriend." He smiled. "I didn't say girlfriend." I froze. He knew. He absolutely knew. "Wait," I said. "Why are you smiling?" "I'm not." "You are." "Eat your dinner." I pointed at him. "You're enjoying this." "A little." I groaned and leaned back. And that's when I made the biggest mistake of my summer. I said: "I already have someone." Silence. My father blinked. I blinked. Even the couple at the other table seemed to stop talking. My brain screamed at me. Why did you say that? My father slowly leaned forward. "Someone?" I nodded. "Yes." "Someone as in... a girlfriend?" I swallowed. "Yes." His eyebrows rose. "Since when?" I searched desperately for an answer. "Recently." "How recently?" "Very recently." "What's her name?" Oh, God. Her name. I needed a name. Any name. My eyes wandered around the restaurant. A waitress walked past. Her name tag said Maya. Perfect. "Maya." My father smiled. "Maya what?" I stared at him. Why had I chosen a person with a first name only? "Maya... Bennett." The lie was born. And I had no idea that the real Maya Bennett was sitting three tables behind me. Listening. "You're an idiot." I heard the voice behind me. I turned. A girl stood there holding a glass of water. Dark brown hair. Black jacket. Jeans. Expression of someone who had just watched a car crash and couldn't decide whether to laugh or call an ambulance. I stared at her. She stared at me. Then she pointed at herself. "Maya Bennett." My stomach dropped. "Oh." "Yeah." "Oh." "That's all you've got?" I looked at my father. He was talking to the waiter. Then back at her. "I'm sorry." "You should be." "I didn't know you were-" "Listening?" "Yes." "You were sitting three tables away from me." "I wasn't aware." She crossed her arms. "You literally used my name." "I know." "My full name." "I panicked." "You panicked and decided to invent a girlfriend who happened to be a real person?" "When you say it like that, it sounds bad." "It is bad." I rubbed the back of my neck. "Look, I can explain." "Please don't." "Okay." She turned to leave. "Maya." She stopped. I stood. She looked at me. I lowered my voice. "I really am sorry." Something changed in her expression. Just slightly. "Why did you lie?" I hesitated. "My dad." She glanced toward my father. "Strict?" "Very." "Rich?" I frowned. "Is it that obvious?" She looked around the restaurant. "Yes." Fair. She sighed. "I'm not going to tell him." I blinked. "You're not?" "No." "Why?" "Because I don't care." I smiled. "Thank you." "But..." There it was. The but. She looked directly into my eyes. "You owe me." I stopped smiling. "For what?" "For using my name." "That seems fair." "Good." She walked away. I watched her disappear through the restaurant entrance. Then I sat down. My father looked at me. "So." I swallowed. "So?" "When do I get to meet Maya?" I closed my eyes. I was screwed. Completely. And somewhere outside that restaurant, the real Maya Bennett had just walked into my life. Neither of us knew it yet. But by the end of the summer, we were going to wish we had never met.