The Holiday Hoax

The Things He Knows

For as long as I could remember, I had never had anything organized as this.

After scanning through the document on my computer, I sent it to Miles. It was tagged: The Derek File, containing forty pages of invented details, relationship milestones and personality quirks.

I had expected questions for clarifications from him, at least signs that he's studying for a role.

But he sent none of that.

We agreed over email to meet later that day to rehearse the Derek role.

‘Correct me if I’m wrong,’ Miles said when we met the next day, ‘but you might want to revise your “lies.’

‘Why is that?’ I arched a brow.

He cleared his throat as if he had been waiting for this moment. ‘You told your mother Derek proposed at sunset, but told your sister it was at night.’

I could feel my heart rate drop as he spoke.

‘Another one, you said he ran a marathon in Boston but mentioned Chicago in a later call,’ his hands folded as he faced me. ‘If that wouldn’t expose your lies faster than lightning, I don’t know what will.’

My heart rate continues to drop. He had mapped my lies more accurately than I have, and I’m the one who told them.

‘How did you know all this?’ I looked at him in askance, knowing fully well I hadn’t let anything slip.

‘Oh,’ he shrugged. ‘The walls in our building are thin. So basically, I’ve been overhearing your family calls for two years. Not of my own will.’

I relaxed a little. The answer was logical but it didn’t explain the way he said Derek's details-not like someone who eavesdropped but like someone who memorized.

Minutes into the rehearsal and we faced another problem.

We didn’t know how to touch each other. Two years of hostility had built walls that couldn’t dissolve overnight.

‘Here,’ Miles tried reaching for my hand, and on impulse, I flinched. It felt so wrong.

I tried practicing looking at him with affection, the way I’ve seen couples in movies do. But what came out was a horrid grimace.

The rest of the rehearsals that day proved futile. We were supposed to be three years in love but couldn’t stand in proximity without tension crackling wrong.

We decided to continue the next day. I was already practicing my words when he knocked on my door.

I let him in with a friendly smile. ‘You’re early.’

‘Good to see you too,’ he stood by the door for a moment, before letting his hands brush a hair from my face.

My chest tightened. The touch was brief but it lingered, even after he had walked in and taken a seat.

‘Well,’ I cleared my throat. ‘That was unexpected.’

‘Same as pretending to be your boyfriend , but here we are,’ he shrugged with a nonchalant flair.

I got right to practicing, going through some words and gestures. But Miles seemed indifferent to it all: only nodding and giving a sound of approval one way or another.

‘Miles, could you please focus?’ I asked him politely.

‘Sure,’ he replied, ‘but I’m starving.’

‘Well, let me make something real quick then,’ I stood up quickly and went into the kitchen, grateful for an escape route from him.

The atmosphere had become awkward between us. I wasn’t ready to drown in that awkwardness.

Few minutes in and I was almost through with the meal I was preparing.

‘You done?’ He asked as he came into the kitchen.

‘Just a minute,’ I said without looking at him.

‘Hmmm,’ his voice sounded smoother, but I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

His body came rather too close to mine, close enough for me to get every smell of his cologne.

I couldn’t move; couldn’t turn. My whole body stiffened in response.

‘That meal looks delish,’ he was so close that I could feel his breath against my face.

My heart pounded within my chest, making it difficult for me to concentrate on what I was making.

Eventually he pulled away, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding in.

The rest of the time with him was filled with unexpected events. Little touches on my hands, my hair. He even let his hands stay longer at the small of my back until I stopped being aware of it.

The touches weren’t romantic; they were systematic, but that didn’t mean I was comfortable with it.

‘So far, I think we’re making progress,’I announced after a session of rehearsals.

‘What’s the point of having a boyfriend who’s touches make you flinch?’ He pointed out, and I knew that question was rhetoric.

I didn’t realize what he was doing until the third day of our rehearsals, when he greeted me with a gentle stroke on my arm.

That was when I knew. He had changed tactics, conditioning me to accept his proximity and presence.

His touch didn’t make my skin prickle with discomfort but rather…something else.

Warmth. Safety. Pleasure even.

By day five, I was already leaning into a contact I didn’t initiate. We ended up holding hands for a long time, staring into each other’s eyes without me giving that horrid grimace.

It was working; rather too well.

During some days of our rehearsal, I dropped by his place. The aroma I smelled from the kitchen was amazing.

‘What are you making?’ I called out to him from the living room.

He appeared shortly, with a steaming plate of food. ‘Chipotle, your favourite.’

‘How did you know?’ I was surprised, because I hadn’t told him about that.

He didn’t reply. I don’t know if he heard me or just chose to ignore.

As we discussed, this time about trivial things, I noticed how his brown hair reflected lighter in the sun, and how he demonstrated with his hands while he spoke.

He never took his eyes off me as we spoke, and helped with the little things like my bag, fluffing a throw pillow for me…

It was caring; not the scripted kind of way.

‘What are these?’ I randomly picked up a notepad that was on the coffee table.

‘Just some notes,’ he replied nonchalantly.

I flipped through them, and what I saw amazed me.

It was a detailed note about my family dynamics: from my sister to my grandmother, and even to her mother. Everything was so detailed.

I tried concealing my amazement, and out of the corner of my eye I noticed him, watching me with an unfamiliar look in his eye.

The air got hotter for me.

‘I guess that’s a wrap for today,’ I put the notepad down before turning to him. ‘We leave tomorrow, so remember to pack up, okay?’

‘No problem. There’s this Krampus costume I bought sometime ago. Would be nice to try that out,’ he winked at me.

I chuckled and thanked him for lunch before leaving.

That night, I went out to get some things from a nearby store. On my way to my house, I found a box lying outside my door.

It had a tag by the side labeled: FROM MILES.

Inside was a ring- vintage, art deco, exactly the style I described in a call with my mother two years ago.

That was strange because I had never put that detail in the Derek file, and I never told Miles.

But he knew anyway. And I couldn’t fathom how.