The Truth About Faking

here a lot because he knows exactly what to order and even picks out a caramel macchiato for me that he says will make me camp out for the shop to open tomorrow.
    “I never knew you were such a coffee bean,” I say, as I sip the creamy drink. It really is delicious, and I just don’t even want to know how many calories are in it.
    “Good coffee is like good… um—”
    “Ultimate Frisbee?”
    He laughs. “Better. And by the way, I really like that about you.”
    “What?”
    “You’re funny.” He looks down, then he looks at me more serious. “But more than that. You care about other people and helping them find a way to belong.”
    I don’t know if that’s true, but okay. I glance around the shop. It’s very snug and full of yellow light. Several skinny-legged tables and chairs are arranged by the window in the front, and in the back are several large, velvety armchairs with smaller tables positioned around them.
    It’s more a place where college kids hang out, as all our friends tend to go to the Shadow Freeze, the ice cream and burger joint a half-mile up the road. Trent orders a skinny latte for himself, which doesn’t seem fair since guys have much higher metabolisms than girls, and then he takes my arm. He escorts me to a plush, velvet couch in the back that has a long table in front of it. I sit on the couch, and he pulls up a stool to sit across from me.
    “This better?” he smiles.
    “It’s great,” I smile back at him. And not so long ago it would’ve been a dream come true, but now all I can think about is Jason.
    He studies the menu, and I study his face. He really does have a sweet little mouth. It’s kind of shiny like he uses lip gloss or something. And as usual, he’s dressed just so. I like the shirt he’s wearing. Most guys don’t go for madras, but Trent looks very fashionable in it with his jeans.
    “You always dress really well,” I say.
    “Hey, thanks,” he smiles. “You too. I like the braids.”
    I can’t believe he actually noticed for once. “Thanks.”
    “Your hair’s so shiny,” he says. “Do you use a special conditioner?”
    “No. Just whatever’s on sale.”
    We’re quiet again, and a barista stops at our table. She asks if we want any biscotti or muffins, but I shake my head emphatically. Trent gets shortbread, and I watch as he breaks it into small pieces. I’m ready to get to the bottom of whatever he has to tell me, but first I excuse myself to go to the restroom.
    As I walk back, I notice he’s texting again. He’s all happy like before, and whatever he’s reading must be super-funny because he’s almost snorting.
    “Hey,” I say.
    He jumps and puts his phone away. “Hey.”
    “Who was that?” I ask. He’d better not start with all the secretive texting, or I’m taking off.
    “Oh… it’s just… I get this joke of the day thing. I hadn’t checked it today.”
    “Really.”
    “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’ll put it up.”
    I remember running into Stephanie in the bathroom at school and her asking about us dating. I wonder if she’s the mysterious texter. If she’s been sending him messages all along. Whatever he claims, he looked really sad when they broke up, so it’s possible she’s trying to get back with him. Every few minutes I hear the whisper of his phone vibrating. He ignores it and tries to make small talk.
    “I’m glad all that stuff worked out with your mom,” he says.
    “Yeah,” I say, distracted by his humming phone.
    “And I really do feel bad my mom made all that trouble. It wasn’t cool.”
    “It’s not your fault, and you said she’d kind of put you through it.”
    He nods, looking embarrassed. “Right. I forgot.”
    “You can’t help how your parents act.”
    He looks at me, and for a split second it seems like he’s about to say something. Instead he takes a bite of shortbread. I sip my rich drink. Then he laughs and reaches across the table.
    “You’ve got foam.”
    I jump and wipe my nose with one of the paper napkins on the table. “How embarrassing.”
    “Happens to the best of us!”
    I smile and watch him dunk a piece of cookie in his latte. He puts it in his mouth and smiles back, raising his eyebrows. I study his perfect hair, his ideal fashion sense, his great taste. All at once, I have the strangest thought about my former-future-husband. What if Trent isn’t anybody’s former-future-husband? At least not in the way you’d expect.
    I shake my head and look at my drink.