Fake It Until You Make It

Chapter 36: Coming Out

I was sitting in the car, fidgeting with my phone, ducking on my seat as low as I could. The seat was on the left side of the car, despite me not having driven there, because, of course, it was Britain.

I stared at the phone and, taking a deep breath, decided that was ridiculous. What was the big deal, anyway? A lot of people already knew about Lisa and me. And a lot more was about to. So why couldn't I just bring myself to tell my parents?

Her family knew. My management knew. Irene, Guy and even Beezus, whom I had only seen twice in my life, knew. So why did it feel like I was about to ruin everything? It's not like we're doing something wrong.

It's not like we're only pretending to date for the publicity... this time. It's not like she's twenty five years older – just four! And it's not like she's my college professor. Not to mention we'd done this before – not that it had been so great the first time around, with everyone meddling, judging and telling us we should probably break up already. But nonetheless, it couldn't be that big of a shock when we had done this before. So why couldn't I just bring myself to type the numbers and tell my parents: Hey! Remember the person I dated two years ago? The princess! Yeah, the one you thought wasn't a good idea... Well, that's happening again!

I sighed, realizing I was running out of time. I looked around at the country club parking lot. I had rarely seen the same amount of fancy cars in the same spot – maybe sometimes at L.A. restaurants, but not at that kind of setting: that rural, farm-type kind of place that smelled of horse shit and leather.

I knew the polo match was gonna start soon, as I knew Lisa's family was probably there already, just as I also knew the press was too. But I also I couldn't just step out as her girlfriend in front of everybody and let my family find out about us through the papers again.

I suppose it was my fault for procrastinating this for so long. I had had a few days in which I could've picked up my phone and told them, but I kept thinking maybe I wouldn't have to bring myself to. Maybe they would just know. Maybe I wouldn't have to bring myself to say the words aloud and hear all of the judgment. Again.

I grabbed my bag from my feet and found the yellow paper envelope in which my name was written on a flowery, small handwriting.

'Dear Mrs. Smith

I write you with the hopes this letter will still find you in London and that your generation still knows what a letter is. Let me clarify: it is like a "tweet", but longer, personal and physical. It is how my generation used to communicate, and I still find use in it, as well as some beauty, as I hope you will.

I write to let you know we arrived safely in Versailles, and per your request, I had a croissant and a cappuccino by the Eiffel tower when we were still in Paris and thought of you. I pray you come see Versailles one day, the gardens are so beautiful they will make you find time to finally start you own.

I met my granddaughters here, and showed them the polaroid of us. They were so loudly excited I had to cover my ears, though they don't understand why I can't tell them how we came to meet. It feels thrilling, however, to hold the secret.

I do hope you and 'Mrs. Smith' will soon find in yourselves the courage to let the world know of your love. I have seen too many wars start and end and people wonder if they would ever have the chance to be with whom they wanted again, I hope you find strength in the privilege you hold that that is not your case.

It was clear for all of us aboard the Queen in every look and word that you shared that you and Mrs. Smith share the kind of love our generation feared to have been lost in yours. But when we looked at you, and the way your Victoria looked at you when you dazzled the room with your entertaining stories, that fear was lost.