Good at Being Alive(34)

“And what superpower would that be?” he asks with a grin. “Is there something you’re particularly good at? I excelled at maths.”

“I used to be okay at field hockey.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, “the unstoppable combination of field hockey and maths. Quite the genetic powerhouse.”

“We would name our superhero child after Bronwyn and your brother, but Bronwyn gets higher billing obviously. More tragic.”

“A son named Bronwyn would need to have a superpower to survive the bullying. Also for playing field hockey.”

“I assure you, your maths skills wouldn’t be helping that situation either.”

He grins at that, and though I still fucking hate running and hate fake marriage, I’ll admit this moment of being in a world without my father and stepsister, a world that still makes no sense, is sort of okay.





Theo


Our marriage is progressing at an alarming pace. We now have a baby.

Not a real baby, obviously. Even Lars wouldn’t sink that low. But making us pretend to care for a baby is sinking lower than I’m personally comfortable with.

Lars and the guys are getting set up to shoot in the flat we’re supposedly staying in, so I walk to the balcony and throw open the doors. Apparently the storyline is “Theo and Rebecca watch a friend’s baby; hijinks ensue.”

Actually, there aren’t supposed to be any hijinks because we are, theoretically, responsible adults who love each other and can be trusted with someone’s child…a theory we are certain to prove categorically false.

“Okay, guys,” says Lars, walking up to us. “We need to get this done before we lose the light, and just so you’re aware, we’re filming somewhat out of order. There are going to be times when it’s afternoon and we’re pretending it’s morning and there are going to be times when we pretend it’s your honeymoon though you’ve been traveling for months. Today is a bit farther down the line. When we edit it, it will be placed later and it’s the moment when the viewer starts to see the wheels coming off.”

I raise a brow. “I’m not sure how carefully you’ve been watching, but they’ve been off for quite a while.”

Lars chuckles. “Right, but we can finesse that. Today, you’re hitting a major roadblock: the age difference. We’ll take some stills, and then get some footage of the two of you out on the balcony with the doll,” he says. “Viewers will love it. Then one of you—Theo, I suppose, since you’re at that age—can broach the topic and Bex can say she’s not ready. When we do the one-on-ones, Theo will mention that it does worry him a little because he really wants kids and he’s not sure how long she’s going to make him wait.”

Bex smirks. “You’ll look pretty foolish talking about wanting babies after I’m caught on film having sex in a ski lift booth next winter.”

There’s a sharp pinch of irritation in my chest. “Penciled in on your calendar already, is it?” I ask. “And I’m not sure I’m the one who’d look foolish.”

“Okay,” says Lars. “Just grab the doll and head out to the balcony, will you?”

My gaze sweeps from Bex to the remarkably lifelike doll. “Go ahead.”

“Why do I have to carry the baby?” she demands. “I already put in nine months to produce your monstrous offspring, not to mention the disaster it’s made of my vagina.”

“It seems to me the disaster it made of your vagina hurts me more than it hurts you. I’m the one who has to have sex with it.”

She stops in place, fighting a laugh. “Wow. Remind me never to have children with you.”

“I didn’t realize there was a risk of you having children with me,” I reply. “Apparently this trip is about to get a lot more interesting.”

“Yeah, you wish,” she says, but our eyes meet, and there’s a flicker of something between us. Something I’m going to pretend isn’t there for the time being but think about obsessively when I’m alone.

I carry the doll to the balcony as it’s clear Bex is a childcare shirker and Lars hasn’t yet realized that neither of us is fit to parent.

We are photographed holding the baby from several angles, and then they switch things up to film.

“Okay, let’s hear some actual discussion,” says Paula. “Let’s talk about having kids.”

My shoulders fall at the same time hers do. There’s no describing how badly I don’t want to have this conversation with anyone.

“We haven’t really discussed children,” I begin woodenly. “I assume you want them.”

She hitches a shoulder. “Your penis is so crooked and soft. Do you think it even works?”

I fight a smile. “And I imagine if you were capable of getting pregnant,” I reply, “you’d have trapped some pro athlete into marriage by now.”

She snort-laughs and covers her face in surprise. I smile, victorious.

“Guys,” groans Lars. “Please?”

We finally get through the requisite conversation, which we then have to shoot all over again when Jon tells us there was interference from a plane overhead.

While they set up a second time, I thrust the doll at Bex and walk to the far end of the balcony, where I lean against the rail.