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“Think of it like real-life improv.”
The notion would be laughable if Lily hadn’t consumed so much wine. As it were, the roommates were two-thirds of their way through a second bottle of Shiraz—a gift from Marlene’s ex—and Lily was currently feeling every drop. If anyone else had suggested it, wine-drunk or not, Lily would have scoffed at the idea. But Marlene was an actress too, or at least, attempting to be one, just as Lily was, so she knew the suggestion came from a genuine, albeit strange, place, rather than mocking commentary that she could have expected (and would have received) from her sister and ex-best friend.
It was a regular Friday-night tradition of theirs to scour Tinder and consult each other about which way to swipe. Some nights, they got more liberal with their right swipes as the wine bottle emptied, and other nights were the opposite. Tonight fell in the former category.
“I don’t know, Mar,” Lily said, topping off their glasses with the last of the bottle. “What kind of guy would have this in his profile? The only thing in his profile, mind, besides an apparently made-up career at… Sleekeazy, whatever the fuck that is supposed to be.”
“He is fit, though,” Marlene countered, and Lily couldn’t disagree.
Despite the entirety of “James, 29”’s profile being blank, the handful of photographs uploaded painted a rather appealing picture—a couple of which included a very shirtless man on a football field, and she was certainly a good enough actress to fake her way through an interest in football for abs like that.
“Besides,” Marlene continued, now thumbing through an app on her own phone, “what’s the worst that can happen?”
“Besides being murdered, you mean?”
Marlene waved the comment away, as if to say well, obviously, but what else? “Swipe right, Evans. Live a little.”
Lily rolled her eyes but did as directed, making a mental note to snatch Marlene’s phone the next day and text her ex a thank you for the wine.
It only took a couple of minutes for her phone to excitedly notify her that her swipe had been reciprocated—a match had been made. She drained the rest of her glass in two gulps, wiped the moisture from her upper lip, and readied herself for whatever she was getting herself into.
It took a surprisingly short time for “James” to arrange the couples therapy session he wanted them to meet at. In fact, almost the entire message chain between them centered on this scheduling, with little to no personal information shared. Lily suspected that “James” was taking the part about not knowing each other pretty seriously, but she wasn’t inclined to push the issue.
She half expected to be ghosted at some point, and as a week passed between messages, she had chalked it up to “James” growing bored with the prank and giving up on her. That was, until the day before their scheduled session, when her phone alerted her to a message from him that simply said: 10AM tmrw. U coming?
Maybe nice abs weren’t worth it after all.
Unfortunately, a little voice in the back of her head—the likes of which sounded too much like Marlene for comfort—encouraged her to reply that she would be there.
What does one wear to fake couple’s therapy? She texted Marlene after perusing her wardrobe.
The expectedly unhelpful reply: Cute knickers in case it goes well.
The following morning, she and her normal full-bottomed knickers arrived at Devonshire Place twenty minutes before their scheduled appointment. The street was bustling with people coming and going from buildings or homes, some hurrying away in search of taxis, others meandering under the shade with leashed dogs. It was a beautiful day that she half wished she wasn’t wasting inside on an improv acting lesson.
Nerves rose as she ambled down the street toward the therapist’s office. In the bustle, she might have missed the building if not for one thing—the man standing outside it, looking exactly as pictured on his Tinder profile. As she drew closer, he straightened and turned toward her.
“Lily?”
“Yes. James, allegedly? Or is knowing your real first name too much information ahead of our appointment?”
He grinned lopsidedly. Cute dimples. “James is my real name. ‘Fraid that’s all I can divulge at this time.”
Lily composed herself; the desire to roll her eyes was overwhelming, but she could withstand it. As far as she was concerned, the moment she stepped onto this street, her role had begun. This Lily didn’t outwardly react to such remarks; they rolled off her back. Cute dimples. Great abs. You can do this.
“Shall we?”
Lily nodded, allowing James to lead her up the stone steps and through the blue glass-paned window that chimed softly when they entered. The reception area was painted a calm pink color with a smattering of armchairs and tables strewn about adjacent to the long wooden desk designated for check-in. As Lily lingered behind in her evaluation of the room, she failed to notice James step forward and greet the elderly receptionist.
“You’ll need to fill these out before your session.”
“Cheers.”
“And your partner as well.”
“Ah, right. Lily, darling?”
Momentarily startled at the unfamiliar summons, Lily was slow to respond, and when she came to James’ side and gained an understanding of what they were expected to do, she almost wished she had not responded at all.
“You never said there would be a quiz,” she hiss-whispered to James as the pair settled on a pair of floral armchairs, tucked away in the furthest corner of the room.
“Terrified of being judged,” James murmured, pretending to write as he spoke. “Well, I, for one, am glad you are facing your fears by coming to counseling. It’s commendable.”
Lily kept her face straight. “I thought the point of counseling was to be able to share your deepest and darkest secrets with a therapist without being judged.”
“Who said the therapist is the one judging you in this scenario?”
She chose to ignore this teasing remark in favor of scouring the questions. Most of them were of the get-to-know-you variety, but the other side of the questionnaire asked detailed questions about the relationship issues that had led them to counseling.
“What should we go with?” she asked James in a low voice.
“Nuh-uh, that’s cheating.”
Christ almighty. What chance did they have if they couldn’t come up with an agreed-upon base for their story? James didn’t seem to notice or care about her hesitancy as he scrawled away on his own paper, pen flying across the page as if all of his answers were top of mind. Hoping this meant his answers were generic, Lily did her best to catch up and was still filling out the second-to-last question when the door nearest the reception area swung open, revealing their severe-looking therapist. Glasses perched nicely on her nose, hair immaculately pulled back in a bun, she introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall and invited them to join her.
Lily once again followed James’ lead, barely paying attention as they walked through a soft-lit hallway and into a room that resembled someone’s study.
“Please have a seat on the sofa,” Minerva said, gesturing for them to go ahead of her. “Have you finished your questionnaires?”
“Indeed. This one loves a good questionnaire,” James said, grinning as he nodded toward Lily. After collecting her scribbled answers from her, he handed both papers to Minerva.
“Splendid. I find it is always beneficial to have these filled out before our first session. I am looking forward to getting to know both of you, but first, allow me to tell you a little about myself.”
Out of the corner of her eye, Lily studied James as he sat there attentively listening to Minerva explain her experience and education, her specializations, and her methods. He looked utterly fascinated, and Lily started to wonder whether he also might be an actor by trade. He certainly played his part well now.
At the conclusion of her clearly rehearsed monologue, Minerva gave the pair a tight-lipped smile and grabbed the notepad and pen sitting on the coffee table between them. “Now, before we get to your questionnaires, I’d like to hear why you are here today.” Show time. “If you could distill your biggest issue to one word, what would that be?”
Just as James insisted, “Communication,” Lily enthusiastically told the therapist, “Sex.”
The woman stared at them above the frames of her glasses, mouth slack but fingers tightly gripping her now-still pen.
“It’s communication,” James offered, again.
“During sex,” Lily added, throwing a sideways glance at James, who wasn’t meeting her eye. “Don’t be embarrassed, darling. This is a safe space for us.”
“We don’t need any counseling on that.”
Lily exhaled, crossing her arms across her chest. “If you’re not going to put in the effort, why are we even here, James?”
“Certainly not for the thrill of it, Lil.”
“The sex is great,” Lily said candidly, turning back to Minerva as she ignored her partner’s remark. “James is so giving. But lately… well… he’s said he’s not, but I can tell he’s upset about a joke I made in bed the other night.”
Minerva’s penetrating gaze jumped between the two of them; Lily kept her eyes from wandering to James. “What kind of joke?”
“Well, I’d finished watching How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days—you know the film, right?—and then I jokingly nicknamed his… y’know… part, erm, Sophia.”
The therapist pursed her lips—to avoid having a laugh escape at her client’s expense, Lily was sure.
“And James, how did that make you feel?”
“Not great,” he deadpanned, before adding, “That’s not even the worst bit, which she conveniently left out. My late grandmother was named Sophia. You could’ve chosen any other name, Lily!”
Oh.
He’s good.
“It’s from the movie! And besides, you know I adored your Grandma Sophia! I sang at her funeral, for Christ’s sake.” She added to Minerva, “It brought everyone to tears.”
“Yeah, tears of agony. I saw Uncle Alfie eying the coffin to see if there was room for him to climb inside.”
Lily’s jaw dropped, aghast. “I am a delightful singer! The lessons were really helping, back when I didn’t have to pay so much for the rent and could afford them.”
“Oh ho, not this again—”
Minerva, scribbling furiously on her notepad, glanced up and asked, “Do you live together, then?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
They didn’t bother glancing at each other, Lily adding, “Not officially. I keep my own space for tending to my dear Mildred.”
“A relative?”
“Her cat,” James inserted.
“My cat? See—that’s just it, isn’t it? We’ve been together long enough that she should be our cat by now, James.” Lily turned to the therapist. “He knew I would never leave little Millie behind.”
“It’s a nasty beast of a thing, that cat. Always tearing into my things, slicing my fingers, biting my toes.”
“It’s how she shows love,” Lily said, indignant at the slight against her imaginary cat.
“Love? Blimey, imagine the injuries I’d sustain if she hated me.”
“Maybe if you helped with the litter box every once in a while,” Lily mumbled under her breath.
“Here we go again—”
Minerva cleared her throat loudly. “There is a lot to unpack here, and I certainly want to give both of you the time and space to feel what you are feeling. But perhaps we should move on to reviewing your questionnaires together for the remainder of this session.”
Lily braced herself, knowing nothing good would come from this portion of their session. She’d done her best to provide generic answers and now relied on blind hope that James had followed a similar approach. Some questions, though, there was no way of getting around—
“Let’s start with your history.” Minerva settled her glasses on her nose before glancing between the two papers. “You have different dates listed for how long you two have been together. James wrote down April of last year, and Lily, you wrote down November.”
“Oh, James, she meant our real anniversary date, not when we met,” Lily said, keeping her tone light and overly fond, before turning to Minerva. “You know how men are—love at first sight, and all that! We met in April, but I didn’t agree to a date until November.”
“I see.” Scribble, scribble.
Lily threw a glance at James, who appeared to be trying very hard to keep his face neutral.
“Is something wrong?”
Minerva paused her writing. “No, not at all. I am taking a few notes with follow-up questions. Before we get into specifics, I wanted to get through as much of the questionnaire as possible.
“Oh, good.”
But it was not good.
It was the opposite of good, in fact. If they’d had any shot walking out of the session undetected, their answers to Minerva’s simple questions jeopardized it all.
Not only did they botch the length of their relationship questions, but both wrote wildly different explanations on where and how they met, and when Lily again tried to pass it off as James conflating meeting with their first date, the therapist’s pursed lips told Lily she wasn’t buying it.
“Lily,” said Minerva, scanning the page in front of her, “why did you say that James’ hair was his greatest insecurity?”
“What’s wrong with my hair?!”
Lily, ignoring James’ glare in favor of maintaining eye contact with Minerva, threw her hands up. “You see what I’m working with here?”
It was agonizing, though Lily tried to keep her face impassive. Everything she had ever learned about acting seemed to be floating away, unlike James, who sat stoic and unperturbed, even in the face of Minerva questioning his answers.
“James, it says here your biggest cause of anxiety is… climate change?”
The pair paused waiting for Minerva to continue, but when she did not, Lily glanced at James and said, “I think we all should be at least a little bit anxious about that, to be fair.”
James nodded his thanks as Minerva shifted in her seat.
“These questions are related to your relationship. What about your relationship gives you anxiety?”
“Ooh. Oh. Well…” James paused, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, it’s the climate change thing. Truly, that anxiety really spreads out into all facets of my life. Lily’s been my rock.”
She reached forward to grasp his hand in hers, “I am always here for you, darling.”
“Until the Earth bursts into flames, anyway.”
“Even then.”
“Isn’t she the greatest?” James said, turning toward Minerva, looking convincingly love-struck. “She gets me like no one else ever has.”
Furrowing her brow in clear disbelief, Minerva adjusted her glasses before saying. “Well, I think this is a positive note to end on. I believe there are many things for us to discuss in future sessions. Let’s plan to meet next week, to dive deeper into your history—”
James rose to his feet, cutting off Minerva’s words abruptly. “Next week? Do we really need more sessions, Minnie? I think this one has been utterly illuminating, and I can’t thank you enough for your expertise in helping us work through our problems.”
Doing her best to keep her face impassive, Lily rose to join James, reiterating his compliments just as James dropped to one knee.
“I knew I wanted to spend my life with you from the moment we met back in—whatever month that was. And when I kissed you for the first time on our… third? second? date, I knew I would make an honest woman out of you one day. Will you marry me, Lily?”
The sound of ruffling papers as the notepad fell from Minerva’s hands was inaudible over the screech Lily let out, throwing herself onto James and knocking them both off balance.
“Of course I’ll marry you, you great big toe-rag. There’s no one else I’d rather correct all the rest of my life.”
“You do like to stay busy,” James agreed, grinning.
“This does mean Mildred will be our daughter now.”
“Thankfully, she’ll be dead sooner than later!” James replied cheerfully.
The pair rose, letting a few laughs escape as they turned back to Minerva. “Thank you so much.”
“Keep an eye out for our save-the-date post. You’ll be the guest of honor!” James said as he carded his fingers through Lily’s and tugged her through the door.
The pair did not stop until they were through the door, down the street, and out of sight of Minerva’s office.
Safely away from the prying eye of their counselor, Lily finally felt herself relax and couldn’t stop the wave of laughter that overcame her. James joined her shortly after, hands firmly placed on each side as if he’d just finished running a race.
“That was brilliant!”
“That was certainly something,” she agreed, finally controlling her laughter. “A first date for the history books.”
James grinned, that wretched dimple popping again. He was unfairly handsome. “Glad to hear it… So what do you say, then? Same time next week?”