"You know its cold right" Jake called with a slight whiny tone in his otherwise perfect voice.

" yes I know its cold" Don't snap at him it will only make things worse.

"and we have no fire" he's treating me like an idiot, I can see there is no fire, my goosebumps can feel no warmth from crackling logs!

"yes I realize that also" I should win Oscar for this.

"and we would both be warmer if you would come here" he called from inside the sleeping bag he'd stolen from me.

"I'm fine" I insisted, shivering against a tree. Dear god don't let him hear my teeth chattering.

"well I won't be if I freeze to death, so Erin get your god damn stubborn ass over here!" he yelped. Rolling my eyes and faking reluctance I walked over to him and climbed into the side he had unzipped. I was never going to object for very long, I was freezing my ass off, not that I would ever let him know.

"thank you" he muttered breathily, I couldn't help but let a small smirk creep onto my face, it must have pained him to say those words.

"your welcome" I think this may just be first time I've been thanked for climbing into bed with a man and not doing a thing.

***********

But how did we end up here? Freezing in the woods, lost? I'm asking myself the same question...I suppose it started a few months ago... of course that's the problem with situations like these, they always start months in advance, when you can't see the trouble coming.

***********

It was a normal day when I walked into my usual coffee shop in Boston. I was going to order my usual... but the jackass in front of me took the last Boston Cream Pie donut... I tried to get over it, I really did. You can't go around letting a donut throw off your whole day. If you do what happens when you can't find a cab? Die? So I ordered a chocolate donut covered in bright happy sprinkles. It may not be filled with a heavenly custard, but at least it's festive. As I headed for the door, hands nearly full between the donut, my coffee, my phone, and the heavy purse cutting into the inside of my elbow, I realized I forgot the extra creamer. You may think that if I could get through the donut crisis, surely a little less creamer is just water under the bridge. Wrong. So I went back to get it, but because my phone kept buzzing with reminders for deadlines (which I'm usually behind on) and emails for sales (Kate Spade, Bergdorf Goodman, Neiman Marcus, William Sonoma, etc.) I ended up bumping into a man rather violently. Which ended up with me spilling my coffee all over him in the process. Luckily it was iced. I've never been very good with lawsuits which some might say is ironic since my dad is a judge.

"I'm so sorry" I cried grabbing napkins and dabbing them on his chest. He was very well defined, and my coffee made his shirt stick even tighter. He could be a model, I swear he could have been in Versace's last campaign just by going off his chest, not to mention the fabulous face that sat proudly above all his... features.

"do you know how hard it is to get stains out of this shirt?" he shouted, obviously pissed off. However as I pulled myself together I realized this was the man that had taken the last Boston Cream Donut. The easiest downfall of any great looking man is cocky arrogance. The downfall of any man in the morning is taking a woman's food, especially such a sugary, cakey, carby, paradise that is a donut. There is only one more downfall a man can have before noon in my eyes, but it's specifically in my eyes, and most often over looked by every other woman in the world.

"It's really not that hard... its cotton and polyester" I stated after looking at the light blue button down shirt. Judging by his facial expression, that was not what he wanted to hear.

"no, its satin" he corrected with a certain edge in his voice that really ticked me off. The last downfall I said a man could have, he did. This once godly attractive man that stood before me was a triple threat downfall, all before noon. Not only did he possess a cocky arrogance and steal my donut, but he could not tell his fabrics apart. Now if he hadn't stolen my donut I might have been able to over look his mix up because frankly who wouldn't want Versace male model lookalike on their arm, but he went with satin. Satin is shiny, satin is the cheap cousin of silk, satin does not breath well, satin belongs only on men when they are at Russian night clubs and their name must be Boris and frankly they should have a gun on them because no one argues with someone about what they are wearing if they have a gun. My point is that only a complete idiot can confuse satin with a mixture of cotton and polyester and this man before me happens to be one.

"you have your fabrics mixed up... its a blend of cotton and polyester, I know my fabrics" Dropping the wet napkins in his open hand I fully prepared myself to walk out the door, go down the block and order coffee at another shop without humiliation or hesitation. Unfortunately before I could, he dropped the wet napkins on the floor, rolled his eyes, and walked away, leaving me to either clean up the rest of the mess or never show my face here again. Unfortunately I'm quiet fond of this coffee shop.

I was late for work, smelled like coffee beans, and still have not had my first cup of coffee thanks to the triple threat jackass. When I did reach my office, my assistant, who was obviously having boyfriend troubles again by the black mascara tear stains on the messages she had taken down for me, had decided to cover my clear glass door with those very same tear stained sticky notes, along with my never ending to-do list. Just when I had nearly gotten through returning calls to New York, L.A., and Milan, and had nearly cleared away enough sticky notes to see the fake tree at the end of the hallway, my mother called. I heard my assistants voice get all chipper and I knew I had to do something... I ripped open my door and motioned for her say I was out, however instead of using any number of excuses she said "it's your mom, she wants to talk to you..." and handed me the phone.

********

"Yes Mom?" "Oh Erin dear I'm having a little dinner party tonight at the house and would just be so thrilled if you could come." Don't sigh, don't say yes, don't give her any clues as to how you feel about this "well I..." "your assistant says your free." I really should start making up plans with myself and putting them on my schedule... just to fill up time, get rid of unwanted invitations to my mom's dinner parties. "Well..." I started racking my head to find any excuse "well then it's settled, come around 6:30, I have people I want you to meet." People? More likely a hotshot lawyer from Harvard that my dad deemed as having potential and so my mother deemed him as Erin marriage material, I however will deem him as boring.

***********

I showed up late, partially in protest, and partially because of traffic. Getting out of the car, I stood in front of the french chateau inspired mansion just staring, with my arms crossed and an intent to disprove the hotshot lawyer as having potential. I almost felt bad for the guy, it wasn't his fault he was picked for dinner, he probably thought it was an honor or a gateway to a good job. But I was pissed, I should be at home, on my couch, eating Chinese food out of the carton with chopsticks, watching some stupidly wonderful reality TV show, and potentially working after a few too many martinis. I have a life despite not being married. She can't just call me at her every will, expecting me to come running to dinner, desperate to marry like my other sisters had.

"mother?" I regretfully yelled trying to find the beast that dragged me here.

"In the kitchen Erin" her sweet voice called out, and I felt sick to my stomach.

I walked into the kitchen hoping to spot a cocktail shaker, a chilled bottle of vodka and an olive. The vermouth optional and discouraged. Instead I saw the triple threat jackass. He'd at least changed his shirt. The forest green, cable knit, Ralph Lauren Polo sweater actually looked quiet nice especially with the vintage watched on his left wrist.

"Erin, this is Jake Reynolds," my ever charming mother presented him, as if he was a new car she bought for me. Giving a fake smile I held out my hand and hoped my hatred of him would be felt as we shook.

"nice to meet you" I lied, smiling pleasantly, hoping he never showed up at my coffee shop again.

"you too" He was a very bad liar. A polite one in the presence of mothers, but a bad one all the same. Another mental strike against him, for if you're going to lie do it so well no one can tell, and if you can't lie be brutally honest so you can at least have respect if no friends.

"Jake, just moved back to Boston, from Los Angelos... he plays for the Red Sox" Mother smiled at me, but all I wanted to do was roll my eyes. Has she given up on intellectuals? Am I no longer good enough to be a lawyers wife? Does she think my argumentative skills are only worthy of a sports bars?

"how nice for you, Jake..." where the hell are the martini glasses, I've never not seen one in my mothers hand past 6:30 since my grandmother made us come over for dinner with a Cardinal, he was a recovering alcoholic and so alcohol was banned from dinner. So in the absence of current alcohol, I took it upon myself to add something to the conversation. "I'm starting to really like the Yankies, I got tickets sent from a players wife, I have new found respect for them... one that I feel can only be cultivated when forced to support a constantly losing team." I smiled sincerely at him, practically causing my mother a heart attack.

"take that back" she yelled, holding her chest... let her have a heart attack, it's all for show, she hasn't watched a Red Sox game since 1993.

"I can't, you taught me not to lie... besides things got a little carried away after the game... do you like my tattoo?" I asked pulling up my sleeve to show my fake Yankies tattoo. This fake tattoo had been apart of a bet two days ago... but right now it didn't matter that I had lost the bet, what mattered was my mothers horrified face.

"I am so sorry Jake..." mother apologized to him, physically upset with me, practically weeping. Someone needs to fix her a martini, she's not used to being sober so late at night. However for the crowning glory, my father walked in with a man I presumed to be Jake's dad, just in time for my mothers dramatic production of 'Erin got a tattoo'. Coming to theater's near you this spring.

"Charles... come over here and see what your daughter has done" she was madder than a hatter at this point. I saw the hesitation on his face, he's heard that line before, once when I cut my own bangs, another when a friend from high school tried to pierce my ear, and the time when they came home early from a weekend in New York and found me hung over on the antique couch in the wake of what had been a great party. He must have prepared himself for the worst because when I showed him my tattoo, and he smiled.

"its fake" he smiled even brighter, took his finger and rubbed part of it away.

"your right...thanks for ruining my fun dad" I mumbled, pulling my sleeve back down.

Jakes mother came in "sorry I'm late... traffic was terrible" she took her coat off and tossed it one of the bar stools.

"oh your fine Georgia" my mother cooed, turning back to her pot of clam chowder... they all talked, catching up on lost time. I didn't understand, until it hit me that I actually did know these people. However why Jake and I had to be there, when we don't remember each other, never played as children, and probably could have found anything else in the world to do that sit around and listen to WASPs talk over martinis.

"we should all go up to the cape together" Georgia suggested after 15 minutes of meaningless ramblings about the advantages of copper gutters, whether or not Martha's Vineyard has become too New Money, and how it's a shame there aren't more fabulous Kennedy's running around like in the old days. The last part did nothing more than depress the hell out of me.

"what a brilliant idea" my mom exclaimed clapping her hands together... she needs to join another club or society, because this is an awful idea and if she was bogged down by another charity dinner to plan or a mind numbing but important board meeting for a museum, she just might see how horrific Georgia's suggestion was. Especially since I knew I would be wrapped into it.

"We could bring up the rest of the kids... its been forever since we've seen all of each other" Georgia continued to talk, adding more activities and 'fun things'... I really don't like her now.

Our parents used to be really good friends... well actually they always have been but, for a while the Reynolds were in Philadelphia... as far as I'm concerned they can go back and leave me out of their little trips. Needless to say I've never had the pleasure of meeting Jake before today... but I have met some of his other siblings... who I like. The rest of the Reynolds are nice people I don't know what happened to Jake... he's a jackass... he's the triple threat jackass.

"that's perfect, we could go up on memorial weekend like we used to!" my mother clapped her hands together again excited and I, much like the grinch felt my heart shrink three sizes.

Later on while I was in the kitchen helping them clean up, because that was the only way I would be able to make it out of the house before 11 o'clock, they brought it up again, forcing me to wish a torpedo would burst through the room and kill me. On a less extreme note I must remember to tell my assistant to never tell anyone my schedule again.

"It will be so much fun won't it Erin" my mother smiled brightly at me and expected a similar response from my face. I don't see why she wants me to smile fakely all the time. She's against Botox officially (I've seen her after weekends in New York, she claims it's just a chemical peel and a seaweed wrap, I know better) and yet she's forcing my face to gain wrinkles prematurely with no solution besides retinol... how on Earth does she ever expect to marry me off with all those wrinkles at a young age?

"I'm actually not sure I'll be able to come" I tried to sound disappointed. They both turned around to look at me... I was screwed. They've raised too many children to not know how to spot a lie... Even when you aren't lying they interrogate you to such an extent you might as well never speak a word again.

"And why is that?" Mother asked, placing her hands on her hips.

"I think I have jury duty" I sighed saying the first thing that popped into my mind.

"well I'm sure I can have your father get you out of that" she returned to her smiling face. Never go with the first thing that comes to your mind, it's the weakest.

"I also have this huge deadline at work" "you told me that you had the spring line finished early" the other problem with lying is that it is much easier over the phone, and much easier when you are trying to make yourself feel better... the spring line was no where near done, but now I can never admit that.

"I have a funeral to go too" Why the fuck did I say that. This by far has to be the weakest lie I have ever told.

"what day?" They spoke simultaneously, and I knew I was coming to end, there was way to escape the inevitable.

"that Saturday" I squeaked out, praying some how this feeble last attempt would be looked kindly upon by the gods.

"Sweetie, Memorial Weekend is weeks away... far too long for a funeral to happen." Georgia whispered. Why am I bad at lying when my mother is around? Is it a genetic disposition? Is there a gene I can have removed to solve this issue?

"fine ill come!" I literally threw in the towel, and stormed away from the forced vacation planners.