The Faker’s Guide to Self-Improvement

Chapter One

Fourteen Years Ago

Valerie Knight slumped against the scratchy hospital pillow, sweat-soaked hair clinging to the back of her neck. The stampede of elephants in her chest finally subsided, and a wave of exhaustion swept over her. Holy shit.

“Did I tear my asshole?” she mumbled to no one in particular.

Seriously, though, had she?

Although logically aware of how difficult this would be on her body, she had not expected her nether regions to feel like they had been seared on a flaming grill. Like a hamburger.

And there had been absolutely nothing to prepare her mentally. What kind of mindfuckery was society playing at here? After decades of medical advances, there had to be a better way. Couldn’t humans be grown in pods by now? If she had known how barbaric it all was, would she have willingly endured this torture?

A pterodactyl-like wail pierced the air, and the answer to that question ripped Val’s heart straight from her chest. Emotion cascaded over her, threatening to overwhelm her senses and turn her into a blubbering mess. A state Val never found herself in. How was it possible to love someone with such intensity before you even laid eyes on them? She pushed herself up as carefully as she could, ready to take her daughter into her arms.

But before her husband, Peter, could make his way across the room with their newly wrapped infant, the doors of the birthing suite flew open, and Val’s mother sauntered in. Dressed in a cream-colored power suit with perfectly coiffed hair and a face so dewy and relaxed, one might think she’d come straight from the spa.

“Did I miss it?” her mother asked with an airy tone, as if she didn’t care one way or another. Judging by the way she gripped her purse with just her fingertips, she had probably spent Val’s agonizing labor getting her nails done. Which sounded about right.

“Yeah, Mom, you missed it.” Val flopped her head back onto the pillow. She didn’t have the energy to deal with her mom right now, or ever, come to think of it. What had made Val believe that her mom would show up for her this time? Twenty-six years, and Val still clung to some adolescent hope that she would be the priority, just this once.

What she had needed was a hand to hold and someone to tell her everything would be okay. Instead, she had Peter, a man with no reference point for childbirth, telling her how to breathe from her diaphragm and to “just ride the wave” whenever a contraction hit.

She wanted Peter to ride that wave straight out to the middle of the ocean, never to be seen again.

“Oh, you’re right on time,” Peter said. The traitorous bastard.

With his attention on the bundle in his hands, he crossed the room toward her mother while Val mentally kicked him in the shin.

“Lucy, meet your granddaughter, Layla,” he said, cradling the baby’s head toward her. “Congratulations, Grandma.”

Her mom scoffed, took a step back, and placed a perfectly manicured hand on her chest, clearly offended. “Grandma makes me sound so old.” She grimaced. “This little one can just call me Lulu.”

Ugh. She can’t be serious. Lulu was the nickname of a little girl, not a grandmother. She could have gone with Nana, Bubbe, Nonna, Gran, she didn’t have to pick Grandma. But Lulu? Sure, objectively better than Memaw, but still.

Her mom set her purse on a nearby chair and stretched an arm out, a finger reaching toward the baby’s face. A finger that had just come from the salon and who knows where else? A finger that hadn’t been scrubbed with soap or sanitizer. A finger that would rub all the world’s outside germs on her precious baby’s face if she didn’t do something.

“Mom, stop!” Val said, bolting upright in bed. Her mistake was immediately evident.  

Blinding heat shot through her as the raw meat between her legs chafed against the rough bedsheet, lighting her entire body on fire. Spots danced in her vision, and she struggled to formulate words.

“Oh, fffff—!” It was as if she had taken steel wool to scratch off yet another layer of skin from her crotch. Someone just knock her out already.

When the world finally righted itself and she could breathe again, she leaned to the side and rested her body weight on one ass cheek. She sucked in air and did her best to ignore the throbbing pain that had made it all the way up to her eyeballs. How was she supposed to survive off one extra-strength ibuprofen after all this?

“Oh, Valerie, she’s beautiful,” her mother cooed.

Val opened her eyes to see her mother cradling Layla in her arms, and to her horror, poking at her beautiful face with that dirty finger.

“Mom!” she said, drawing the word out like a sullen teenager who hadn’t gotten her way. She couldn’t help it. There was just something about her mom that brought out the worst in her.

“Did you say something, honey?” her mother said as she rubbed the next mass contagion all over Layla’s face.

“You have to wash your hands before you touch a newborn. Everyone knows that.” At least, any reasonable, responsible parent would.

“Psh.” Her mom waved away her concern, continuing to stroke Layla’s cheek as if Val had said nothing.

Because why would she start listening now?

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