Risk and Revelation: The Day I Rented a Fake Boyfriend

You’re supposed to grow up and follow the script laid out in your community, right? Meet someone who checks all the right boxes—church involvement, great with kids at family potlucks, a love for hiking Temple Square at Christmas—all while maintaining your eternal composure. At least, that’s the story I understood growing up LDS in Salt Lake City. The problem was, I kept flipping through that script, waiting for the pages that matched my life, but they never seemed to appear.

Enter my greatest risk: the time I completely veered off-script and agreed to rent a fake boyfriend for a family wedding.

I imagine your first question is, “WHY?” Fair. But before you go judging my spiritual integrity or my decision-making skills, let me explain what drove me to what was, admittedly, a wildly impractical solution.

The Pressure Cooker of Family Weddings

If you’ve ever been single at an LDS gathering—and over the age of, say, twenty-two—then you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about. The warm, fried scones may be plentiful, but so are the questions. “Have you met anyone special?” “Don’t worry, Caleb. Your cousin Jane met her husband at FHE—so it could happen anytime!” (Jane, by the way, was 19 at the time.)

The questions only intensified when my younger brother got engaged. His fiancé was lovely, of course, but suddenly, every family member from Aunt Janice to the stranger sitting behind us in sacrament meeting had one burning concern: Would Caleb ever bring someone to a wedding?

It was that pressure—and an accidental viewing of The Wedding Date—that led to my ambitious (read: desperate) solution.

I did some Googling, reached out to an agency, and found myself texting with a guy named Milo. A professional “companion.” This was not the kind of connection I thought I’d ever be making, let alone introducing to my parents. But two days and an electronic deposit later, I was driving to Provo Costco to meet him. Because of course our first coffee-free meet-up had to happen next to a bulk nut aisle.

First Impressions and Frozen Smiles

Let me tell you, when you pay someone to temporarily act in love with you, there’s a certain surrealism to the whole thing. Milo was tall, clean-cut, and irritatingly relaxed about our mission: to fool an entire family of hyper-observant Mormons. I was less relaxed. In fact, I cascaded so much nervous energy that I briefly worried I’d vibrate right out of my Prius.

“So, any topics to avoid with your family?” he asked as we practiced our couple’s backstory in the Costco parking lot.
“Politics, caffeine, and premarital… you know,” I said, already imagining the judgment-laden fallout of this charade. Milo gave me a thumbs up and said simply, “Got it.” He looked annoyingly good in a button-up shirt. I was quickly reminded that I was paying him $300 for the day.

When we arrived at the reception—held in the backyard of my parents’ friends’ house—my immediate regret was that I hadn’t tested my mom’s poker face beforehand. She greeted us at the door, visibly stunned. Her eyes darted between me, Milo, and his arm now casually slung over my shoulders.

“Oh,” she said, the wheels in her mind probably disintegrating. “You… brought a date. Welcome!”

It was the “welcome” that did me in. Over-formal and high-pitched, like every syllable was an RSVP for the judgment train.

When the Risk Pays Off… Sort Of

The truth about risks is that sometimes they don’t play out the way you picture—but that doesn’t mean they don’t work. For all our rehearsed “couple banter” and vague mentions of how we “met through friends,” Milo turned out to have an unexpected talent: winning over nervous Utahns. He charmed my dad by talking about greenhouse tomato growing (impressive improv), laughed at my grandma's old mission field jokes, and expertly dodged meddlesome uncles.

At one point, he even held his own in a competitive lawn croquet match against my brother and his fiancée. Watching him throw playful shade at my brother while keeping his sleeves rolled up just enough to look casual-but-polished, I thought, Well, maybe I could write a Hallmark movie someday.

And yet, for all his ease, I couldn’t relax. Inviting someone I barely knew to act as an emotional buffer in such an intimate setting had felt… well, risky. It wasn’t just about possible exposure ("Is Caleb's boyfriend too polite?")—it was the emotional toll of faking something I had only daydreamed about.

When Milo and I said goodbye in the parking lot that evening, he gave me a firm handshake—how painfully professional—and a wink. “You survived. Go enjoy your family,” he said before walking off into the Provo moonlight.

Did it work? Well, yes and no. Milo succeeded in keeping the spotlight off my relationship status. My mom even pulled me aside later to “apologize” for assuming I “didn’t take dating seriously enough.” It felt weirdly validating and disheartening all at once.

But here’s what I learned:

  1. Sometimes Risks Create Clarity.
    Faking connection isn’t half as satisfying as earning it. Through my rental-boyfriend escapade, I realized how much I longed for a real, reciprocal relationship, not just one that ticked everyone else’s boxes. Risking a radically honest conversation with my family probably would’ve done more good than planting Milo in the croquet game.

  2. Other People's Timelines Aren’t Yours.
    Feeling “behind” is a lousy gauge for making choices. My brother’s wedding was his milestone; mine will arrive when it’s ready. Borrowing someone else’s romantic life just to keep up only highlighted how arbitrary such competition is.

  3. Laughter Sometimes Heals More Than Convincing.
    A month later, Milo became a family joke. Someone mentioned him during a game of charades, and it broke the ice in a way no amount of small talk ever could. My mom even joked about wanting to “hire him for Thanksgiving” as a conversation buffer. I’m still recovering from that statement.

Conclusion: The Leap That Led Somewhere Else

Taking that wild risk reminded me that relationships—real, imagined, or in between—are just as much about personal authenticity as shared connection. Did my plan pan out beautifully? That depends on how you measure “success.”

But here’s what I know now: Taking a leap might not lead you directly where you want to go, but it’ll show you the truth about what you’re ready for. So go ahead—risk falling down, faking up, or laughing along the way. Just try not to lose yourself in the process.

And if you ever need a plus-one for an overwhelming Mormon wedding? I have a great guy’s number.