The Lies We Tell

by Butler, Brittany

  I frown. Not what I needed, but okay. I trail in behind them. Almost immediately, I am handed a shot and a drink.

  “Take this, you need it,” Tab says.

  I turn the shot up, and my face scrunches. I hate doing those. It doesn’t matter what I am going through, my face will always sour after a shot. I take a sip of the drink, cranberry and vodka, and shutter. College days can come creeping back to you like an ugly nightmare if you don’t watch yourself.

  “Anytime you need to leave, just say the word,” she says. Her eyes dance across my face, watching me with concern.

  “I am fine, Tab. Really.”

  “You are not fine…but maybe a night out is what you need,” she says, eyeing me. I nod in agreement. I am not sure I agree with her, but who the hell knows what I need.

  “Where’s Jack?” I have to shout because the music is getting louder and faster.

  “Bathroom,” she shouts back.

  As on cue, Jack walks through the crowd and finds his wallflowers. “There’s a table,” he says, jerking his head.

  I trail behind Tabatha and Jack, careful not to bump into anyone. It is incredible how much you care about when you’re sober. The scanty- clad college girls push past me in a haze, and I can’t help but smile at them. The only concern they have is having a good time. Grades don’t exist, they are broke, but who the hell cares, and most importantly, they aren’t about to get a divorce. My life is super exciting compared to theirs.

  I stop at the tall table, pull out a chair and collapse in a seat. Tab hands me another drink, and I silently thank her with a nod.

  Jack holds out his hand. “You didn’t drag me out of my house to make me hold this chair down, did you?”

  His eyes bounce between us. It is a flat no for me, but Tabatha takes his hand. She turns and waves at me before they disappear into madness on the dance floor.

  I suck down the rest of my drink and see a waitress walking by. I flag her down, hand her a large bill and tell her to keep them coming. She gladly obliges. By the time, Tabatha and Jack make it back, I am not quite sure I could walk if I tried.

  “More shots,” Tab says. She hands me a shot and a drink, always looking out for me. “What the hell happened to you?” She laughs.

  I shrug my shoulders. Jack is at my side as soon as he realizes what’s going on.

  “Now the fun begins,” he says. He pulls my hand, making me stand up. I smirk at him, knowing he’s right. I am much more fun.

  “Do you mind?” I ask Tab.

  She shakes her head, looking behind me. “I have my sights set on someone.”

  Grinning, I shake my head at her and let Jack pull me to the dance floor. The music is so loud and so fast that I am not sure what to do. I allow him to take the lead. Before I can get the hang of it, the music slows down. He cocks his brown and pulls me closer.

  “It's closing time. They have to send us off with good ones,” he says, leaning into me, whispering in my ear.

  I haven’t thought about what it would be like to be this close to Jack again, but I regret that I can’t fully enjoy it. I lay my head against his chest steadying myself.

  “Why’d you come back, Natalie? I think I was almost over you,” he says as he presses his lips against my head.

  I don’t think he meant for me to hear that. I am not even sure I heard him right. Before my drunken mind can process anything, he is pulling me off the floor.

  The air has cooled, and I am thankful I can breathe when I get outside. Tabatha and Jack are walking on each side of me.

  “I don’t feel so good,” I say, groaning.

  I touch the truck, needing to feel something cool. I slide down it, planting into the ground. Like the famous Natalie Conner in college, my entire night came pouring out of my mouth before I could stop it.

  Jack was at my side, holding my hair back. After he was sure I was done, he pulled me up and helped me in the back of the truck.

  “Lay down in the back. If you get sick again, tell me,” he says. They both climb into the front seat.

  “The famous Natalie is back!” Jack teases, and Tabatha laughs softly. If I could manage to move, I would give them the finger. Instead, I lie down and get comfortable. Screw them right now.

  “I’ve never seen her this bad,” Tabatha says. I am confident they think I am asleep. I giggle quietly as I eavesdrop.

  “What the fuck happened?” Jack’s tone is annoyed.

  “That’s for her to tell,” Tab says.

  “Is it the guy?”

  “Jack…ask her yourself. She will tell you. She would tell you anything.”

  “He better fucking hope it is not him,” Jack says. The tension is growing in the truck.

  “I wouldn’t recommend going with that approach. I’ll tell her to stay a few more days. She needs it. Ask her then.”

  “Okay,” he says, sighing.

  “And Jack?”

  “Yeah?”

  “She doesn’t need to deal with anything else right now. Her head isn’t in the right place,” she says, warning him to stay away.

  “Okay,” he says.

  He doesn’t sound convinced. He always thought he could fix everyone. He was still in the right place, but he didn’t have the best approach. Forget about your dad. It is his lost. You can worry about writing later. Focus on your future now. Jack does and says things that he thinks are best for everyone.

  We spent our night at a bar in a college town. We stood out like a sore thumb, but we didn’t care. I set it up for Jack and Tabatha to get together, but he never made his move. Maybe he’s shy now. That’s what I told her anyway.

  It is starting to feel like I left my new life and fell back into my old one again. The scene that fogged my memory from last night is the very one I spent doing every week in college with Jack.

  I am outside with Tabatha, helping her load her bag in a rental car, and thinking about my next move. I offered to take her to the airport, but she insisted on doing this. She felt I needed more time here, and maybe I do. I didn't have the nerve to tell that Collin wanted to talk tonight. We could do it over the phone.

  “I am sorry…I don’t know what happened last night,” I say again. I’ve apologized a million times today.

  “I do, Natalie…just take care of yourself,” she says, looking at me with pity. I hate that.

  “Noted,” I say.

  “Be careful with him, Natalie. He’s not over you,” she says as she slammed the trunk of the Toyota she rented.

  “Collin?” I ask, confused as to why she is warning me about him.

  “Your husband is definitely not over you,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Jack isn’t either.”

  “Oh, please,” I say, waving her off. Memories of dancing with him while he whispered in my ear are coming back to me. She walks over to me and pulls me into a rib- breaking hug before letting me go.

  “Talk to Collin. Your story isn’t over,” she says as she gets in her car.

  “You sound like a writer.”

  Call me melodramatic, but this is the loneliest I’ve ever felt in my life. I watch her little white rental until it disappears into the morning traffic. I look back at the house, wondering why I agreed to stay. My mom is at church, which leaves me entirely alone. She asked me to go of course, but church always felt awkward sitting around people that knew I said cuss words and wrote about sex.

  One hour later, I am at Jack’s house sitting in one of the chairs in this bare house. I just show up to his place whenever I feel like it now, and he just goes with it. I am nursing a glass of wine, and he's watching people punch each other in the face on purpose. I never understood this. Collin was never into it, at least, not while he was home. I have no idea what he’s into while I am not around. I shake that thought from my mind before I draw up a scenario that hurts my own feelings.

  The winner was announced, and he pranced around the stage like a peacock after a mate. Should I be into this? He took the microphone and spat so many vulgarit
ies that I almost blushed.

  “Is this what you do with your time?” I ask, motioning around the room. He seems mellow compared to the guy I once knew.

  “Not alone. We usually have fight nights,” he corrects me. I don’t know what that means.

  “In general,” I say, pushing him to open up. It didn’t occur to me until now that I don’t know Jack anymore. I just know the guy I left at the altar.

  "Grown-up shit," he says, and I smile. "I still hang out with Marcus and Ashlynn,” he says, and I put my hand over my heart, I forgot about them. They were my favorite.

  “I miss them! They are still together?” I ask.

  “Uh, yeah,” he says. He looks embarrassed, and that makes me feel awful. If I had stayed, we would have turned out like Marcus and Ashlynn. I toss that idea around in my head for a moment. The walls wouldn’t be bare, this place would feel like a home, and we wouldn’t be the same people we are now. Would we hate each other for never chasing after our own dreams?

  “Let’s hang out with them sometimes,” I say, attempting to change the thoughts rolling around in my head. Jack sighs and sets his drink down. My brows bump together as I watch him, confused.

  “No offense, Natalie, but what are you doing?”

  “What are you talking about?” My face paled. Please be my friend. Don’t make this weird.

  "You show up my house out of nowhere," he says, taking a sip of his beer. His eyes focus on the ring that I am still wearing. "Where's your husband?"

  I shield my hand from his eyes. I didn’t think about the possibility of affecting his life. I only think about myself. This was a terrible idea. I jump from my chair and run to the door.

  “I have to go,” I say, and suddenly its five years ago all over again.

  "Natalie, wait!" He grabs me, but not in a threatening way. It is a soft plea to turn around. "I didn't mean that…but what the hell is going on? You show up after five years, acting as nothing happened."

  “I wanted to see my mom,” I say, telling half of a lie.

  “Bullshit. Something happened,” he says, shaking his head.

  I sigh. Deciding I am not fulfilling my dramatic exit, I sit in the recliner again. I can tell him the half truth. I am good at that.

  "I just needed some time, so I came to the only place I knew I could go," I say. I noticed a small spark in his eyes, and I hoped he knew I was talking about my mom. Somewhere deep down inside of me, I truly wish I am talking about my mom.

  “Time from what?” He asks, curious. He’s not going to let this go. I shouldn’t have said anything.

  “Writing…life,” I say. It is not a lie. It is not the whole truth, but not necessarily a lie.

  “And where’s your husband?” He asks, watching me intently.

  It is the moment of truth. Where the hell is my husband? Should I tell people what’s going on in my life? Looking back at Jack, I know I want to keep it to myself. I can’t stand to have one more person feeling sorry for me.

  “He’s at our home, in Dallas. We don’t go everywhere together. Most married couples don’t,” I say, laughing once. He could be, so that’s not a lie either.

  “You’ve never told me about this guy.” He doesn’t believe me.

  “I haven’t seen you,” I remind him.

  “So, tell me now,” he says. He looks hurt, but it doesn’t last for long.

  "He's a writer, too. We met at a party, and the rest is history," I say, shrugging. History, like the relationship.

  "That's a textbook answer. What do you do with him? What's he like?" He asks, prying. I know he won’t give up on this. He’s a fixer.

  He knows. Somehow he knows. You forget when you spend most of your life with someone, they can tell when you are lying. He can read me like a book. I want to close that book and demand a refund.

  “We’re not together right now. There! Are you happy? My mom doesn’t even know, so keep it to yourself,” I say.

  I don't look at him when I say it. I stare at the muted television in front of me. People are still punching each other. If I were a violent person, I would probably hit him right now.

  "No, I am not happy," he says, spinning the chair to face me. "But I knew when I first saw you; you weren't happy. I want you to know you have someone to talk to."

  "Badgering it out me is a shit way of going about it," I say. I am not sure who I am mad at. The world? I look up, so the tears don't spill out. Since when did I become a crier?

  “You’ve never known how wonderful you are. It used to think that was your best quality, but I think it might be your downfall,” he says.

  I don’t know what aspect of my life he is referencing, but it fits every piece.

  “Can we just change the subject?” I ask, groaning.

  He thought about that for a minute. I know he has more questions, but I hope he will drop it. Maybe one day I can tell him everything, but today isn’t that day.

  “Are you working on a new book?” He asks, thankfully, changing the subject. I wasn’t mentally prepared to have a breakdown today. Those are planned in advance.

  “I have some ideas I am chewing on. I haven’t put anything out in two years,” I say. He looks at me with sympathy. I hate that.

  “I’ve read every one of them,” he says, matter- of- fact.

  That surprises me. When someone I know tells me that they read my books, I get embarrassed. What if they read something they recognize?

  “What did you think?” I ask, terrified to know the answer.

  “I think that’s what you were born to do,” he says. He smiles from the chair beside me.

  “Maybe if I had thicker skin. I am a baby,” I say. I won’t allow myself to think about the hell I went through.

  “Forget everyone else. I’ve always wanted to ask you something,” he says.

  “Okay?” Screw it; he knows everything about my shitty existence at this point.

  “Are your books based on your life?” He asks, and I almost choke on the air inside of me. That was a punch to the gut and not one that I was expecting. No one has ever asked me that.

  “I guess in a sense all writers base their work on some aspects of their lives,” I say.

  I answer his question without answering his question. Half- truths are my specialty. I can't tell him the first book was about him and what could have been. That was before Collin, and I don't want anyone getting the wrong idea. There are some things that I will take to the grave with me.

  Not to brag, but I am exceptionally good at interviews. I look at Jack, and he’s eyeing me. Okay, maybe I am not good when the person knows me better than I know myself.

  "Makes sense," he says. He doesn't look at me anymore, and I wonder if that wasn't the answer he was looking for. Or worse, he knows I am lying.

  “What about you? When did you become a teacher? What happened to accounting?” I ask, putting him in the hot seat. I’ll do anything to take the attention off of me.

  He shrugs. “I got my certificate after everything happened. I wanted a fresh start.”

  He met new people and tried new things until eventually, his past couldn't fit into his future. We all do the same to heal. Yet here I am, stuck in my past. Will I ever recover from this?

  “What are your plans this week?” I ask, changing the subject from our awkward past. It always seems to come up.

  He smiles. “It is summer break. I am free.”

  “Ashlynn and Marcus?” I ask.

  He pressed his mouth into a hard line. I am not letting it go. I think he knows I need something different, so he doesn’t freak out like before. He grabs his phone and texts them. A few seconds later his phone goes off.

  “Dinner with them Wednesday night?” He asks.

  "Perfect," I say, and he tells them we will be there.

  We talked about everything from the past to the future. I didn’t realize how much I needed this weekend. I need a distraction until I figure out what I am doing with the rest of my life, and Jack is the perfect
person for that job.

  I forgot how laid back everything is here. My life in Dallas is hectic and stressful. Maybe this is what it is like to visit home. It is a time to get away and clear your head, but you can’t hide from things forever.

  Years ago, I would have spent my time journaling when I was faced with a problem. Sometimes I write things down when they come to my mind, but not like before. I brought my laptop, but I am not sure I can bring myself to write. I am scared to see what would happen.

  I dismissed myself sometime after ten tonight. I went to my childhood home and opened my laptop. Everything was like it was when I left it. I clicked on my last book and scrolled through the pages. I smile every time I look at my accomplishments. It is not easy writing a book. It is something to be proud of. I allow my heart to swell with pride as I read the words.

  The night after I met Collin, I opened my laptop and began typing. I don't think I stopped until I typed the end. I wrote about a rude, mysterious boy and a troubled girl who ran from conflict. This boy changed her, and they lived happily ever after. I never published the short story, but I liked to think about it from time to time. I shook my head and demanded the extra chaos to leave my thoughts. How did we end up here?

  I opened up the document that I collected my journal entries in and copied it entirely. In a separate document, I hit paste. I wrote to myself as other people would see it.

  I said I wasn't going near my laptop today. I lied. I write for a living, so basically I am a professional liar. The thing is, writing isn't just a hobby anymore. Some call it passion, I am thinking obsession.

  At some point in all writers’ lives, we have to wonder if we're genuinely crazy. Am I "artistic," given an ability by the universe to write? Or am I schizophrenic needing medication? After my fourteen hour day yesterday, I am going with the second option. You see, these "characters" in my head are shouting at me, and I need a day off.

  I've always had a crazy imagination, and I loved writing. So, I started writing my first novel at 21 just to see if I had it in me. It was too dark for me. However, my friends loved it. So, I wrote another, this time I pushed my boundaries. This had more hearts and flowers. This book was where I wanted my life to be.