Then, I close one eye, using the other to watch for her name to appear on my screen. Shit. There she is. "Hey you, how's July in New York?"
“Oh, you know, horribly humid and filled with sweaty tourists blocking the sidewalks and asking for directions. How's July in 1940 going?"
"Good," I say as my pulse quickens. "Actually, not that good. I have something to tell you and I think it's going to make you happy, then really super pissed at me—which you’ll have every right to be."
"Oh,” she says, dread filling her voice. “That doesn't sound promising."
"It’s not, so let me preface this by saying you are my very best friend in the entire world and I love you no matter what. And I hope you can do the same."
"Abby, you're scaring me," she says.
"I know, I'm scaring me too." I take a deep breath and then let it all spill out. "So the past six days I've been writing a new book. It's not in my regular series, in fact it's set in the 1800s. But I think there’s a chance it’ll be passably decent when I'm done."
“Okkaay. Do you think I’ll be mad you're not working on your Duchess series?"
“You won’t believe how tempted I am to say yes to that.”
“Woman up, Abby.” Lauren’s tone is sharp.
"Okay. I think you'll be disappointed in me when you find out I've been lying to you." My throat feels thick. I swallow hard, which doesn’t help, then continue, "I've been pretending I was writing, but until this past Friday night, I hadn't written a word.”
There's a long pause, and I shut my eyes, knowing what's about to come. She’ll ask why I would lie like that, then move on to my lack of faith in her. I’ll explain it wasn't about her, but my own desire not to disappoint her. She’s going to tell me she is disappointed, and where it’ll go from there is anybody’s guess.
But instead, all she says is, "I know."
"What?" She knew? My brain is so far down that other road, it has to slam on the brakes and reverse about thirty seconds.
"Of course I knew you were lying," she says, sounding far too calm.
"Really? Why didn't you call me on it?" I ask, standing and wandering to the living room.
"Because you always lie, Abby."
Her words hang between us until I feel my entire body go numb. Only my heart is moving, and it’s doing that so fast it feels like it could thump right out onto the floor.
"That's not true," I say doing my best to keep my voice steady.
"I'm afraid it is. You lie all the time,” she answers, with no emotion whatsoever. “You’ve always been the type of person who uses humor to protect yourself, which I used to find endearing, but since Isaac died, I don’t think you even know when you’re telling the truth or when you’re lying. I know this probably hurts to hear, but it needs to be said, and I think you’re finally strong enough to hear it.”
“What are you talking about? I am a very honest person. Sometimes, too honest.” I add a frustrated chuckle for good measure. “In fact, I’m so honest, I make people very uncomfortable sometimes.”
“Is that what you think?” she says, riding the line of sarcasm. “Allow me to help you understand how other people view your ‘honesty.’”
“Are you doing air quotes on the word honesty, right now?”
“Yes, I am. Please don’t interrupt me, because I have something you need to hear. and until now, I didn’t think you could handle it.” She pauses and I do as I’m told, knowing I’m the one who fucked up in the first place. “You spent over a year locked up in your apartment pretending to be totally fine, when in truth, you were so depressed, you couldn’t even function. Who did you think you were fooling? Me? Your mom? The delivery guy from A Taste of Curry?”
“Sanjay repeatedly told me I was his most fun customer!”
“But you know what he probably told his wife when he got home each night? ‘I delivered dinner to that sad widow again tonight.’ And his wife probably said, ‘She needs help, not more naan bread.’”
“Why are you being so cruel right now?” Tears cloud my vision, and I lower myself onto the couch.
“Because I’ve had enough. I’m just tired of it,” she says. “You pretend you’re so fucking tough that nothing could ever hurt you, when the truth is everything does—bad reviews, dirty looks from a stranger, never getting your parents’ approval, that time Drew and I went with Erica and Jim to Vegas and you weren’t invited. That one really upset you. You said you didn’t care but, oh my God, it rocked your world to miss out on that trip.”
The memory of it stings and I lash out. “Well, can you blame me? You guys just cut us out like we were a couple of tumors on your ass.”
“You just made my point for me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lauren scoffs. “There you go again. That’s why I never said anything. It’s because you can’t help it.”
“I can help it. I can. I see what you’re saying, and I’ll work on it.”
“Forgive me if I think you’re just saying that to get me to stop, when really you have no intention of changing.”
“That’s not true, and to prove it, go on. Give me more examples. I can take it.”
“Okay.” She says it like we’re playing a high stakes game of Truth or Dare and she knows she’s going to win. “You used to pretend you didn't mind when Isaac would flirt with his students—"
"—he never flirted—"
"—spoke too highly of the pretty ones, then. Whatever you want to call it—that thing he did that drove you insane with jealousy but instead of admitting to such a lowly human emotion, you acted like it was fine. And you know where that got you? With a husband who wouldn’t shut up about his young, pretty students."
"What the hell, Lauren?" I ask, my voice shaking with indignant anger. “Why are you attacking me like this? And Isaac?”
“I thought you just said you could take it. See? More lies.”
Her words are like kicks to my face and I’m torn between not letting her know she’s getting to me and fighting back. I shout into the phone. “What do you want from me, Lauren?”
“For once in your life, Abby,” she yells back. “I want the truth!”
Jesus, she sounds just like Tom Cruise in A Few Good Men. I kind of want to make fun of her, but somehow it seems like the wrong move.
Before I can say anything, she says, “And don’t you dare do your Jack Nicholson impression and tell me I can’t handle the truth, because I know you, Abby, and I know that’s exactly what you were about to do.”
Fuck me. I was.
“Because that’s what you do. You deflect, you joke, and you lie whenever life gets too serious for you.”
My stomach hardens and I feel dizzy and nauseous at the same time. “Wow, I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’m sorry. I know I’m being mean here, but I’m just so done pretending everything is what it isn’t,” she says with a loud sigh. “Just tell me one thing because I need to know there’s a shred of hope here.”
“What?”
“Was I right? Were you about to go Jack Nicholson on me?”
“Yeah, I was,” I say in a tiny voice.
When she speaks again, her voice wavers. “Tell me something else because I really don’t want to give up on you.”
“Anything.”
“Why can’t you be honest with me at least? I’m your best friend. I just want you to have a great life, Abby, and I’ve never hurt you. Not once.”
“Well, actually you’ve been pretty nasty this evening …”
“Christ almighty,” she sighs.
“And also, when you went to Vegas with Erica,” I add.
Letting out a long groan, Lauren says, “Abby …”
“Sorry. Bad habit.”
“It’s exhausting to be your friend sometimes. Friends are supposed to be honest with each other.”
"You're also my agent, Lauren. And it's not necessarily the wisest thing to admit to your agent when you haven’t been working."
"See what you did there? You said, ‘it's not the wisest thing’ when what you really mean to say is that you're scared."
"I'm not—"
"Stop fucking lying to me, Abby. Seriously." Lauren's voice wavers and I know I've pushed her to the edge of our friendship. "If your intention was to apologize for lying, then apologize for lying and stop doing it. Otherwise, let's just carry on like we always have, with you lying and me acting like I don’t know."
I press my tongue against my top molars as hard as I can, my nose prickling. Instead of trying to change her mind, I just sit and wipe the stream of tears off my cheeks, feeling shocked, confused, and hurt.
"I'm sorry,” Lauren says, her tone gentle now. "I didn't mean to upset you. It's just hard to keep going like we have been.”
"Well, you did upset me,” I answer, my voice rising two octaves. “How do you think it feels to have your best friend tell you you’re some sort of pathological liar? I mean, why are you even my friend then?"
"Because I love you anyway, Abby, which is what friends do. We see each other's flaws, but we love each other anyway.”
I let out a couple of sobs, then finally manage to say, “You’re so easy to love, Lauren. You’re basically perfect. You’re smart and sophisticated and tall … and hard-working and super successful …”
“Don’t change the subject.”
“And it’s sort of awful to be the one who’s a mess all the time. I want to be the one who knows exactly what to say and can pull off a full-length, camel-hair coat.”
“What?”
“I want to be the one who has her shit together.”
Lauren sniffs and I know she’s crying too. “That may be the first honest thing I've heard come out of your mouth since Isaac died.”
We both sniffle and I hear Lauren blow her nose. “Actually, this conversation is a relief in a way, because I was starting to give up hope."
I glance at the clock, needing to think of something else before my brain explodes. “It’s a little after eight.”
“Jane Bennett has probably ridden to Netherfield in the rain already. The dumb twat.”
I laugh a little, loving Lauren for trying to make everything okay again. Then, I let out a slow, shaky breath. "I’ll understand if you don't want to watch it with me. If I’m being honest, I don't know if I want to watch it with you either."
"In that case, let’s do it anyway."
We sit on the line for the next hour, neither of us saying anything. We don't say our favorite lines along with the TV, like we normally do. We don't make fun of Elizabeth's mother. But we don't hang up either. My mind rolls through the last two years of my life as I begin to process Lauren's accusations. When the closing credits roll, I shut off my TV and I can hear that she's done the same. Unable to think of anything intelligent to say, I ask her if she’s still there.
"Yes,” she says, the hurt between us returning. “Look, you’ve been through so much. I can’t even imagine what it’s been like. And I don't want to be hard on you. And I certainly don't want to ruin something we should be celebrating. You’re writing again and that’s huge and wonderful and shiny, and good for you."
"You're not the one that ruined it."
"How about we call this one a draw?”
“You’re too easy on me.”
“That’s because things are about to get incredibly hard for you. Here's the thing, you've got a choice to make. You can start being honest in your life—and obviously I want you to do that—”
“—I want me to do that, too.”
“Good. But, go in knowing that being honest makes you vulnerable, and I know how you feel about being vulnerable. And I also understand why. So, if your honesty tonight turns out to be a one-off, it's okay. I'll understand. I'll be here for you either way."
Tears spring from my eyes and I whisper, “Thanks. Sorry I’ve been such an ass.”
“That’s okay. Nobody’s perfect, not even me in my camel-hair coat. Just please let me know which way you decide to go because it’s only fair.”
“Yup, I will. I should let you get some sleep. We’ve been talking about my shit for years now.”
“I’m tired, but I’m not done.”
“Thank you,” I whisper. Then I say, “Hugs and shit.” I don’t dare to breathe while I wait for her answer.
“Hugs and shit back.”
I let out a sigh of relief, then lower my phone to hang up, but change my mind. “Lauren?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s going to be really hard, isn’t it? To be honest, I don’t know if I can do it.”
“That’s a little ironic, no?”
I laugh through my tears. “Very.”
“You’re right. It won’t be easy, but it will be so much better for you,” she says, and I find myself wishing she were here so I could hug her for real. “There’s this whole amazing world waiting for you. You just have to be willing to get real with people and open yourself up to it.”
“Do you promise?”
“I do. And I’m really smart, so …”
Chuckling again, I say, “How’s this for honest? I love you, my friend.”
“That’s a great start. I love you too.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Truth is like the sun. You can shut it out for a time, but it ain’t goin’ away.
~ Elvis Presley
The next morning, I wake to a text from Lauren. Just checking in to see how you are.
Raw. Sorry. Ashamed.
I was worried about that. You want to talk?
No, but thank you, my friend. I'm sure you have a client waiting and I need to face myself alone.
Promise you won’t stay alone with this too long? And you’ll call if you need me, no matter what time of day or night?
Yes to both.
Okay, then. Get on with it. Take a day to say goodbye to that scared liar and usher in a brave new era of Abby.
I laugh, then cry a little, then text her back. The next time you see me, I’ll have a cape and a lasso of truth—but I’ll only use it on myself. ;)
I cannot wait.
Even though it’s Thursday, Liam and Olive won’t be coming. Liam has to go to Halifax for some kind of appointment, which will take the entire day. Olive is at her grandparents’ until tomorrow night. I'm grateful for the time on my own. I need to think and sleep and think some more. I woke up around two o'clock with the entire ugly conversation playing on a loop in my mind.
How did I get to be this old without knowing myself at all? My ability to bullshit everyone, even myself, is almost terrifying. I start the day with a long soak in the bath, then sit at my desk for a while, only to find that I'm too emotionally raw to write the next chapter of my book—Beatrice and Ian's first kiss. After wandering around the house, I go out and pull some weeds in the front flower beds, needing something mindless to do.
I'm not out long before I hear the sound of tires crunching on my driveway. When I look up, I see Colton riding up on his bicycle. I stop what I'm doing and stand.
"Hey, Abby," he says as casually as if he were just here yesterday.
"Hi. I thought you were down in sunny California?"
Shrugging, he says, "Didn't work out. Turns out it was kind of a scam." He stops his bike near me and puts one foot down to balance himself. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, California was a bad idea.”
My shoulders drop. "I'm sorry to hear that."
"Not as sorry as I am. All the money I made is gone, plus I owe my parents for my flight home."
"Well, that’s shitty,” I say.
Colton laughs, looking a little shocked, then his face falls again. "It really is. I thought those guys were my friends, you know? I played with them for like, over a year.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Okay,” he says, getting off his bike and planting himself on the grass.
I do my best to hide my surprise, then sit down next to him and wait.
“It’s jus
t so fucking embarrassing, you know?” he says, then he looks up. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind if I say fuck.”
“I said shitty, so …”
“That’s what I thought,” he answers. “Anyway, they told me they had one roommate skip out without paying his rent for June, and if I got there fast enough and paid up what he owed, they’d let me stay.”
“And in reality, there was no room at the mansion?” I ask, assuming he’ll miss the hidden reference.
He gives me a knowing smile. “Yup, call me baby Jesus.”
We both laugh for a second, then I say, “People can be the worst, right?”
“Tell me about it,” he answers, sounding utterly dejected. Then he tilts his head and says, “Not most people. Just a few here and there. Most people are kind.”
Instead of spewing more of my opinions about the human race, I tug at a blade of grass until it comes loose.
“I know you don’t really think so, but I do.”
“Even after what you just went through?”
Nodding, Colton says, “Yeah. Definitely. I met this lady down there—not like a hot chick or something—like a middle-aged woman—”
“So, like California Abby?”
Colton lets out another laugh. “Sort of. I didn’t have the cash to get to the airport, so she gave me a lift. She didn’t even want anything in return. I offered to send her money when I got home but she said no.”
“Hmm. That is nice.”
“I find most people are. Anyway, I see you're doing some yard work today?"
"You looking for a job?"
“Yeah, but this time you’d have to pay me yourself because my parents won't do it."
I wince and cover my face with one hand. "Sorry about that. It was too good an offer to pass up. But the money for the roof really did come from me."
"I know."
"How did you figure out what was going on?"
"I'm not blind, and it’s not exactly like you and my dad were discreet."
We both start laughing and he says, “He’d literally hand you the money in front of me, then you’d put in your pocket and take it out again, like, not even a second later.”
I laugh until my cheeks hurt. “I think somehow we both thought you couldn’t see because of the headphones.”
The After Wife Page 17
