Merry Little Lies

by Addison Lloyd

  “Don’t worry, Gran’s probably just telling him stories of how you used to shove corn up your nose on Thanksgiving.” Emily plopped down beside me and gave me her evil-sister smile. She should patent it.

  “Doesn’t every kid do that?”

  “At two, Cian,” she said. “Not ten.”

  I turned my whole body to face her. “You dared me, Emily. You were such a good influence.”

  “I was a good influence. Who gave you your first taste for painting?”

  “You,” I admitted, giving her the stink eye. “Because you painted me. All over. Like I was a human canvas. I can still taste that paint.” I shook my head at the memory.

  She knocked against me. “Calm down. It was watercolors. And now look at you. You’re an amazing artist.”

  “And?” I waited for the zinger I knew existed at the end of that sentence, but she just raised her eyebrows at me.

  “And… you still can’t take a compliment.” She brushed my hair back behind my ears. “I mean it, Cian. I’m jealous. I’ll never be as good as you.” She kissed my cheek and jumped up before I could complain.

  “Who’s ready for tea?” Gran and Aaron carried two trays in. One had tea and coffee. And the other contained cookies and pumpkin bread.

  Aaron helped serve and then sat down next to me where Emily had just been.

  “Did you have to bake those cookies yourself?” I asked. “You were in there long enough.”

  He smiled but there was a startled look in his eyes like he’d been run over by a train. Or an overprotective Irish grandmother.

  I sipped my coffee, I wasn’t a big tea drinker despite my heritage, and narrowed my eyes at my gran. She smiled innocently at me, and I pointed two fingers at me and then her, giving her the universal sign for I’m watching you.

  “I love this tea.” Aaron had regained a little of the color back in his cheeks.

  “You don’t have to say that,” I said, low so Gran couldn’t hear. “For a sweet little old lady, she can be pushy.”

  “No. I really like it.” He glanced over at my gran and back at me, before taking another sip. “Really.”

  “Who’s up for a game?” Mom asked.

  We used to play all the time and not just at holidays. Teddy loved games. We’d play board games like Monopoly or Sorry and interactive games like Charades. Teddy didn’t care. I complained but I secretly enjoyed them. We hadn’t played much since he died. No one had the energy. Maybe this year would be different.

  “That sounds like so much fun!” Jade practically squealed. “How about Would You Rather?”

  That was when I suspected a rat. Or a sparkly fashionista and a meddling sister. I glanced at Emily who seemed suddenly interested in the bows in Theo’s hair.

  “How serendipitous,” I said, with as much sarcasm as I could muster. “We actually have that game.”

  “It was meant to be.” Jade beamed, his face innocent and bright while his eyes danced with mischief. He was like a young Luke Skywalker, rogue Han Solo, and evil Darth Vader all rolled into one, with a dash or two of glitter. I pitied the guy who fell for Jade. That guy would never stand a chance.

  “Sure,” Aaron said, not realizing he was stepping into a trap.

  I shrugged. It wasn’t like I could stop this snowball once it got started and gained momentum. “I’m game.”

  Emily choked on the tea she’d just taken a sip of.

  “You okay, Em?”

  “Sorry.” She coughed a few more times and then cleared her throat. “Ce, you always hated playing games.”

  True. But I wasn’t admitting anything. “No, I just hated playing games with you because you always had to win.”

  “No,” she said. “I always did win. There's a difference.”

  “Not really,” Brad said, surprising everyone. Emily turned hurt eyes on him. “Sorry, babe, but you are really competitive.”

  I hid my laugh. I had my reasons for playing and it wasn’t to beat my sister. Okay, maybe it was a little about beating my sister. But this game was a good way to get to know someone. I wondered if Aaron had any idea. He’s seemed like a private guy. And while the game was fun, it could be intimidating.

  “So, do we want to just wing it?” Emily asked. “I don’t actually remember the rules. But we could look them up if you want.”

  “Why start playing by the rules now?” I crossed my arms and gave her my best accusatory glare. She knew exactly what she was doing.

  She ignored me. “Anyone else have an opinion?”

  “Definitely wing it,” Jade said. “I’ll go first. Ask me a question.” He was way too excited about this.

  Brad sat on his right, so he asked the question. “Would you rather lose your memory but look amazing all the time or remember everything but look like a hobo.”

  “First of all, I could rock that look.”

  Everyone laughed but I noticed a tinge of sadness on his face.

  “I pick look amazing all the time,” he said. “But not for the reason you think.”

  I glanced over at Aaron. The way he watched Jade, made me think there was a lot more to this that I didn’t know.

  “You’re okay with losing your memory?” Emily asked.

  “I am.” He laughed. “I have a photographic memory which most people think is super cool. But it’s not. Never being able to forget stuff. Having everything crammed in there. I’d like to forget it all and look amazing doing it. Just for a while.” He shrugged.

  Brad passed him the cards. Mom was next. This would be fun.

  “Would you rather…” Jade shook his head. “So glad I didn’t get this one. Would you rather be famous but ridiculed or just be a normal person?”

  “Just a normal person.”

  It was amusing at first, with Gran being asked if she would rather everyone have to wear matching silver jumpsuits or every time two people wearing identical outfits met, they had to fight to the death. She surprised us all with her answer.

  “Why do all these cards seem like they were written for Jade?” Gran asked. “Fight to the death of course.”

  Emily’s question was about having skin that changes color based on your mood and everyone turned to look at me.

  “I’m not the only Irish redhead in this room,” I said.

  “But the most expressive.” Aaron whispered in my ear and of course I blushed.

  Everyone cheered, and I wasn’t sure what the rest of the question was or if Emily had even made a choice. All I could think about was Aaron’s breath in my ear and his leg pressed up against mine. And how much I was over this game.

  It was Emily’s turn to read a question for Aaron, and I that’s when I remembered this was a set up. I glanced at Jade. His eyes danced with anticipation. Crap.

  “Aaron,” my sister said. “Would you rather be with the person of your choice for a full year…”

  He turned and smiled at me and my heart turned gooey again. Focus, Ce. It’s a trap.

  “And,” she continued, “live a boring life where you never fight or argue. Or would you spend that full year with the person of your choice having heated debates and arguments but also lots of make-up … um…” she coughed. “There’s lots of making up.”

  “Speaking of making up,” I said. “You can't make up your own cards, Emily.”

  “It’s real.”

  “Then show it to me.”

  “I don’t have to.”

  “Mom, Emily is cheating again.”

  Mom rolled her eyes and Jade bit back a laugh. He had to have been behind this. That question was too specific for my sister to have thought of it.

  “I want to answer,” Aaron said, and the bickering stopped. He grabbed my hand. “It’s okay.” Our eyes met and I could see the message in them. Trust me.

  He turned to the rest of the room. “I hate confrontation. Jade can tell you…and probably already has. I avoid it at all costs.” He smiled at me and winked, and then responded to Emily. “But in this instance, I choose the h
eated debates and arguing. Because I like the making up and all that goes with it…”

  My sister blushed. Actually blushed. I wasn’t the only one who resembled a human barometer.

  “And because that life with no arguments or debates wouldn’t be with Ce. Not the Ce I know at least.” He turned to me and took both my hands “So bring on the fights and arguments and making up. Sound good to you, Ce?”

  I bit my lip, my face fire as I grinned at him. “Sounds good to me.”

  He kissed me, nothing more than a peck on the lips, and turned to my meddling family. “Did I pass the test?”

  Everyone started talking at once.

  “My baby is all grown up,” Jade said, patting his chest.

  “That is the sweetest thing.” Gran had a big smile on her face.

  “They’ll be no making up in this house.” Really Mom?

  Emily just looked smug.

  Theo outdid everyone by screaming loudly. She’d fallen asleep with her head on her mom’s knee and was jolted awake by all the noise.

  It was pure chaos. And the best Christmas I’d had in a while.

  After the game broke up. I pulled Aaron aside. “Hey. Let’s go somewhere quieter.”

  He glanced around at everyone enjoying themselves. The noise level had risen considerably since we started the game. “The car?”

  I laughed, remembering our escape from Carli’s party. “No,” I said. “I have a better idea.”

  EIGHTEEN:

  AARON

  As I followed Cian out of the room, I glanced over my shoulder. I was watching for any sign his mom objected, but she was distracted playing patty-cake with Theo. Jade gave me a thumbs up and Emily grinned her approval. But his gran watched my every move.

  I still remembered the talk we had while making tea. I tried to stick to basic facts, but she’d worn me down before the water started to boil. I wondered if she’d been a cop or maybe a part of the Irish mafia. Was there an Irish mafia?

  His gran gave me the talk about how I was a young pup and if I felt like bailing, it was normal. Just not to wait too long because Cian was fragile right now and couldn’t take the loss of his favorite sweater, let alone the first guy he’d liked in a long time. And my mind had screeched to a halt stuck on a few words like Cian and sweater. And then wait, he likes me?

  “Focus boy,” she’d commanded. I don’t know how I made it through the interrogation, but at least she hadn’t thrown me out of the house. Or questioned why we were now leaving the room.

  In fact, no one had stopped us from going wherever we were going. Where were we going?

  “Here we are,” Cian said.

  We’d stopped outside a door tucked into the back of the house. Was this his room? That seemed risky with the Irish Mafia so close by. Then I noticed the sign and laughed. And it hit me. This was his workspace. His art room.

  Cian glanced at me through his lashes and looked like he was holding his breath. I got the feeling he didn’t show this room to many people.

  The inside of the room reminded me of him. It was a small area but organized to maximize the space. Splashes of color adorned the walls and light streamed in through the large window. It smelled like paint and citrus. And Cian. On the workbench various supplies and tools, I had no idea about, crowded into the tiny space. A wooden rack stored finished paintings stacked vertically. Each slot kept them apart.

  I touched the smock hanging from a hook. I couldn’t see the front, but I knew what it said. It was the smock he wore in the selfie he sent me a few days ago.

  “Welcome to my sanctuary.” He gave me a crooked smile and walked over to the rack.

  “This is nice,” I said. “Did you make this?”

  “My dad and I made it together when I first started painting.” He shook his head like he was shaking away the memories.

  Cian pulled the paintings out one at a time, each highlighting the progression of his grief and loss. The colors got progressively darker, wilder, and more abstract with slashes of violet highlighting the pain. The pictures were breathtaking… and personal.

  “Ce…” I didn’t know what to say. His talent was undeniable, but no one should have to go through the pain he went through. I couldn’t imagine how devastated I’d be if something happened to Carli.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” His voice sounded vulnerable. I wanted to scoop him up and protect him from everything bad in the world.

  “They’re amazing. Haunting yet beautiful. But I wish…”

  “None of that,” he said, swiping at his eyes. “Here’s the one I finished today.”

  He motioned toward a painting propped up on an easel. It was just as moving as the other paintings and yet not like the others at all. The wild vibrant colors reflected pain, but they were also hopeful with splashes of joy.

  “Amazing.” I reached out to touch it, but he grabbed my hand.

  “The paint isn’t completely dry yet.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. I hadn’t planned on actually touching it, but I’d had a sudden need for a connection.”

  He squeezed my hand. “You inspired me.”

  I tore my eyes from the painting to search his face. Was he serious? “I did?”

  “I didn’t want to feel anything after Teddy.” His cheeks turned pink from the admission.

  I brushed his hair back from his face. “You deserve to be happy, you know.”

  “So, Gran keeps telling me.” He shook his head. “Survivor’s guilt. That’s what they called it. But it was more than that. Like I was betraying him by moving on.”

  I grabbed a box of tissues from the workbench and handed him one.

  “I hate talking about this. I just wanted you to see how much you helped me.”

  “You did this, Ce,” I insisted. “You’re so strong.”

  He shook him head. “You sparked something in me. I’m not saying you fixed everything. I get that only I can do that. But you made me want to fix everything.” He laughed. “Looking forward to every day is new thing for me.” He glanced back at the painting. “And inspiring.”

  How could I feel so much so soon? It felt like I’d known him longer than a week. It was exciting and terrifying.

  “I’d planned on giving this painting to you. As a thank you and because my first present was lame—”

  “I love my mini toolkit.” I kissed him, before he could protest. Just a quick brush of our lips to show him how much it meant to me. He smiled and my stomach flipped. I’d never get used to that feeling.

  “But I decided I can’t give it to you.”

  I frowned “Okay.”

  “I’ll paint you something. I promise,” Cian said. “But I need this one for me. It reminds me that even if things suck. If I get sad or we fight, there’s still hope.” He rolled his eyes. “That sounded cheesy.”

  “I like cheesy.”

  We studied the painting in silence.

  “Can we go back to kissing now?” he said.

  I laughed. “Love that idea.”

  I hugged him and it felt amazing. We kissed—slow soft kisses with just a hint of more. How did I get so lucky?

  “Aaron?”

  I brushed his hair off his forehead. “Yeah?”

  “Can I reconsider the painting?”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant. I glanced over at his masterpiece.

  “I mean the one you gave me for Christmas.”

  “Oh.” It reminded me of how insensitive I’d been.

  “Stop that,” he said, touching my chin. “I love that painting. In fact, most couples have a song. We have a painting.”

  “We’re trend setting.”

  “So maybe the painting could be ours.” Cian bit his lip, watching me.

  “And how would that work?”

  “You keep it your house and I visit you and the painting. Often.”

  “How often?”

  His eyes sparkled. “I’m thinking every day.”

  The happiness in his face was contagiou
s, and I couldn’t help touching him. I traced the freckles across his nose while I considered it. I wanted Cian to have the painting, but him visiting me every day was also a win-win. Using my thumb, I followed the line of his eyebrows. His red hair was beautiful. “Deal,” I said. “But no fighting in front of our baby.”

  “Just open and spirited debates,” he added. “And lots and lots of kissing.”

  “I think I can agree to those terms.”

  “Should we shake on it?”

  “I have a better idea.” I pulled him into my arms and kissed him with no hesitation. No doubts. We were nothing alike, but that didn’t matter. Cian opened those locked places in my heart and inspired me to move forward and let go of the past.

  NINETEEN:

  SIX MONTHS LATER

  AARON AND CAIN

  AARON

  “Can’t you go any faster?”

  This day wasn't going the way I planned.

  Cian reminded me almost daily that everything doesn’t have to be planned down to the last nanosecond. But this day really wasn’t going the way I planned. We were supposed to be dressed up in style going to Cian’s first Art show. Instead, we were racing to the hospital.

  “If I go any faster,” I said. “I’ll get stopped. And that will really slow us down.”

  “Speed limits are stupid.”

  A quick glance told me what I already suspected. He was freaking out.

  He chewed on his lips, his face tight with worry, and his thumb rubbed over the worry stone I gave him. I’d noticed Ce touched things when he was nervous, something about the texture calmed him, so I found a worry stone that had Just Breathe etched into it.

  It clearly wasn’t working.

  “Cian, babe, remember to breathe.”

  “I’m trying,” he said. “But my sister and her baby might die. So, excuse me for not being totally chill.”

  I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. So dramatic. But the terror was real to him. Even if he had no basis for it. “She’s just having a baby, Ce, not brain surgery.”

  “It’s too soon. She’s not due for another month.”

  “Please, breathe? For me?”

  He took a few deep breathes.