Little Lies

by H Hunting

  “That would be great. Thank you.” I take a seat and wait while she makes a phone call. I can’t believe my luck. Sure, River might be upset that I’m moving out, but after all the crap that’s gone down recently, I need a little separation and some independence. I won’t live in the shadow of my past like this, or allow the rest of my family to keep influencing my decisions because their guilt weighs us all down.

  It turns out I can, in fact, move in later this afternoon. I fill out all the required paperwork and then realize after the fact that I’m going to have to call my parents and tell them what I’m doing. Legally, I’m an adult and can make my own choices, but I didn’t tell them I put myself on the waiting list, thinking I’d never get the call. Plus, I’ll have to either use my savings to pay for it or see if my parents are willing to pick up the tab.

  My excitement wavers as I return to my car, preparing to make the dreaded call. Video chat is probably the smartest way to go, even though it makes me feel like hurling. I take a few deep, cleansing breaths, pull up my mom’s number—she’s the more reasonable of the two—and hit call. She answers on the second ring, her face appearing in the small screen.

  Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, and she’s wearing a pair of bifocals. She’s in her office/sewing room, based on the background. “How’s my favorite daughter?”

  I smile. Being the only girl awards me the favorite-daughter title. “I’m good. How are you?”

  “Also good. Just working on a project.” She makes a face. “Are you in your car? Is everything okay?”

  “Uh, yeah and yeah. Everything is fine. Sort of. I need to tell you something.”

  She sits up straighter, and something clatters to the floor. My mom and I have the same clumsy genes. “Did something happen?”

  “It’s nothing bad,” I reassure her.

  Her eyebrow rises. “Then why do you look like you’re going to chew your lip off?”

  I free my lip from my teeth. “I need a better poker face.”

  My mom laughs. “Sorry, sweetie, you got all my best and worst traits.” Her expression softens and grows serious. “You can talk to me. You know that, right? Whatever it is, I’m always going to be on your side.”

  I nod and glance up at the roof. There’s some kind of stain above my head. I don’t want to know what it is or how it got there. “So, you know how we decided I’d live with Mav and River so I could get settled this year instead of moving into the dorms?”

  “Let me guess, living with your brothers is a nightmare?”

  I blink a few times, shocked by her reaction. Although maybe I shouldn’t be. This is my mom we’re talking about. She and I have always been a united front against the endless testosterone and smelly sports equipment. Or Robbie’s horrible science experiments. “Um, well, it’s not exactly what I would call fun.”

  “Because they’re overprotective slobs who like to party too much and the house is always full of half-drunk jocks?” she offers.

  “Uhhh . . . yes to all of the above?”

  “I figured as much. Your brothers are idiots, by the way. Just between you and me, I follow them on social media under a fake account, and all of their friends, so I see pretty much everything they do.”

  “Oh my God.” I slap a palm over my mouth. “How have they not noticed that?”

  “Because it’s a catfish account. I use stock photos of hot girls in bikinis.” She rolls her eyes.

  “You’re a genius.”

  “Just sneaky.” She tips her head to the side. “So, this hasn’t been the dream scenario we all envisioned?”

  “Not really, no. I actually put myself on the waiting list for the dorms.”

  “I can understand keeping your options open.”

  “And today I got a notification that a room is available.”

  My mom nods slowly, almost as though this isn’t a surprise. “Kody wouldn’t happen to be a factor in you wanting out of there, would he? And before you give me a high-pitched no, I’ve already seen that picture of you two from last night.”

  “Oh shit.”

  She hmms and rubs her bottom lip. She always does that when she talks to me, probably because of the scar on mine. “It didn’t look much like a friendly, ha-ha, let-me-carry-you-into-the-house-so-we-can-get-all-cozy-with-each-other situation.” Her voice is purposely light, but her concern bleeds through.

  I sigh. “I pissed him off.”

  “I gathered. What happened? And was that a thong bikini?”

  I can feel the fire in my cheeks. My mom isn’t nearly as excessive with the overshares as Gigi, but she has zero problem addressing sometimes uncomfortable topics.

  “Gigi got it for me for pre-Cancun tanning.”

  “Of course. I need to have a talk with her.” My mom rolls her eyes. “So, I’m guessing the bare-ass show was meant to get someone’s attention.”

  “Mom.”

  “Well, you’re not much of an exhibitionist, so I assume you were doing it to make a point.”

  I blow out a breath and explain what happened—not all of what’s been happening, but the part about Kodiak seeing my schedule and then magically appearing in my art class to pose as our nude model.

  “Nude as in . . .”

  “As in swinging free.”

  “Really? Kody vomits before games, and he got naked in front of your class?”

  “How do you know he pukes before games?”

  “Rook and your dad talk, and your dad tells me everything before he falls asleep.”

  “Oh, well, yeah. He was totally naked. For almost three full hours.”

  “Huh.” My mom taps her lips. “That’s an interesting way to communicate your undying love for someone.”

  It’s my turn to roll my eyes. “He was being a dick.”

  My mom gives me a look and drops her head, snickering like a teenage boy, which is roughly the level of her sense of humor.

  “Seriously, Mom.”

  “Oh, come on! It’s kind of funny.”

  “Well, it might be if he wasn’t a complete asshole to me all the time.”

  That seems to sober her. “It’s that bad?”

  I shrug. “I know things were messed up when we were kids, but it’s been years. I don’t get why he needs to keep reminding me I messed up his life.”

  “You didn’t mess up his life, Lavender.”

  “Well, he’s very intent on making me feel that way. And don’t you dare tell Lainey I said that. The last thing I need is Lainey telling Kodiak he needs to be nice to me. Then I’m the sucky baby who runs to Mommy when I can’t handle it,” I snap.

  “Talking to your mother doesn’t make you a sucky baby.”

  I kind of love how offended she sounds.

  I point at her two-dimensional face on the screen. “Do not tell her.”

  She scowls. She really, really hates pointing, which I did a lot of as a kid. “I won’t, but I wish you’d said something to me before we agreed to let him move into the house, even temporarily. Lainey and I thought we were doing the two of you a favor, and I don’t believe Kodiak thinks you messed up his life.”

  “Well, we can agree to disagree about that. You’re not here to experience the warm fuzzies he exudes around me.”

  “Kody has never exuded warm fuzzies, honey, except with you and Lainey. He’s a momma’s boy through and through. Kody’s brain doesn’t work the way everyone else’s does.”

  “I’m aware.”

  “Are you also aware that he has an infinity symbol tattoo?”

  “I’m pretty sure I would’ve seen a tattoo when he posed nude for my class.”

  “Unlikely since it’s in the webbing of his left hand between his ring and middle finger.” Her expression is ridiculously smug.

  “How do you know this stuff?”

  “Lainey and I talk. He got it two years ago.” She sighs before she continues. “Look, honey, we screwed up a lot of stuff when you two were kids—including the way we dealt with the situation when
things started to get out of hand. Lainey feels as bad as I do about it. We projected our own fears onto your relationship with him, because we were worried about the future. I don’t think any of us took into consideration how severely it would impact both of you, or the extremes Kody would go to in order to keep from hurting you.”

  “To keep from hurting me?” My eyebrows shoot up. “He’s being a grade-A asshole extraordinaire. He makes River’s bad moods look like sunshine and rainbows.”

  My mom makes a face. It looks a lot like she’s constipated, which means she’s trying to hold back her commentary.

  “Just spit it out, Mom.”

  She sighs and rubs her temples. “I think I’ve done enough interfering.”

  “Oh, come on! You can’t do the whole temple-rub-and-sigh thing and then decide you don’t want to offer your opinion!” I want to throw my hands up in the air, but I’m holding my phone. I secure it in the dash holder so I’m free to flail.

  “We made some big mistakes as parents. We wanted to protect you from all the things that could hurt you, and sometimes we took that to the extreme because we’d failed you in the past. You’ve overcome a lot, kiddo, and your dad and I are super proud of you. As far as Kody goes, I don’t think he hates you at all.”

  “I’ll respectfully disagree.”

  “Do you remember that pencil case you made him for his birthday when you were ten?”

  I look away, embarrassed. How could I forget? I’d been so excited. I’d filled it with all kinds of hockey- and science-themed school supplies because those were Kodiak’s two favorite things. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “He still has it.”

  I say nothing, aware the pause is for dramatic effect.

  “He always has it with him. The last time he came home to visit his parents, he almost missed a practice because he was having a coronary over the fact that he couldn’t find it and wouldn’t leave without it.”

  I don’t have the slightest idea how to process any of this. It’s such a contradiction to the way he’s been with me from the first moment I saw him this year. “So, what are you saying? I shouldn’t move into the dorms? I should confront him?”

  “If you want to move into the dorms, I think that’s exactly what you should do. Kody needs to figure this out on his own, and you showing your independence by moving out might be the kick in the ass he needs.”

  “So you’re okay with me doing this?” I expected more of a fight.

  “Yup.”

  “What do you think Dad is going to say?” Just the thought of his reaction makes me anxious.

  “I don’t think he thought it through when he pushed for you to move in with your brothers.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “All the parties and such. He assumed having River and Maverick around would create a nice, safe bubble for you, but he failed to consider that while those boys are protective, they’re also hormonal.”

  “I don’t want to date their jock friends anyway,” I mutter.

  My mom makes a sound that isn’t a word. “I didn’t fight River or your dad on you living with the boys because I thought it would be a good, safe transition. I also thought it might give you and Kody a chance to reconnect, but that obviously hasn’t been as seamless as I’d hoped. I’ll take care of your dad.”

  “You’re sure?” I have no real intention of dealing with him, but I figure I should at least throw it out there.

  “Oh yeah. There’s no point in you managing your dad’s drama when you already have enough going on there as it is.”

  She really is my number-one cheerleader and supporter. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Anything for you, honey.”

  I tell her I love her and end the call with a promise to let her know how the move goes.

  Age 14

  TIME IS SUPPOSED to heal all wounds. That’s how the saying goes, but I don’t know if I believe that. What I do believe is that with enough time, it’s possible to reframe every memory into a fairy tale or depressing drama.

  Kodiak’s family moved to a different state the summer before he started high school, and life moved on without him.

  And I’ve done better. I’ve learned how to manage the panic attacks. I’ve realized they’re attached to memories I’ve suppressed. Those have surfaced slowly, and they always seem like they’re more dream than reality. I hate clowns and small spaces. But I’ve learned how to deal with the monsters that live in my head.

  I’ve also found a group of friends who like my weird and my quiet. I take sewing classes in my spare time. I see Queenie regularly. I volunteer at the art center and work with other kids who have anxiety and PTSD. I pour my energy into being productive. I try not to think about Kodiak.

  But like a true addict, sometimes I relapse.

  I don’t text or message. I’m smart enough to know better. But sometimes I creep his social media with the fake account I created. Tonight, I’m restless, missing my old life and the people who used to make me feel safe.

  I pull up his profile, and my heart skips a beat. Kodiak is a junior this year, and I’m a freshman. We’d be at the same school again if they hadn’t moved. He’s filled out in the past two years. He’s tall and broad and growing into his body.

  Kodiak’s nearly jet-black hair sweeps across his forehead, and his northern-light eyes stare back at me. He’s not smiling. In fact, he looks more annoyed than anything about his picture being taken. He’s sweaty, and the background tells me it’s post-practice of some kind. The caption reads: Missing my boy Mav, and my brother is tagged.

  I tell myself I’m allowed to look at three pictures, and then I’ll log out and shut it off. I scroll down, and suddenly all the air and happiness is sucked out of my lungs. I want to unsee this picture.

  Because in it, Kodiak is smiling, and there’s a girl tucked under his arm. Pretty, blonde, and tall. She looks like a model. I force myself to read the caption. Date night with my favorite girl.

  And my poor, stupid heart breaks all over again.

  But it’s the last time I creep on him.

  It was bad enough when I saw him kiss that girl the night before he moved away. I’d been working up the nerve to go over there, wanting to keep it together long enough to say goodbye. When I’d decided I was ready, I looked out my bedroom window and there he was, kissing the same girl he’d taken to his eighth-grade graduation dance.

  My chest felt like it was caving in then, and it feels the same now. I can’t watch him fall in love, not while I live in a bubble created by my overprotective family where I can barely talk to someone of the opposite sex, let alone contemplate dating.

  After a restless night’s sleep, therapy with Queenie the next day does not go as planned. All I want to do is sew. I crave the satisfaction of creation in the midst of my own personal destruction. All the little lies I told myself to make the truth less painful have finally caught up with me.

  I pull out the finger paints—I rarely use them anymore, but they’re always my default when I’m feeling particularly volatile.

  Queenie waddles over. “Bad day?”

  She places her palm on her swollen belly, pregnant with baby number three. Kingston, her husband, has been playing for Seattle forever. He’s a goalie and closing in on retirement—at least that’s the conversation I’ve overheard between him and my dad. Kingston has the kind of personality that puts everyone around him at ease. He reminds me of still water, always in motion, but still somehow serene; whereas Queenie is a carbonated beverage—bubbly, effervescent, and always exciting to the senses.

  I take a breath, an attempt to quell the storm inside. I don’t want to snap at Queenie, and I’m very aware that getting shitty with a pregnant woman will make me feel bad, but I’m on edge today.

  So I blurt out the truth. “Kodiak has a girlfriend.”

  Her hand stills on her stomach, and her eyes flare, which tells me I’ve shocked her with this revelation.

  “Have you spoke
n to him?”

  I can’t figure out her tone. She sounds half-concerned, half-hopeful.

  I dip my fingers in the lime-green paint, desperate to do something with my hands. “No.”

  “So how do you know he has a girlfriend?” Her words are careful, calculated, and yet still conversational.

  Queenie is an excellent therapist. I’ve learned a lot from her over the years. She’s almost my friend. Almost, but not quite. She’s halfway to maternal, because she’s only ten years or so younger than my mom. She’s also paid to help me, though I’m aware not all of our sessions are billed, because her and her husband are friends with my parents. But I’ve been confiding in her for over a decade.

  Sometimes I wonder if we’re too close for this to be as effective as it should be. Queenie is a habit, a source of comfort in a world of complete unknowns. She’s a constant in a sea of uncertainty—something my parents aren’t willing to take away from me.

  I could lie and tell her my brother mentioned it. Maverick still talks to Kodiak all the time. But I don’t see the point, and all I want right now is to finally purge him out of my system. “He posted a picture on social media.”

  She’s quiet a moment. “Have you two been in touch at all?”

  I turn back to the sheet of paper, swirling the colors together until they’re as ugly as my jealousy. “No.”

  “And how do you feel about him having a girlfriend?”

  I dip my fingers into the black paint, not bothering to rinse off the other colors, and rub them together. How do I feel about Kodiak having a girlfriend? “It’s inevitable, isn’t it? That’s what teenagers do. They date, experiment, fall and get back up again, suffer their first broken heart, maybe experience other firsts.”

  Robbie dated the same girl for two years, but then they got accepted to different colleges and broke up. Maverick has had a whole slew of girlfriends already and left a trail of broken hearts in his wake. River always has girls tagging after him, but he’s too into football to care.

  “That all sounds very rational, but it doesn’t tell me how you’re feeling,” Queenie presses.

  “I haven’t talked to him in more than two and a half years. I haven’t seen him in over two. I shouldn’t feel anything.”