Only the Pretty Lies

by Rebekah Crane

  When Jamison asked what was wrong, I deflected the question and asked him to read to me.

  “You know the end, Amoris. Good wins. Voldemort dies. It all ends up OK.”

  “I know. But there’s a lot of sadness along the way.”

  “Every story needs sadness,” Jamison said.

  That didn’t make me feel any better. He must have understood, because he turned off the light and pulled me to him. I kissed his chest, right where his heart beat in my ear, and then I moved higher. His neck. His throat. His cheek. His mouth.

  When Jamison pulled back, I could tell what he was thinking. Slow down. Take it one step at a time. Guard yourself. Don’t give too much, because someone can take it all away.

  “Does your story have a happy ending, at least?” I asked.

  “It has a realistic ending.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It ends the way it should,” Jamison said. “But not necessarily the way you want.”

  “That doesn’t sound too good.”

  “If I told the story any other way, I’d be lying,” he said.

  I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. This wasn’t the end of our story. No matter what the future holds for Jamison and me, we have a long story ahead of us. It’s only just beginning. I have to believe that.

  “Hello? Amoris!” Ellis barks, snapping me back to attention. “I’m losing my shit over here, and you’re in fucking la-la land. I’m trying to tell you about my vacation from hell, and you’re ignoring me.”

  “I’m not ignoring you. I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep much last night.”

  Ellis makes a sound like she couldn’t care less, and I just want her out of my bedroom. But the only way to accomplish that is to appease her.

  I sit down on the bed. “Tell me what happened.”

  She looks at me with this dead expression. “My dad is getting remarried. That’s what fucking happened.”

  Matt Osmond’s surprise trip to Hawaii wasn’t just a father-daughter bonding trip. He figured he would bribe his daughter with fruity umbrella drinks, sunshine, a new bikini, a pretty lie of family happiness, only to drop the marriage bomb on the final night.

  “We went out to this really nice restaurant, and I was wearing this really cute dress . . .” Ellis wipes tears from her cheeks. “He ordered me a glass of wine, too. But it was all just a big fat fucking bribe.”

  Matt started into how much he loved Ellis’s mom, and how no one would ever compare to her, but he still had a lot of years left, and he wanted to share those years with a woman.

  “‘And you’re leaving for college next year. I’ll be all alone,’” Ellis says mockingly. “That’s what he said to me. Like this is all my fault. Like he’s getting married because I’m leaving him. Fucking asshole.”

  “But Elle, you are leaving.” She has been dead set on going to school in California for years. That’s always been the plan.

  “That’s not the point.”

  Everything Ellis describes, all the reasons her dad wants to get remarried, makes sense to me. So I attempt a different tactic. “What’s her name?”

  “Darcy. They met at that yoga retreat in Mexico. Apparently she’s a yoga instructor in Vail. How typical. Of course she’s a skinny, bendy, blond yoga teacher. Fucking gold digger.”

  “How old is she?”

  “Thirty-five. And Darcy is really smart and nice and loves kids and can’t wait to meet me.”

  “She doesn’t sound so bad.”

  Ellis flops back onto the bed. “I hate her. What if she wants to have kids? I’ll have a fucking sibling. If my dad thinks I’m going to play house and call Darcy ‘Mom,’ he’s got another think coming.”

  “You don’t know her, Elle. She might be great.”

  “I don’t need to know her,” Ellis says. “She’s not my mom.”

  There it is. The unsolvable problem that hangs over Ellis like an unpredictable storm.

  “Darcy isn’t trying to replace your mom,” I say. “No one could ever do that.”

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I sneak a peek at the message from Jamison.

  Solitary confinement over. Application sent.

  I’m typing back a response when Ellis says, “So I’m not important enough to text back all day, but whoever that is deserves your undivided attention.”

  I stop and set the phone down. “I told you, I’m sorry. It was busy at work. In my defense, you made it seem like you were having a great time on vacation. I had no idea.”

  Ellis stands up and shakes her hair out like she’s ridding herself of bad energy. “I was, until last night.” And then she turns to me with tears in her eyes, but not the same angry tears this time. They’re big and swollen, the kind that fill your eyes slowly and only come crashing down your cheeks when they’ve exceeded your capacity to hold them back. The saddest of tears. “I miss my mom every damned day, Amoris. Every. Damned. Day. Why doesn’t he?”

  Ellis falls on the bed again. And while my heart is telling me to hug her, I don’t move.

  “I’m sure Matt misses your mom as much as you do. He just doesn’t want to be lonely anymore. Can you blame him?”

  “Yes,” Ellis says. “No . . . I don’t know.” She curls up into a ball.

  “When are they getting married?” I ask.

  “Beginning of summer. She wants me to be a bridesmaid.” Ellis makes a gagging face.

  “That doesn’t sound too bad. You have a few months to get to know her. You might be surprised.”

  “I already know she’s a ho. What else is there?”

  “Well . . . you get to wear a fancy dress to the wedding. You love fancy dresses. And you’ll get your makeup and hair done. Maybe Darcy has a hot younger brother in college? And weddings are usually open bar.”

  Ellis sits up on her elbows. “And my dad can’t get mad at me when I get completely lit, because it’s all his fault,” she says. “I knew coming here was the right thing to do. I just feel better when I’m at your house. Let’s get fat on ice cream and candy and binge-watch Friends tonight. I’ll find pajamas. You get the candy and ice cream. Rayne keeps a secret stash of Skittles in the cabinet above the fridge.”

  “Elle . . . I actually have plans tonight.”

  “What?” Ellis’s mouth barely moves when she says the word. I swear she glances toward the window that looks out to Jamison’s apartment. But she casually closes my dresser drawer. “I should probably go see Beckett anyway. He’s been all desperate to see me. I’m sure he’s about to explode. Just what every girl loves, a quickie.”

  “We can do the candy and ice cream thing this weekend,” I offer. “You, me, Ross, Rachel, Monica, Chandler, Joey, and Phoebe. Sam and Tucker can come, too. I’m sure they’re dying to see each other.”

  “Sure. Whatever.” Ellis ties her shoes quickly. Before she leaves, she says, “I didn’t even ask. Did you have a good break?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” Ellis smiles, but it feels forced. Or maybe I’m just imagining that. “Better enjoy life while it’s good, right? Who knows what might happen next?”

  25

  I DON’T TRUST YOU

  I’d like to say I sit in my room, guilt-ridden for sending Ellis away when she’s distraught, but I don’t. I don’t know if it’s too many years of putting her first, of being bossed around and spoken down to, of focusing on making Ellis feel better at my own expense, or if it’s simply residual anger from her kissing Jamison. I should have been more careful. I should have kept an eye on Ellis, but I was solely focused on Jamison.

  The problem with tunnel vision is you can’t see what’s brewing all around you, from multiple sides, from deep emotional spaces, places you thought were long healed or at least patched. History. But history is ever present.

  I brush my teeth, wash my face, change out of my coffee-smelling clothes, and dash over to Jamison’s without checking my phone.

  Kaydene opens the apartment door. “Hey, Amoris. What are you doing here?�
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  My heart flies up to my throat. “You’re home.”

  “Just got here.” She blocks the door with her body, and I know she’s aware of what’s going on. Moms are magic that way. Rayne has the same ability. I can walk into the kitchen and she’ll start making hot chocolate before I’ve said a word about my horrible day.

  “Seems like Jamison survived all on his own,” Kaydene says. “Though he looks a little tired. Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.” Her eyes pierce mine, and it takes all my strength not to back away. “Why don’t you come in and sit with me for a while? We haven’t spent much time together this year.”

  “Jamison isn’t here?”

  “He’s at the store. We were low on a few groceries.”

  She opens the door to let me in. I sit down on the couch, in the same spot I’ve occupied for a week. Kaydene sits in Jamison’s usual position, and the room takes on a new tension.

  “How was your trip?” I ask.

  “It was a new experience,” Kaydene says. “I think Talia would have preferred to stay home with her friends over snowshoeing with her parents. She doesn’t like the snow.”

  An awkward silence falls between us, which is extremely odd. I’ve known Kaydene my entire life. The summers I spent in Kansas City, she became like a second mom—disciplining me when I deserved it, making sure I ate lunch and drank enough water, bandaging scraped knees and elbows. The summer I got my period, I told Rayne and Kaydene. Kaydene went to the store to buy me supplies.

  “Do you know why I wanted to be a teacher, Amoris?” she asks. “Because none of my teachers looked like me. They were all White. That’s not to say they weren’t kind, or good teachers. Most were. But they had no idea what it felt like to be me. And kids need that. The secret to a good education has nothing to do with reading or multiplication, or facts. A good education is about belonging. It’s about being seen. Learning you’re important to the world. I wanted to make sure that kids like me knew I was seeing them.”

  “Jamison says the same thing about why he writes.”

  Kaydene smiles. “He’s always been good about listening to his mom. Talia . . . now she’s another story. That child was born to disobey me.”

  I chuckle. “River’s the same way.”

  The light moment dies quickly. “I’m going to be honest with you, Amoris. And it’s gonna hurt, but I want you to remember that honesty is the greatest respect we can give each other.” And then she says, “I don’t trust you.”

  I suck in a breath that I’m not sure I will ever exhale.

  Why does she not trust me? What did I do to her? She’s known me my whole life. I want to sputter so many words that won’t come out. “But . . . why?” I manage.

  “Years of experience.” She doesn’t expound. She stands up, stretches, and says, “Well, school starts tomorrow. You need a good night’s sleep for optimal learning.”

  I won’t see Jamison tonight. Whatever fantasy we were living for the past week evaporates in an instant.

  “I know you love him, Amoris,” Kaydene says. “On some cosmic level, I’ve known you two were destined for each other from the beginning, as much as that scared me. And he loves you, too. But love doesn’t exempt you from reality. It only demands that you work harder in the face of it. I hope you’re up for that.”

  26

  TRY AND TRY AGAIN

  I schedule another session with Lori.

  “I’m glad you emailed,” she says when I arrive. She shuffles the folders and papers on her desk. “I can’t stop thinking about what happened with Mr. O’Brien. I feel guilty for how it all went down with the mural. But I don’t think it’s over. I think there’s—”

  “No,” I stop her.

  “Why not? We can’t just give up.”

  I can’t think about that day without a rotten feeling in my stomach. Jamison and I are finally in a good place. I can’t ask him to relive that. What if it blows up and gets worse? Plus, we have more pressing issues right now.

  “How do you know if you’re in love?” I ask.

  Lori sits back in her seat, eyebrows raised.

  “I mean, like real love,” I add. “Not bullshit love.”

  “Bullshit love?” she asks.

  “Like Disney bullshit love.”

  “Is this about sex? Because I have a few brochures on STIs that you should read before you take the plunge.” Lori rummages around on her cluttered desk. Then she holds out a fishbowl full of condoms. “Take some.”

  I do, to appease her, stuffing a few in my purse. “Been there. Done sex,” I assure her. “And I’m on the pill. But this has nothing to do with sex. We haven’t gotten there yet. Not that I don’t want to have sex with him. I do. It’s all I can think about sometimes.”

  “So what is this about?”

  “If love is a verb, what’s the right action?” I ask. I’m worried no matter what I do, no matter how much I care about Jamison, I’m going to hurt him.

  “Is this about the mural? Like I said, I think I have a—”

  “It’s more than that.”

  Long after Kaydene closed the door behind me, her words echo in my mind. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust you. I wanted to march back over there, bang on the door, and scream at Kaydene that she was wrong. How could she not trust me? She’s known me since I was a baby. I’ve never done anything to her. In fact, I’ve only ever loved her family. Admired them. Hell, I wanted to be one of them. She’s making this about race, and I don’t deserve that. She knows how Jamison and I feel about each other. She said so herself. How did I become the villain? I’m in love. It didn’t make any sense.

  But then it hit me, and the truth stole my breath. I was doing it again. I was angry that Kaydene didn’t trust me, just like I was when Jamison didn’t trust me. A dirty-laundry list of moments from this past year came rushing back with a vengeance. I ignored the pain Jamison felt from Wendy’s words at the café. I pushed him into confronting Mr. O’Brien about the mural, with no regard to how it might hurt him. Again and again I focused on myself, and not Jamison. Even when I thought I was helping—I was hurting him.

  Why should Kaydene trust me?

  I tell Lori all of this. She listens intently, nodding every so often.

  “OK . . .” Lori sits up. “The way I see it, you only have one option.”

  “OK. What is it?”

  Lori sits forward, leaning her elbows on the desk. “Try.”

  “Try? Try? That’s your sage advice?”

  “Yes. If it’s worth it to you, then you need to try not to fuck up. Simple as that.”

  “But how do I know?” I plead. “I didn’t think I was messing up before and I was. You saw what happened with the mural. It was a disaster.”

  “True,” Lori concedes. “And you need to learn from your mistakes. But you know what’s worse than messing up? Inaction. I’m not sure I can tell you what it means to be in love. I’m not married. I don’t have kids. Hell, I’m a total runner when it comes to relationships. The second a person wants to get serious is the second I want to bolt. But I can tell you what love isn’t, Amoris. Being in love doesn’t mean being ignorant. It doesn’t mean the world gets more beautiful. In fact, I’m pretty sure most people who fall in love are scared. All of a sudden, you care a lot more about what happens. It isn’t just you anymore. You have to deal with someone else’s pain, which, let’s be honest, isn’t easy. But someone else’s pain shouldn’t have to be suitable, or palatable, or convenient, or even make sense, for us to deal with it. Pain is pain. It isn’t up for debate. It just is. Stop thinking this is about you. If this is about you, and proving you’re not a bad person, then you don’t really love him. You’re using him to make you feel better about you. To prove Kaydene is wrong about you. If you continue to look at it like that, you’re right. You are going to hurt him. So I ask you, is this about you or Jamison?”

  “It’s about the both of us.”

  “It doesn’t sound that way.�
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  “What?” I ask, frustrated.

  “Are you mad that Jamison’s mom said she didn’t trust you? Or are you mad that she might be right not to trust you?”

  I fumble for a response. “I just want her to trust me. I’m a good person.”

  “Not trusting you is not the same as saying you’re a bad person. This isn’t about you.”

  “It feels like it’s about me. If I was Black, she wouldn’t have said that.”

  “You’re doing it again, Amoris,” Lori says, with a huff I’ve never heard before. She’s usually so calm, so even, so nonjudgmental. “You’re prioritizing pain. You’re trying to tell someone else how to feel. It doesn’t matter that you think what Kaydene said is unfair. It’s how she feels, and she’s entitled to that. Negating her emotions won’t solve the problem.”

  “Well, how do I prove her wrong?”

  “Amoris, listen to me. It’s not about proving her wrong. She’s not your enemy.” Lori sits forward and points at my heart. “It’s about getting that in order. It’s about taking a good look at yourself and being honest. I think the real reason you’re frustrated isn’t because Kaydene said she didn’t trust you. It’s that you know she’s right to be concerned.”

  When someone says exactly what you’re struggling to avoid, but desperately need to hear, there’s this rush of calm. Like finally, someone understands how I feel. And then, after the calm, you realize what just happened—you’ve been outed. And you can’t go back.

  “I think you have some work to do,” Lori says.

  My instinct is to fight against Lori’s advice. I’ve done the work. I want to make this all go away. I want to reverse time, wipe my mind clean of what it finally sees fully. But I can’t.

  I thought Jamison and I could just move on. I thought we could forget all that’s happened. I thought that “I’m sorry” was enough.

  But I was wrong. Love isn’t about erasing the past. It’s about dealing with it.

  “Do you know where to start?” Lori says softly.

  I do, I think to myself. And it’s going to break my heart.