Best Friends & Other Liars

by Heather Balog

  “Seven,” Kendall mutters.

  “Snorkeling probably wouldn’t be good for a baby, either,” Leah points out.

  “Oh, yeah. You should go to the doctor as soon as you get off the boat,” Francine says to me.

  “I’m not pregnant!” I shout.

  Half the dining room turns to stare at me. A few women clap politely and one guy cheers. My face flushes and I join Francine in meticulous steak cutting.

  “Well, what then?” Kendall asks.

  “What...what?”

  “You said you had an announcement, and then we got completely off topic. What was your announcement?”

  “Oh, um, yeah.”

  I now have to rebuild my nerve. I had been all ready to drop my bombshell before we completely went off on a tangent. I inhale sharply and glance over at Leah. Her eyes are wide—I think she knows what I’m about to say. It’s then that I realize, what I say affects her, too. She has formed relationships on this cruise based on a lie as well—although, her lie isn’t as damning as mine. Sure, she’s not divorced, but she’s not married either. There’s a big difference there.

  “Um, never mind,” I say, locking eyes with Leah.

  “Oh, come on,” Kendall begs, eager for gossip. She clasps her hands together and bats her eyelashes at me. “Please tell us. You can’t leave us hanging.”

  “She said never mind, Kendall. Leave her alone.” Francine chastises without looking up from her meat.

  “If she didn’t want us to know what she had to say, she shouldn’t have told us she had an announcement,” Kendall complains and takes a sip of her electric blue cocktail.

  “People can change their mind,” Francine mutters.

  “Is this about you and the—” Kendall begins.

  “She’s not divorced.”

  Leah’s voice cuts through Francine and Kendall’s bickering like a steak knife.

  “What?” Francine gasps. They are now both gawking open mouthed at Leah. Nick and George are staring as well.

  “What do you mean, she’s not divorced?” Kendall squeaks as if she has never heard of anything so preposterous in all her life. “It’s a divorce cruise. How can you go on a divorce cruise if you’re not divorced?”

  “It’s not like she had to show her divorce papers to get on the cruise, Kendall,” Francine snorts. Yes, she snorts. “She could just say she’s divorced. She didn’t have to prove anything. It wasn’t like she needed a divorce passport or something. There’s no way to check. There are probably tons of people on this boat that aren’t actually divorced.”

  “Yeah,” Nick agrees. “The price can be irresistible to cheapskates.”

  I may be overthinking this, but I’m thinking that Nick is accusing me of being a cheapskate.

  “I didn’t book the cruise,” I immediately say. “Leah did.”

  All heads swivel toward Leah. I am instantly grateful that the pressure is off of me and onto her. And I don’t feel a bit guilty. After all, it’s her fault I’m on this cruise to begin with, and she’s the one who should be held responsible. I had no idea this was a divorce cruise until we were in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. What was I supposed to do? Leap off the ship and scream, “I’m married, I’m married!” as I doggy paddle to the Carolina coast? Plus, she’s the one who just spilled the beans. I was going to stay quiet.

  Leah laughs nervously and takes a swig of her own electric blue cocktail.

  “I guess you’re not divorced, either,” Francine says.

  Leah almost shrinks back as she answers, “No, but I’m not married. I’m single. Vi is married.”

  A gasp goes around the table and even touches the periphery tables of people who are obviously eavesdropping on our conversation. Apparently married on a divorce cruise is a heck of a lot more offensive than single on a divorce cruise.

  Leah mouths an apology to me as the heads swivel back in my direction. I resist the urge to flip her the finger. Well, of course I wouldn’t actually flip her the finger, but the urge is strong.

  “Like I said, I had no idea this was a divorce cruise. Leah dragged me along. For my birthday.”

  “Your birthday?” George speaks, and I notice his expression for the first time. It’s a mixture of disappointed and horrified—just like when the kids lost the new gerbil they insisted on getting, and I accidentally sucked it up with the vacuum. Well, how was I supposed to know he had burrowed himself in the couch cushions?

  “Um, yeah. My fortieth birthday. It was a gift.”

  “When’s your birthday?” George asks.

  “Actually, it’s today,” I say, staring down at the table linens. Leah makes a strangled noise next to me as she realizes her mistake. Yes, she took me on the cruise as a gift for my birthday, and then proceeded to have so much fun with the sexy bartender guy that she forgot my actual birthday. It was like some kind of twisted Sixteen Candles plot—I could call it Forty Wine Glasses or something more age appropriate.

  Except in this movie, I don’t end up blowing out my candles while sitting on a table with the hot guy I’ve had a crush on. Because I’m not sixteen and there’s no hot guy. There’s no Prince Charming coming to whisk me away. And real life doesn’t end like romance movies. Real life is so far from a romance movie that it’s almost like a comedy. Real life is marrying a man who doesn’t turn out to be Prince Charming at all. Real life is difficult and soul crushing.

  These thoughts cause tears to prick at my eyes, and before I can even think about it, I yank my napkin off my lap and toss it onto my plate. It lands in the steak sauce, but I barely notice as I push my chair back, causing it to scrape violently on the parquet floor.

  “I need some air,” I gasp as I leap to my feet and dash out of the dining room, dozens of people staring at me with their mouths open. Not caring, I push open the nearest exit door and I spill out onto the deck.

  The cold air slaps me in the face—we’re close to home and it is January after all. For a brief second, I remember the sweater that is hanging on the back of my chair in the dining room. I consider going back in for it, but I don’t think I can stand everyone staring at me after the way I left.

  I tell myself I don’t mind the cold, and for a moment, I believe it. I hug myself and rub my hands up and down my bare arms, hoping that’ll warm me up. My teeth start chattering as I slowly traverse the deck. I catch glimpses of the warm dining room on the other side of the glass, but I will be strong. I’m not going back in there. I need some air, and air I will get. Never mind the fact that the wind is picking up and I feel rain drops on my head.

  “I thought you could use this,” a familiar voice says behind me.

  I turn to find George standing on the deck, holding out my sweater, a sheepish look on his face. “I figured you would be cold out here.”

  I tighten my grip on my body defensively. Has he come out here to tell me what an awful person I am for not telling him the truth? Does he think I was leading him on?

  “I’m okay,” I lie through my teeth as my brain is screaming at me to take the sweater already.

  George cocks his head to the side knowingly. “It’s starting to rain.” He steps forward and drapes the sweater over my shoulders without another word. The feeling of his hands on my shoulders sends waves of heat up and down my spine.

  Stop it, Violet! You are a married woman...as of now.

  “Thanks,” I manage to mutter as I pull my arms into the sleeves.

  We stand in awkward silence, staring at the weathered planks of the deck, the rain bouncing off of them. My hair is moist—in a few minutes it will be drenched and I’ll have that wet dog look I get after I get out of the shower or the pool. I kind of want to pull the sweater over my head so George wouldn’t see me like that, but then I remember that I’m not supposed to care about George or how he sees me.

  “Why don’t we sit over there?” George says, pointing to a group of tables covered by an overhang. It’s part of the restaurant, but no one is sitting outside, despite the heat
ers that are going full blast next to the tables. Everyone is inside, looking all warm and cozy behind the tinted windows. I’m the only dope that has voluntarily stepped outside.

  “Why?” I’m curious why George is sticking around. Is it so he can yell at me for lying to him? For deceiving him?

  “Because you look cold, and it’s a heck of a lot warmer and drier over there.”

  He takes my arm and leads me to a chair.

  “You brought me my sweater—why don’t you go back inside?” I say as I plop down on the nearest chair. A blast of hot air from the heater toasts me quickly.

  George pulls out the chair on the opposite side of the table and sits down. “I want to make sure you’re okay.” He reaches out his hand to touch mine and I pull it away, nearly knocking over a shallow bowl that’s sitting on the table.

  “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” I try to sound nonchalant, but I end up coming off like a petulant child.

  “Well, for starters, you just ran out of a very nice meal, in a very warm dining room, to stand and shiver in the rain,” George says with a hint of amusement in his blue eyes.

  My god why do his eyes have to be so blue?

  “I needed air,” I mutter, repeating what I had announced to the table before I left.

  “Is it because no one knew it was your birthday?”

  I stare at him for a second until I realize that he’s serious. “I’m not a thirteen-year-old girl. I don’t care that no one knew it was my birthday! How were they supposed to know? I didn’t tell anyone!”

  I don’t mention that I am hurt that Leah forgot my birthday, but that’s not why I’m upset. I don’t know exactly why I’m upset. There’s no rhyme or reason to my feelings. Tears trickle down my face. I swipe at them with my sleeve.

  “Okay,” George says with a raise of his eyebrows. “I’m sorry that I implied that you’d be upset about that.”

  I shrug. “I guess everything is just hitting me at once.”

  “Everything like what?”

  Good question, George. What’s hitting me? The fact I’m married and on a floating vacation with hundreds of people who aren’t? The fact that this has made me realize that I don’t want to be married to Richard any longer? Or the fact that I find you ridiculously attractive, and I absolutely shouldn’t be feeling that? Or the fact that I’m forty years old today and I just realized that I am incredibly unhappy? Or that to ever hope to be happy again, I have to start my entire life over?

  “It’s complicated,” I say.

  “It usually is,” George replies. He takes my hands in his. “Your hands are blue and ice cold. Let me warm them up.” He rubs my fingers, sending a tingling through my body, a feeling I haven’t experienced in almost twenty years.

  It’s just the blood returning to your hands, Vi. There is nothing sexual between you guys. Nor can there be anything sexual between you guys.

  “Are you mad?” I ask him as my fingers and hands tingle and burn.

  He furrows his brow. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

  “Because I lied to you about being divorced. I think that might have…” I stare down at my cold hands enveloped by his warm ones, “given you the wrong impression.”

  “I can’t be mad. You didn’t purposely come here looking to deceive people, right?”

  “No,” I quickly interject. “I mean, I didn’t even know it was a divorce cruise! Leah tricked me.”

  “Tricked you? That sounds like a weird thing for a best friend to do.”

  “Well no, not if you know Leah. She just wanted me to have a good time, and I guess this cruise was the only opportunity she had. She um, got a good deal on the cruise.”

  “An opportunity too good to be true, huh?”

  I nod. “It seems that way.”

  “Well, you know what they say, when it seems too good to be true, it usually is.” A mournful look crosses over George’s face. “Just like you.”

  Even though my cheeks are frozen, my entire face starts burning, beginning from the tips of my ears and ending at the top of my collar. “I’m not too good to be true,” I stammer.

  “To me you are,” he says sadly. “Listen, it hasn’t been easy for me the last few years. I’ve been having a difficult time adjusting to the divorce. I know this sounds like a line, but I swear that you’re the first person I’ve felt comfortable talking to about everything. Well, except for my therapist. And he isn’t nearly as pretty as you are.”

  Now the blush spreads down my chest. Is he for real? Pretty? Me? Has he seen Leah? She’s the pretty one! And she’s available, too! Well, sort of—she’s kind of with Nick.

  I ignore his “pretty” comment and say, “I’m still here. We can be friends, even though I’m not divorced.”

  “You’re absolutely right,” George says with a forced smile. Then he releases my hands and slaps his forehead. “God, what would my therapist say?”

  “About what?” I ask, shoving my semi-warmed up hands underneath my thighs before he can take them again.

  “That I assume I need to have a romantic relationship with any female I have a connection with. I can be friends with women. He reminds me of this all the time.”

  “Well, I’m not your therapist, but I would assume he would tug at his snowy white beard and say something along the lines of,” I pause and change my voice to a baritone, “George, you have deep seated issues with women dating back to childhood.”

  George cracks a smile. “You’re right on the money with that assessment. He does have a snowy white beard. Sometimes he has food stuck in it from his lunch.” George shivers and I laugh.

  “And then he’d probably refill his pipe and ask you to lie back on the couch and try to remember your potty training.”

  George bursts out laughing. “He’s not Freud.”

  “Does he have a pipe, though?”

  George nods as he continues to laugh. “I think he might. He smells like pipe smoke sometimes.” He then mimics his possible pipe smoking therapist. “I think you ought to lie back on the couch, young lady, and we’ll talk about your feeding experiences as a child. Were you breastfed until kindergarten?”

  I start laughing, imagining this bearded therapist analyzing both of us. “I’m pretty sure if you knew my mother, you would personally be traumatized by that question.”

  George is wiping tears of laughter away from his face when Leah appears in front of us, the light from the restaurant illuminating her worried face.

  “Can I talk to you for a minute?” Leah asks me.

  “I’ll just leave you two alone,” George says, scraping his chair back and standing up.

  He waves and heads back down the deck to the entrance, leaving me and Leah alone.

  And that’s when Leah bursts into tears.

  LEAH

  “Why are you crying?” Vi asks, arms wrapped around her body. She’s shivering. It’s stupidly cold and damp outside. I don’t know why she’s even sitting out here.

  “Can we go inside?” I ask, waving my hand toward the restaurant door, five feet from where she’s sitting.

  “No. I like it out here,” she replies defensively.

  Okay, so this is how she’s playing it. She’s mad at me so she’s going to make me freeze to death. I guess I deserve it.

  I sit down in the chair George has vacated. Vi is staring down at her hands that she now has clasped in her lap. I poke at the water droplets that have collected on the table. I glance above my head to discover there is a small gap in the awning and I am sitting directly underneath it.

  Just my luck.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Vi accuses.

  “Um, what question?” I don’t remember her asking me anything.

  “Why are you crying?”

  “Oh, that.”

  Why am I crying? Is it because the guy I’ve known for a grand total of five days has dumped me? Not that we were actually going out or anything juvenile like that. And why should I care? I’ve broken up with plenty
of guys. And I was with plenty more for even longer than a week. Well, maybe not plenty, but enough. And I never even slept with the guy! We only kissed the one time! Aside from the night he helped me with Vi, we’ve never been together for more than an hour or two!

  “Is Nick mad that you lied?” Vi cuts into my thoughts.

  “I guess,” I stammer. I’m not exactly sure why Nick is mad. I think it has a little bit to do with the fact that I’m not divorced, but I can’t see why that would upset him. It’s not like I’m married, like Vi. And it’s not as if we actually had a sexual relationship or anything—we were little more than friends. As much as I think we both wanted that to change as soon as the boat docked…

  When Vi stormed away from the table before, she left four people staring at me for an explanation. And they were mad as hatters to be quite frank. Well, George wasn’t—he ran off after Vi with her sweater in his hand. But Francine and Nick were staring daggers through my body. Kendall was digging through her bag to retrieve a lip gloss.

  “What did you mean, you’re not divorced?” Nick asked, rolling up his shirt sleeves. He was dressed in his bartender uniform because he was due to report to work at nine o’clock.

  “Um, I’m not divorced.” Isn’t it obvious what that means?

  “Why are you on this cruise then?” Francine leaned forward and glared at me. Kendall was smearing the lip gloss all over her lips, riveted by the conversation.

  “It was a giant misunderstanding,” I sighed.

  Francine scowled. “I’m not sure how one can misunderstand the word divorced. Either you are or you aren’t.”

  “It’s not that simple,” Kendall interjected. Finally! A voice of reason. “Sometimes you’re almost divorced or your marriage is completely on the rocks and you’re separated. Or you’re in a loveless marriage to begin with so it’s like you’re divorced. I’m sure there are a ton of people on this ship like that.” Kendall waved her hand around. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when she pointed her lip gloss tube at me. “Leah, however, is not one of those people. Considering she’s never been married to begin with.”