All the Lies

by Charlotte Byrd

  “What's there to talk about?” he asks after a pause.

  “We have to cancel it.”

  “No,” Alex says. “Absolutely not.”

  “What are you talking about? We're not getting married. The engagement is off.”

  “My parents flew all the way from New York to be here and your mom is spending thousands of dollars to host this incredible event for us. We can't just call it off and ruin everyone's night. The least we can do is show up and be there.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I ask, pulling the phone away from my ear and actually staring at the screen as if he has lost his mind.

  “I'm not going to go to our engagement party with you after what I just walked into.”

  “Listen, I'm really sorry about that and I want to make it up to you, but we can’t be so self-centered. We have guests flying in from all over the place to see us and to meet the family.”

  “There is no family,” I correct him. “We are not joining our families. This whole evening will be a lie. I can’t believe that I have to explain this to you.”

  “I know what you're saying,” Alex says, carefully choosing his words. “But my family is flying in. My parents, my aunt, and my uncle. I can't just tell them that the party is off. Besides, think about your sister and your mom. They put a lot of work into planning this thing and we can’t just cancel it.”

  “I’m not talking about this anymore,” I say, shaking my head. “I can't believe that I'm actually having this conversation. I have to go back to work.”

  I don't want to be here. I want to go home to my apartment and cry onto my pillows. I don't want to see my coworkers, my boss, or anyone else for that matter.

  But if I leave now, Corrin will undoubtably notice and use it against me in the future.

  “You're late,” she says.

  “I’m sorry,” I mumble under my breath.

  Corrin’s office is one of the first ones near the elevator and it's impossible to not walk past it.

  There's nothing really to say and I already feel like I'm on the verge of breaking down, so I just keep going. My cubicle is on the other side of the hallway and as soon as I see it, I duck inside and bury my head in my folded arms on my desk.

  The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur. I wait out the hours by trying to distract myself with Buzzfeed, LA Times, and social media, but nothing seems to take my mind off Alex.

  I look through his Instagram, focusing on the selfies that he took with Jen at all of those after work meetings I never knew they had.

  Here's them at a bar in Denver.

  Here's them at a coffee shop early in the morning before a big presentation for new clients in Jackson Hole.

  Was Alex just with me because he couldn't have Jen all to himself?

  Was he only with me because she refused to leave her husband and break up her family?

  With one hour left, I go to the bathroom and call my mom. I should've called earlier, but I was too afraid that I would start crying in the middle of a phone call.

  I take a deep breath and tell myself to be strong. Focused. Determined.

  5

  Emma

  When Mom answers the phone, I can feel the smile on her face and practically taste the excitement. All the preparations are almost done and her favorite part, the part where she gets dressed and glammed up, is about to begin.

  “Mom, I have some bad news,” I start. “We need to cancel the party.”

  “Absolutely not,” she says without missing a beat.

  “You don't even know what happened.”

  “I would like to know, but I also want you to know that I'm not canceling this party.”

  This takes me by surprise.

  I thought she would argue with me, but I didn't realize that she would be this categorical about it.

  I take a deep breath. I didn't want to come out and tell her the cold, ugly truth, but now I feel like I don't have a choice.

  “I caught Alex with another woman,” I say slowly, pausing after each word. “Today. I walked in on them.”

  My phone buzzes and when I look at the screen, I see that she's trying to call me over FaceTime. I don't want to see her, but I accept the call anyway.

  “Does he want to be with her?” Mom asks, looking straight into my eyes.

  She's sitting in a chair in her large all white bathroom and there is a woman working on styling her hair.

  “He says that he's sorry. He still wants to marry me, but of course I can't.”

  “Emma—” Mom begins.

  I interrupt her and say, “He has been seeing her since before he met me. He's been cheating on me the whole time we have been together.”

  I wasn't going to tell her this. Not any of it.

  It's embarrassing.

  Plus, Mom and I don't have that close of a relationship.

  But what Alex did hurt me so much to my core that she has to understand that there's no way I'm going to go through with tonight.

  “Emma, I'm really sorry, but I have to tell you something.”

  I shake my head no. I don’t want to hear any of it.

  “Listen to me,” Mom says, bringing her phone close to her face.

  She waves the hairdresser off and then says, “Men get funny about marriage. Alex has never been married before. He probably feels like his whole life is coming to an end. That's how your father felt. He cheated on me, too, before we got married. I was upset, betrayed, angry. I was everything that you are feeling right now. And you know what? I married him and I forgave him. He never cheated on me again.”

  I take a deep breath and exhale slowly.

  I never knew that my father did that to my mother and I never knew that she forgave him for it.

  Maybe he cheated on her afterward and she just doesn't know about it.

  Maybe he didn’t.

  Either way, it's not good enough. She should know that there are people out there that won’t treat her like this.

  “Are you seriously telling me that I should forgive him?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course.”

  I hate this. I hate realizing that I am profoundly disappointed in the people that I thought my parents were.

  “Is it because you planned this big party and you don't want to cancel it or is it because you think that it's okay for a man to treat me like this?” I challenge her.

  “No, to both of those questions. It's wrong, what he did, and of course I'm not trying to get you to make up with him just because of tonight's party. But what I want you to know is that relationships are complicated. People aren't perfect. Alex is a wonderful guy who made a mistake.”

  “Why are you on his side?” I ask. “What's so special about him? Why don't you want something better for me than a man who treats me like dirt?”

  “That's not what I'm saying. You’re putting words in my mouth, Emma, and you know it.”

  “I'm not going to marry Alex and we’re not having this party.”

  “This party is costing your father and me $30,000,” she says, taking a deep breath and lowering her voice to a barely audible whisper. “Lindsey and I have spent a lot of time planning every last detail and the guests are flying in from all over the US. If you don't want to marry Alex, that's your decision. But you will be there tonight and you will be polite and friendly. We are having this goddamn party.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “So you want me to show up and just pretend that everything is fine?”

  “No, not necessarily,” Mom says with a smile at the corner of her lips. “If you don't want to pretend that everything is fine, then you are more than welcome to tell everyone how you've been humiliated by your fiancé and even go into all of the details about exactly what he did to you. I don't care what you do. But I am having this event for all of those people who have RSVP’d. I'm not canceling it. You will be there and you will be on your best behavior.”

  It has been a long time since my mom has talked to me like this. The last time w
as probably during my college graduation party. It was another party that I had no interest in having or attending, but one that she deemed absolutely necessary.

  For some reason, I thought that I was grown up enough so that she didn’t scare me anymore. But looking at her face on the screen, I realize that maybe certain things never go away. Her words hurt me almost as deeply as Alex’s actions and yet, I still find myself wanting her support.

  When the workday is finally over, I gather my things and walk over to the elevators. I try to sneak past Corrin’s office, but she catches me and calls me inside.

  “I expect to have an update on D. B. Carter on my desk on Monday.”

  “This Monday?” I ask.

  “Yes, of course, this Monday. I've been assigned the story and I want regular progress reports.”

  I stare at her, unsure as to what to say.

  “I don't know what I can have for you by Monday,” I finally stutter. “He's a total recluse. I don't even know if he's a he. There's very little information about him on the Internet.”

  “People were able to report the news without the Internet back in the day. You are aware of that fact, right?”

  I hate the attitude and the tone of her voice when she talks to me. It's like she wants to make me feel worse than I already do.

  “What makes you think that I'll be able to find him or even if I do, that he'll talk to me?” I ask. “He never talks to anybody.”

  “You know what, Emma,” Corrin says, tapping her finger on her desk while looking away from me. “You are much more capable than you give yourself credit for. You care about this job very much, so I expect you to do it.”

  I don’t know how she does it, but for some reason Corrin is capable of saying the most complimentary things in the most ruthless and off-putting way. Her words are drenched in sarcasm and I know that she doesn’t mean a single thing that she has just said to me.

  “Okay,” I say, “I'll get you something by Monday.”

  “Great, thanks,” she says with a fake smile. “Oh, by the way,” she adds as I start to walk away from her, “congratulations on your engagement.”

  6

  Emma

  When I get home, I strip off my blouse, pencil skirt, and bra and get into the shower. It feels warm and comforting, but as soon as I turn it off, I know that my day is not over. In fact, it's only just beginning.

  I live in a studio apartment in downtown LA in one of those forgotten four-plexus that no one has remodeled in years.

  There's no air-conditioning.

  The woman who lives below me lives on social security and has five cats.

  She likes to play the trumpet around nine o’clock each night, which normally would annoy me, but her cats always let me pet them so I don’t complain.

  It's no secret that my parents have a lot of money, but their money is not my money.

  Unlike my sisters, I want to live on what I earn, but because I’m a magazine writer in 21st century America, I don't make much.

  I stare out the window, looking past the bars at the bleak alleyway outside. There are No Parking signs everywhere and not a single tree in sight.

  My block doesn't have many trees at all and that's not uncommon for low-income locations like this one.

  In comparison to this place, Alex’s brand new two-bedroom condo overlooks a park square, with mature landscaping, a few benches, and even four or five lush flowerbeds.

  After our wedding, we planned to buy something together. He kept pestering me to move in with him every time I stayed over, which was almost every day.

  Still, I kept this place. I don't know why. There are bars on the windows, the closet is the size of a postage stamp, and just not enough wall space for all of my books.

  I pay about $1,200 a month for this crappy place and Alex pays $3,000.

  He makes so much that he didn’t want me to contribute to the rent. But still something was keeping me here.

  It didn't make any financial sense, but then again when has anything that I have ever done made any financial sense?

  My parents wanted to pay for my school, but I chose to take out loans and make my own way in the world.

  I know that my decision to do so had a lot to do with hubris and pride, but it was my choice and I wanted to see that I could do it.

  I did the same thing when it came to the car. To celebrate my graduation from college, my father presented me with a brand new white BMW with all the bells and whistles, but I refused to accept it.

  I had saved up for a 2012 Toyota Prius and the fact that it drove my parents crazy that I would be seen driving that car in their neighborhood in front of all their friends and acquaintances, was just a little cherry on top of the whole situation.

  I open my closet door and stare at the two dresses that I have.

  I bought both of them on sale at Nordstrom Rack. I don't normally shop there, but I knew given that my mom and sister were hosting this party for me that they would expect me to wear something decent.

  The blue dress with the Michael Kors tag pinches at my waist. I examine my reflection in the stand-up mirror, a splurge that I had allowed myself when I saw it at West Elm and couldn’t take my eyes off of it.

  I rarely feel that way about things or clothing, so I figured that I could allow myself this one indulgence.

  The girl looking back at me looks tired and exhausted. The makeup that I had applied earlier has washed off. My hair, shoulder-length and light brown, is half-dry and half-frizzy.

  While my sisters are probably getting their hair professionally blow dried and their makeup professionally applied, I do it all myself.

  I've never liked getting glammed up, especially not in a room full of relatives. I have always felt like an outsider and the girl staring back at me now confirms that fact.

  I take off the blue dress and reach for the dark blue one with little pink flowers that I got at a thrift store on Fairfax Avenue.

  I know that they are expecting me in something more lavish and appropriate for the evening, but the fact that I have to go there in the first place is making my blood boil.

  They have worked hard on this party, but I also know that I shouldn’t be expected to go to my own engagement party a few hours after I caught my fiancé cheating on me.

  After I change into the thrift store dress, I look at myself in the mirror.

  Yes, this is much better. The dress is casual, but not so casual that it looks like a day dress.

  In a picture, it could possibly pass for something costing over $200, but up close, you can tell that the material is subpar.

  I don't care.

  It feels nice to the touch and it looks good on me.

  Let's just say that I don't have that type of body shape that’s becoming to all dresses.

  That's one of the reasons that I tend to stay away from them in the first place.

  I feel most comfortable in something casual; leggings, a big T-shirt, and sneakers.

  Heels? I fucking hate heels.

  I slip my feet into the most comfortable pair of low-rise loafers that I have and grab the heels that I'm going to wear at the party with me.

  I scan the room looking for anything that I might have forgotten. Catching my reflection in the mirror again, I know that my mom will be disappointed.

  I let my hair air dry without a stitch of product. I'm wearing a little bit of foundation and mascara.

  My lips are lined with one of my favorite plumb colors of gloss and my eyebrows are accentuated with just a little bit of wax.

  The look basically says I’m trying but not very hard.

  I don't care.

  I'm going there in protest.

  It's the last place that I want to be, but I'm afraid that if I don't show up the consequences will be dire.

  The cerebral, objective part of me realizes that given that I'm a grown woman who doesn't rely on her parents for money, there are not many consequences that they even have the ability to give me, but stil
l.

  After all these years, I feel a sense of obligation to keep up appearances and to not fuck my mom and sisters over by standing up a party in my own honor.

  The last thing I grab before walking out the door is my Kindle. The walls of my apartment are lined with bookshelves which overflow with books.

  I have loved to read since I was a little girl. Nothing makes me feel better about escaping into another world and into other people’s problems like a good book.

  When it comes to reading, I like both paper books and ebooks. I always carry my Kindle in my purse. It's small and doesn't take up much room and never weighs me down and it can hold thousands of books.

  There's something different about it than just reading on my phone. This is a device just for reading. There are no interruptions and no notifications. I'm not tempted to go on social media or do anything else.

  I know that it's probably a long shot that I'll be able to sneak away sometime during the party, but I take it with me just in case.

  7

  Emma

  After fighting traffic for close to two hours, I finally get to the hills above the 101. It's springtime and the land is green and lush after a winter soaked in rain.

  As I go around the narrow switchbacks, a sweeping view of the ocean pops up, taking my breath away.

  I grew up here and I pretend to like the grind and the concrete that dominates downtown LA, but I really don't.

  When I pull up to the gate of my parents’ sprawling estate and enter the code, my chest tightens up.

  Regardless of the views or the avocado orchard that welcomes me up the curvy driveway, claustrophobia settles in.

  My parents’ estate is a 7,000 square-foot house in a gated community with three other homes. It sits on about 5 acres, most of which are made up of avocado, orange, and lemon groves.

  I grew up in Calabasas and the city has never been that famous or popular before the Kardashians.

  I also did not grow up in this house.