The Lying Season

by K. A. Linde

  “Yeah, that wasn’t my best move. But…it was platonic.”

  “For you,” I countered. “The first night I met Melissa, she told me she was going to win you back. I told her, if she tried, I’d ruin her life.”

  Sam cringed. “Jesus.”

  “Yeah, and I was…well, me back then. I’d ruined many many lives before hers. I meant what I said. Doing little shitty things to each other. Then my picture appeared in the tabloids: Upper East Side princess in the dirt. She told me she did it, Sam,” I reminded him. “But you didn’t believe precious, sweet Melissa could do that. So, I retaliated. I wanted you to see what she was capable of. But of course, as it went down, you only saw what I was capable of.”

  He nodded. “Hindsight is twenty-twenty.”

  “Yeah, it sure is. So, you can see how, to me, it looked like you had broken up with me for Melissa.”

  “Yeah, I can see that. Even if that wasn’t my intention. We didn’t get back together until after Christmas.”

  “I didn’t know that,” I whispered. “I thought you were back together before the campaign was even over.”

  He shook his head. “No, I was a fucking wreck after you.”

  “Me too,” I whispered.

  He laughed once, short and painful. “Want to hear how Karma repaid me for not believing you?”

  I arched an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “Melissa slept with Jake.”

  “What?” I gasped. “She slept with your brother?”

  “Yeah. I don’t know how long it happened, but it wasn’t just one time. Jake and I have never been the same since.”

  “Fuck. What a bitch.”

  “She really is.” He breathed out heavily. “You know, I’ve been so angry for so long about what happened with us, what happened with Melissa. I was dating Claire because she was the safe choice, the easy choice. But now that I’m looking at you, now that I have you back, I think I’ve just been mourning the loss of you. No one could ever replace you.”

  I swallowed back tears. “I’m so sorry about the past. How we acted and treated each other. It was so shitty. I wish I could take back my part in it.”

  He pulled me into his arms. “I know. But we’re here now. And I think it’s well past time to let the past be in the past.”

  As I breathed in his scent with my feet in the sand and the moon shining bright on the both of us, I felt like I might finally be able to come to terms with my past. I was tired of carrying it around with me like Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain for all of eternity. I was ready to let the boulder go. And just be here with Sam, looking forward. Only forward from now on.

  29

  Sam

  It felt impossible to go back to work on Monday morning.

  Having the entire weekend alone with Lark had felt like a dream. After dealing with Thomas and our broken past, we were closer than ever before. I still couldn’t believe I’d blurted out that I loved her. I hadn’t planned to do that. It felt early. Or it had before the weekend we spent together. Now, it just felt right. Like there was no other alternative.

  I might be lovesick, but I couldn’t contain it. Lark brought out the best in me. It even made work seem better, more vibrant. Despite the fact that we were going into longer hours leading up to the primary. There was so much to do. Never enough time to get it all done. And I still felt like I was in a fucking musical where I was going to break out into song at any moment.

  It was ridiculous.

  I’d even called my brother to wish him a happy birthday.

  He’d been shocked as hell.

  I’d been shocked.

  But if I was putting the past to rest, then maybe I could put this to rest too. Forgiveness wasn’t for the other person. It was grace. And grace wasn’t given only to people who deserved it.

  I wanted to bury the hatchet. Find a way to truly move on. Jake had been amenable…as I’d known he would be. He’d been trying to talk to me for years. And I’d finally done it. All because of Lark.

  He’d even offered to come up to New York sometime to see me. I still wasn’t sure about that, but maybe, just maybe, it might work after the primary was over.

  A week passed in a blur of delirious happiness. There was only work and Lark, back to work and then more Lark. I’d thought I’d hate not having anything else in my life. But between the rush of the campaign and the rush of Larkin St. Vincent, I found I needed nothing else in my life.

  An email came through on my screen then.

  Hey, food after we get off?

  * * *

  —Lark

  I smiled. We were always pretty careful about what we said in email or messages through the campaign system. Probably, technically, I shouldn’t be dating her. If someone went looking, our messages likely weren’t as innocuous as I hoped they were. But the risk felt worth it.

  Definitely. Buns in 20?

  * * *

  —Sam

  She responded almost immediately.

  You’re on.

  * * *

  —L

  I finished up the memo that I’d been working on for Gibbs. We had to file some campaign finance paperwork this week before we got any closer to the primary. Needed everything to be up to snuff. I sent off what I had to Gibbs, grabbed my phone, and headed for the door.

  Lark wasn’t there yet. Just Aspen walked by me.

  “Have a good night, Sam,” she said with a shit-eating grin on her face.

  “Night, Aspen.”

  I wondered if she knew about us. She was closest to Lark. She’d know if anyone did. I’d have to ask her.

  As I waited for Lark to show up, I pulled out my phone to check my social media. I nearly choked when I saw the name on my screen—Claire.

  I hadn’t heard from her in weeks. She’d messaged me a bunch when she first left for Europe, and then it had all tapered off into silence. It was still three weeks before she was supposed to come home. We had to figure out the living situation. But I’d been putting off getting in contact with her. I didn’t want to know what Europe was like, if she was having a good time, and what things would be like when she got back. In fact, I didn’t want to talk to her. I just wanted to move out and get my own place and let her figure out what to do with the place in Brooklyn.

  With a swipe of my finger, I sent the series of unread messages into the trash. I’d deal with that later.

  “Hey, sorry about that. I got caught by Shawn,” Lark said, appearing in the hallway. She smiled up at me. “Ready to go?”

  “Definitely.” I slid the phone back into my pocket and held the door open for her.

  “God, Buns has the best burger in the city,” Lark said as we got out of the cab and headed up to her apartment.

  “You say that every time you go there. And then try to dispute it every time that we debate on going somewhere else.”

  “True,” she conceded. “But it’s just so greasy and delicious.”

  “It is. And their shakes are amazing.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me as we headed into the building. “I still feel personally victimized that you got a strawberry milkshake.”

  “It’s my favorite!”

  “I’m allergic!”

  I laughed, dragging her into the elevator. “Are you not going to kiss me then?”

  “Maybe not.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  She poked me in the stomach and then pressed her lips to mine. “You’re insufferable.”

  “I know.”

  She tried to pull away, but I just held her closer. Her laugh was infectious as she squirmed against me.

  “You’re lucky that I like you.”

  I kissed her again. “I am.”

  Her smile went all melty at the edges. “Let’s get you inside before you’re too sweet, and I start taking off your clothes in the elevator.”

  “I’m not opposed.”

  She shook her head at me and then dragged me out of the elevator. She was w
orking the key into the door when my phone started buzzing. I took it out of my pocket, wondering who was calling me at this hour. I blinked in surprise. It was Claire. Again. After the text messages.

  She was probably in Paris or something right now. So she had a five- or six-hour time difference. Maybe she didn’t realize what time it was here.

  Wait, or were my time zones backward? If it was midnight here, it’d be like six in the morning there. Why was she up so early?

  “Everything all right?” Lark asked.

  I hadn’t noticed she was holding the door open.

  I silenced the phone and let it go to voicemail. I didn’t want to know why she was calling me. She’d be back in a matter of weeks. I could deal with her then.

  But another text came through right then from Claire.

  Why aren’t you answering your phone? We need to talk.

  I deeply disagreed. We did not need to talk. She’d said everything she needed to say before she left.

  “Sorry.” I stepped inside after Lark. “Claire just called.”

  Lark’s eyebrows rose. “Really?”

  I could see her hackles were up. “Yeah. I don’t know why she’s calling.”

  “Do you need to…talk to her?”

  “No, I definitely don’t. I sent her to voicemail. If it’s important, she’ll leave a message or something, I guess.”

  “Oh,” she said, walking into the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of wine. She held it up, and I nodded. “Has she called or texted you before?”

  “Well, when she first left, she did. But it fell off. I haven’t heard from her since before you and I started talking.”

  She smiled slightly as she popped out the cork and poured us each a glass. “Well, what do you think she wants?”

  “I have no idea. I don’t really want her to call me at all.”

  “Yeah.” She passed me my glass and took a contemplative sip of hers.

  “I mean, we do have to figure out the apartment situation. She’s coming back in three weeks, and our lease ends soon after that.”

  “That makes sense,” Lark said. “What are you going to do about that?”

  “Well, ideally, I’ll find my own place.”

  She glanced at the ground and nervously toed her foot in a circle. Then her big green eyes met mine. “You could always stay here.”

  “I already do.”

  She smiled softly. “I mean…you could move in.”

  “Really?”

  “If you want. If you don’t think it’s too soon. You’re already here a lot, and English told me that Josh found them a place here for when he’s done filming. I think they’re going to sign on it this week even. So, she’ll be moving out. I mean, is it crazy?”

  “Maybe a little,” I said, clearing the distance between us. “But I want to.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah, I do. I want to move in with you.”

  Her only answer was to press her lips against my own and to pull me back into the bedroom. The bedroom that would be ours in a matter of weeks.

  30

  Lark

  Something pulled me out of a deep sleep. I squinted up at the ceiling, trying to figure out what the hell had woken me. Then I heard it—the sound of boots on hardwood and something heavy hitting the wall.

  “What is happening?” I asked, reaching across the king-size bed to turn on the bedside table lamp.

  Sam groaned and rolled over, closer to me. He glanced at his phone. “It’s not even seven.”

  I yawned dramatically and then heard the noise again. “God, I don’t know. Do you think someone is breaking into the apartment?”

  “Fuck,” he grumbled. Then he threw the covers off of himself. “I’ll go check it out. You stay here.”

  He pulled on a pair of joggers and headed out into the living room. But I had no intention of staying here. If someone was breaking into my house, I wanted to make sure Sam was okay and call the cops. I threw on a nightgown and then snatched up my phone as I hurried to catch up.

  “Hey!” Sam called. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment? You need to get out before I call the cops.”

  “Your apartment?” a crisp, clear voice asked.

  I cringed. Oh no.

  I knew that voice.

  I dashed into the living room. And there she was. Hope St. Vincent in an Alexander McQueen suit and a St. Vincent’s handbag. She was standing firm before Sam as if he were a bug under her shoe.

  “Mom?” I gasped.

  Sam whipped his head back to me. He shot me a look that said, This is your mother?

  When I nodded at him, he disappeared back into the bedroom in search of a shirt.

  “Larkin dear, I thought you’d be gone by now,” my mother said.

  “It’s seven in the morning.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps I misjudged the time. I’ve been up for an hour, and when the furniture company said that the pieces were finished and could be delivered first thing, I didn’t even balk.”

  “Furniture?” I asked in confusion. It was too early for my brain to be able to catch up to this. “What furniture?”

  And then I looked around, really noticing my apartment. My couch had been pushed back against the wall. That must have been the banging that woke me. And there in its place was a brand-new white sofa. A rolled-up rug had been set against one wall, and several picture frames were next to it, waiting to be hung.

  “Surely I told you about the redecorating I was going to be doing,” my mother said.

  “Redecorating?” I asked, coming to my senses. “You were going to redecorate my entire apartment without talking to me first?”

  “The place needs some sprucing up. And with how busy you are, I thought you’d be glad for the help.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “No. I don’t need the help, and it doesn’t need sprucing up. I like the place exactly how it is. I don’t know why you thought that I would want this. Why did you go behind my back to do it?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” she said, waving her hand. “I’m not going behind your back. After all, you’ve been wearing the clothes that I purchased.”

  “Clothes are one thing, Mother,” I snarled. “Sure, I might have needed a cocktail dress or two and not wanted to go shopping, so I went through what you’d purchased and wore it to an occasion. That’s annoying that you’d do it and just leave the clothes in my room without telling me. But this? This is crossing a line.”

  “I thought you’d like it.”

  Was she that delusional? Or did she just not want to admit that this was going too far?

  “I don’t. I don’t like it.” I glared back at her. “I am an adult, Mother. I don’t need you coming into my life and redecorating without asking me. Would it be so hard to just send me an email about it?”

  “You might like what I have planned,” she said, undeterred. “You’ve only seen the couch. It’s a whole concept.”

  “Mother! You’re not listening,” I spat. “This isn’t about the furniture. It’s about you interfering in my life. It’s about my privacy, which you seem to think I don’t need.”

  “Oh, I see. This is about your new little boyfriend.” She waved her hand at Sam, who had just walked back into the living room.

  “Don’t bring Sam into this,” I told her. “He has nothing to do with what you’ve done here.”

  “I’m just trying to ask about your life,” she said. “I didn’t even know you were dating anyone.”

  “Do you think there’s a reason for that?”

  My mother just stepped forward and held her hand out. Sam looked at me once before tentatively shaking it.

  “I’m Hope St. Vincent. It’s a pleasure.”

  “Uh…Sam Rutherford.”

  She pursed her lips. “Rutherford. Hmm…are you related to Broderick Rutherford in Connecticut?”

  I nearly face-palmed right then and there. She was outrageous. Seriously.

  Sam just laughed though. “No. I’m probably no
t related to anyone you know. I’m from North Carolina. Outside of Chapel Hill.”

  “Oh,” my mother said, taking a step back. “I see.”

  “Just stop it,” I said, coming between them. “Sam and I are together. I don’t need your opinion on the matter.”

  “I was just curious what his family does.”

  Sam grinned. “My dad works construction, and my mom works as a receptionist for the local church.”

  My mother gave him her best pained expression. “How…lovely.”

  “Oh, get off of your high horse,” I muttered.

  “You’re dating a man whose family does construction,” she said in a small voice. “I don’t know why you do this, Lark. I swear that you do it on purpose to hurt me. As if not working for the company isn’t enough, you have to do campaign work and slum it.”

  Something within me broke at those words from my mother. I’d already been worked up. Irritated that she had gone behind my back to refurnish my apartment for no fucking reason. Except that it was all likely a hidden agenda to get me back to the company. Because St. Vincent’s Enterprise was the only thing that mattered. Nothing else.

  And suddenly, I was furious. Beyond furious. I blew a gasket.

  “Give me your key,” I growled at her.

  “What?”

  “I said, give me the fucking key to my house. You are no longer welcome.”

  “Lark—”

  “Give me the key and get out. You can’t insult me, my job, and my boyfriend, all in the same sentence. We’re done.”

  My mother straightened and lifted her chin. As if she thought that would somehow get her out of this situation. “You’re my daughter. I’m looking out for you.”

  “Then consider me not your daughter.”

  She jolted backward a step. A hand went to her chest. I thought she was finally getting it. Seeing how upset I was by all this.