The Perfect Lie (The Perfect Stranger)

by Charlotte Byrd

  It takes me a few days to get used to being at home. I catch up on opening my mail and paying the bills.

  My savings are gone, but my paycheck still came in and I use that to pay the majority of the bills.

  I keep dreading calling Trisha and talking about my job so I don't. I have a few online meetings with my students so I keep those and pretend that I'm still away.

  “So, what are we doing today?” Mom says, coming in from the yard.

  Her face is flushed and her skin is turning a nice bronze color. It has been unusually warm and sunny this whole week and Mom has taken full advantage of it.

  In the past, she used to be a little bit of a tanning addict, going to tanning salons religiously every week. I was in eighth grade when I found out how bad they were for her, but she refused to listen to any of my reasons.

  “Oh my God. I'm finally starting to feel like my old self,” Mom says, looking at herself in the mirror.

  Her hair is piled on top of her head and she's wearing a spaghetti strap top which she has pulled down and tucked underneath. She has also pulled up the bottom to make the whole thing a tube top.

  Mom looks good.

  Not just for her age, she looks good in general. She's thin, energetic, and has hardly any wrinkles.

  She's kind of a medical marvel because she has smoked like a chimney ever since she was thirteen and yet that seems to have had no impact on her looks.

  “I don't know,” I say. “What do you want to do?”

  “Well, I was thinking that it would be nice if we went back and visited some of our old friends from Sharpsburg.”

  I start to shake my head, but she stops me.

  “Listen, I know they are worried, but I’ve put all of my drugging and gambling behind me.”

  “I don't think it's a good idea,” I say categorically.

  I don't argue with her.

  She won't be able to convince me.

  “You remember Libby? She was always so nice to you. She was never into any of that stuff that I was doing. I’d like to see her.”

  Perhaps another daughter would find it awkward for her mother to ask her permission to go somewhere, but I've been here numerous times before.

  When I was seventeen, she lost her driver's license due to driving under the influence and had to ask me to drive her everywhere. I agreed to drive her to the few safe places, or the places that I thought were safe, like the mall. Little did I know that she would wait until I drove out of the parking lot and then walk half a mile to the nearest bar and get drunk.

  Sometimes she met strange men and stayed over, telling me that she was sleeping over at her friend’s house.

  I was young so it took me a bit to figure all of her lies out.

  This is the kind of stuff that I think about when anyone asks me if I want to have children. The thing is that I already raised myself as a teenager and I've been to hell and back with her. I'm not really sure if I'm ready for another one.

  “How is Libby?” I ask.

  “She has two kids now. Toddlers. Can you believe that?”

  She is my mom's age and they went to high school together. She had always wanted kids and spent most of her adult life babysitting for her friends while they went out and ignored theirs.

  I’d always enjoyed spending time with her and thought of her as my friend. Then when I was around twelve, she and Mom had a big falling out.

  I don't know exactly what happened, but I never saw her again.

  “I thought that you two weren't friends.”

  “Oh.” Mom throws up her hands and waves them in my face. “Come on. That was ancient history.”

  “How did you get in touch?”

  “How else?” she asks. “Facebook. I commented on one of the pictures of her kids and we started talking. They're really cute. Kind of surprising actually.”

  I want to say something, but I bite my tongue. I don't know if it's a generational thing or just a cruel thing, but Mom always makes it a point to point out when someone isn't particularly attractive.

  She is confident and pretty, but not all of us are.

  The way that she says this stuff makes me feel that if that's what she thinks about someone like Libby, what does she think about me?

  Mom shows me a picture of Libby and I see that she hasn't changed much. She still favors that short blunt bob, only this time there are specks of gray in it. She has wide hips and an ample bosom. Dressed in high waisted, knee length shorts and a T-shirt that is not doing her any favors, she looks exactly like I remember her; absolutely beautiful.

  Even through the picture on my phone screen, there's a warmth to her that I’ve rarely encountered with anyone else in my life. I don't know why I didn’t stay in touch with her. I'm sure she would have been happy to stay connected. I was a stupid teenager and I took my mom’s side without knowing any of the facts.

  It would be a lie to say that I didn't want to see Libby again.

  I do.

  I haven't thought about her in years and seeing her picture brings a tear to my eye. For so long, I was used to being alone in the world.

  My mother was not reliable when I was a kid and she became even less reliable when I became of age. My other family members dispersed and are not exactly present.

  “How do you think she's doing?” I ask.

  Mom smiles at me and says, “I knew that you missed her!”

  I'm feeling vulnerable.

  Tired, no, exhausted from the trip and the emotional roller coaster that I have just experienced, I want to have something stable in my life.

  Libby isn't going to be that, I know, but still, even the prospect of seeing her again puts me a little bit at ease.

  “She's doing the only thing that she ever wanted to do– be a mother,” Mom says. “I really admire that about her. She never wanted a big life full of grand adventures. All she wanted was to have kids and to take care of them. All that she wanted was a family.”

  I swallow hard. I look at my mother and see her in another light. The perspective of a child is limited, it's like peering into a tunnel.

  You see the white light at the end, but it takes a long time for you to get to the other side and come face-to-face with the whole world out there.

  I always looked at my mother this way.

  I judged her for the things she did and didn't do for me, but I never saw her as an independent adult with her own dreams and desires.

  “Is that not what you wanted to do?”

  “I've always wanted you, if that's what you're asking,” Mom says. “I know that sometimes I neglected you and I could have been a better mom.”

  It sounds like an apology, but she stops short of saying that. I nod and appreciate what she did say because I've never heard those words come out of her mouth before.

  “You don't have your own kids, but once you do, you'll realize how much of your life they consume. The world tells women that they're not complete if they're not mothers, but that's not true. That's why the world is as fucked up. Women are forced to become mothers when they are not ready or when they don't want children. The thing is that there's nothing worse for the world than an unwanted child.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask.

  “An unwanted child goes into the world with a chip on their shoulder. They are angry and disappointed with their childhood and that's how they start their adulthood. It took me a really long time to understand this. As you know, your grandmother was not much of a mother and that's why I struggled as I did. I turned to men. I turned to drugs. I turned to alcohol. I turned to gambling. I turned to all of these things because I was seeking a way out. This is one of the reasons why I had you so young. I thought that I was in love and I thought that we would be together forever. We were for many years and you know how that turned out.”

  I feel the gulp form in the back of my throat. I've never heard my mom talk like this and I don't know how to respond.

  “Your dad made mistakes, but don't be angry with
him. We were both still just children trying to make our way in the world. We didn't have parents to love us unconditionally and always be there for us. We didn't have anyone to say good job and to support us and to be proud of us. The thing is that it's that kind of stuff that's the most important for kids. They don't care about money or things. They just want you to be there. They just want you to say that you love them and that you are proud of them.”

  While my mom speaks, I start to see her in a whole new light. She's never spoken to me this way.

  She has never reflected on her life and she has never been so self-aware of her own mistakes and limitations.

  Deep down inside, I knew some of these things, but not all. Of course, I had no idea that she was capable of so much self-reflection.

  I want to tell her that she was a great mom anyway, but that would be a lie. So instead I wrap my arms around her and tell her that I love her.

  When we pull away, both of our eyes are full of mist.

  Neither of us says anything for a while and we just sit here in the moment. It's hard to explain how close I feel to my mom right now.

  It's almost like she actually understands everything that I have gone through as a result of growing up with her.

  I don't know if that means that she has changed, but for now, this is enough. More than enough.

  “Libby must be a great mom,” I say. “Her kids look really cute.”

  “Yes, I know that she is. She was always so good with you.”

  “Yeah, I remember.”

  “You do?”

  I nod.

  “Good,” Mom says. “I'm glad that you have those memories.”

  Mom doesn't bring up going to see Libby again, but I think about it. Libby was never a bad influence even though she lived in that area.

  She was more like the reliable one in the group that everyone used to take care of their kids. Still, the idea of driving over to Sharpsburg makes my chest tighten.

  “I'm still not sure about going over there,” I say. “It's nothing against Libby, but I just don't think it's a good idea.”

  27

  Isabelle

  Later this afternoon, I check the mail and spot an envelope with the word urgent on the front. It's bright red and looks like a stamp. It’s from one of four student loan servicing companies.

  I went to one university, but I have four companies that I have to write checks to. My student loans had been sold off by the university a long time ago and then resold and resold.

  On a few occasions, I had no idea who was even responsible for two of my loans and I had to go online to search for the companies that had bought those loans.

  Private companies that buy student loans make money on them, first for buying them for pennies on the dollar and second for collecting all of the interest.

  I have no idea how long it will be before I am fully paid off, but I'll probably be in my forties or maybe fifties. I have over a hundred thousand dollars in payments, but I would not have this career if I hadn’t gotten this degree.

  I open the envelope with a heavy heart. I can barely force my fingers underneath the envelope flap to rip it open. I need to know what it says, but I don't want to face the reality of the situation. When I pull out the letter, I see that I am two payments behind.

  This is their final notice.

  I have been seeing their emails, but I haven't logged in to check the balance. Here, I see it in black and white.

  “Wow, you're that much behind,” Mom says, leaning over. I pull the paper to my chest to try to hide it from her, but it's too late.

  “Don't be like that,” Mom says.

  I exhale slowly and put the paper back on the table.

  “I don't have any money to pay for this,” I say.

  “You'll figure it out.”

  My eyes flash red.

  “What makes you so sure?” I ask through my teeth.

  “You always do. You’re a good girl.”

  I know that she's trying to be encouraging, but it sounds patronizing. It sounds like she doesn't realize that I have a real problem.

  “You know, you always say that. You always think that no matter what happens, Isabelle will just figure it out. That's a lot of pressure on me. I don't have it altogether. I took out most of my savings and the kidnappers took most of it. Plus, you still owe another ten grand. I can't pay my student loans, I can't pay your debt, and in a few months, I probably won't be able to afford this mortgage.”

  “Listen, I know that you have already done so much for me and I appreciate all of it. I'm going to try to figure something out.”

  “Thanks,” I say without too much enthusiasm.

  She doesn't have anywhere to live, let alone a way to make any of these payments.

  The only option that I have is to dial the 800 number, stay on the line for an hour until a customer service representative comes on, and plead with them to give me some sort of break.

  “See, that's something,” Mom says. “I knew you’d think of a way.”

  I shake my head and walk away in anger.

  She doesn't get it.

  Half an hour ago, I thought that she understood, but now it's like we are talking two different languages.

  It takes me about two hours on the phone to get everything sorted out and get my payment deferred by a month. I let out a brief sigh of relief, but I know that this is not enough. It's hardly anything.

  The interest is still accruing, but at least they won't be sending my account to collections and ruining my credit. So, I guess it's something.

  “You know,” Mom says that evening while I cook some pasta on the stove. “I've wracked up credit card debt with my gambling and shopping addiction and I've known many others who’ve done the same. We've all managed to declare bankruptcy to try to start with a clean slate. Have you ever thought about that?”

  I look at her and then realize that she actually doesn't know. She's not just being facetious.

  “I can't do that,” I say.

  “Yes, I know that it will be really hard. You have to build up your credit again and you won't be able to get credit cards for a while, but it may be a solution, especially since you have a job.”

  “No, you don't understand,” I say, shaking my head. “People with student loan debt don't have the right to declare bankruptcy.”

  “What are you talking about?” Mom asks.

  I shrug.

  It's the whole problem.

  Everyone else has the right to declare bankruptcy: all of the shopaholics, gambling addicts, and businesses that can't manage a profit.

  People who try to get ahead and get an education, they’re stuck with it. You sign those papers when you're eighteen and you'll never be able to get out of paying a cent for the rest of your life.

  We eat dinner while watching television and don’t talk much. It wasn’t a particularly busy day, but I still feel completely drained and exhausted.

  I know that one of these days, I have to figure out what I'm going to do next with my life or how I'm going to get back to at least what I had before, but that's not going to be today.

  Right now, I'm just trying to survive minute by minute and not drown underneath all of the worries and the disappointments of what could have been.

  When I pour myself a second glass of wine and get a few trivia questions right on the British trivia show Mom likes to watch, I start to feel a little bit better. The comedians make jokes and I even crack a smile.

  The seventh question in the round is about the Tudors and neither of us are exactly an expert on English history. I grab my phone to look it up and that's when I see the message. It's from an unlisted number and it makes my hands turn to ice.

  You have ’til Tuesday to get me the 10 grand.

  28

  Isabele

  “So, did you find the answer?” Mom asks. “My knowledge is completely limited to what I saw on that show The Tudors on HBO. Have you ever watched that? It was one of my favorite shows
back in the day.”

  I hear her saying these words, but nothing really processes. I stare at the text message hoping that I can make it go away.

  Unfortunately, I can't.

  There are five days until Tuesday, as if that means anything. I have no way to come up with $10,000 and I have no idea what's going to happen if we don't.

  No, that's not completely true. I have some idea. They might take her again.

  They might hurt her.

  Maybe they'll just kill her. They have played enough games with us and they may be tired of it.

  “Isabelle?”

  I look up from my phone and give her a blank stare.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Uh-huh,” I mumble.

  “What's the answer?”

  “I couldn't find it,” I lie.

  Mom gets herself a second serving of pasta, sits down in the chair next to me, and turns on the YouTube video of Qi.

  The host gives the right answer and the committee ends up all making jokes. The only one who gets it right is the one who went to a posh territory school where everyone had to wear uniforms.

  “Okay, I don't feel so bad now,” Mom says.

  I swallow and stare at the grain in the table.

  “What's wrong with you?” Mom asks.

  I want to lie again and just pretend that this isn't happening, but it's all that I can think about.

  The best thing to do is to tell her the truth. Maybe then… Who knows… Maybe she will even have a suggestion.

  “I got this,” I say, pointing my phone in her direction. “Just now.”

  Mom reads the text and nods her head.

  “We knew this was coming.”

  I shrug, I guess she's right. Still, I don't know what to do.

  “How much money do you have?” Mom asks.

  “I can probably get my credit limit extended or open a new card with a new credit line worth maybe $2,000 or $3,000. That's it. I'm tapped out.”