The Lying Game

by Miller, Mickey

  Lacy, sitting on her knees, runs her hand on my shoulder, her worried gaze staying on me as I speak.

  “I just got the ancestry test back. It says we’re fucking siblings.”

  Silence on the other end of the phone. He takes a few deep breaths. “Be right over,” he finally croaks.

  I turn to Lacy. “I’m going to fix a whiskey. You want one?”

  * * *

  Less than a half-hour later, Chandler knocks. When he appears at the door, he’s visibly shaken.

  I am, too.

  When we look each other, it’s an odd feeling. Sort of like we’re sizing each other up for the first time. Both wondering the same thing.

  Is it possible that we’re blood?

  We shake hands and he breezes through to the living area, greeting Lacy as well.

  Lacy hands him her iPad and he sits down.

  “I logged into mine, too. It says the same thing now,” he says. “Half-brother: Carter Flynn.”

  I rake a hand through my hair. “This is too crazy to be true, right?”

  He shakes his head. “Get me some of that whiskey. And I don’t fucking know, man.”

  I pour him a rocks glass full of the stuff. “I guess anything’s possible,” I say. “I called and emailed the service team at Long Lost Ancestry to verify.”

  “What are you verifying? That there’s not someone at the company who is just totally fucking with us?”

  I head over to the couch, and Lacy moves so I can sit between her and Chandler. I put my hand over her leg. “I guess you’re right.”

  Lacy chimes in, squinting at her iPad. “I just checked your email, Carter, I hope you don’t mind. Looks like their troubleshooting team got back to you. They say their process is 99.99999 percent accurate. And congrats on the new half-brother.”

  Chandler turns to me and shrugs. “Well. I guess that’s settled, right? Cheers, brother.”

  We clink glasses and I have a long pull of the stuff, savoring the tingle in my throat as I swallow. My mind races with a thousand thoughts.

  “You said before you met your father—our biological dad. Right?”

  Chandler nods. “Yes sir. Amy and I drove down to good old Murphysboro, Illinois. Middle of fucking nowhere. Guy was a loser, apartment was filled with beer cans. Scared the shit out of me, if I’m being honest. I vowed I’d never end up like him.”

  “Damn. I was always under the impression that my father--our father--was someone important.”

  He puts a hand on my shoulder. “He wasn’t. I know this is going to sound crazy, but I bought a ring for Amy the next day. Because I just got this clear vision all of a sudden what I wanted my life to be like. And that sure as shit wasn’t it.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Holy shit man, this is a lot to take in, though. I feel like the cosmos are really fucking with us today.”

  I unfocus my eyes, looking out through the balcony window on the city of Chicago. My chest still tingles with disbelief of this whole scenario. Lacy’s voice rings in my ear.

  Ninety-nine point nine nine nine nine percent accuracy.

  I turn my head and look at Lacy.

  Part of me is shocked she is being so low-key about the whole thing. I wonder if inside, she’s thinking about running for the hills.

  I think about what Chandler said. How—as depressing the confrontation was—he finally felt sure of himself and his path after he went down to Murphysboro.

  I swallow. “I need some time to wrap my head around this whole thing. I’m going for a walk. You guys mind waiting here? You can call Amy over, too.”

  “She’s already on her way,” Chandler says. “She’s coming as soon as she gets off work.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Lacy asks, raising an eyebrow.

  “I’m sure,” I say as I leave.

  The hot summer air crashes into me as soon as I burst through the revolving door. The people, the cars, the noises in the city are a blur. I head down my block, walking quickly and pumping my arms more than usual. I turn to cross State Street and head to the lake, and I’m so out of it. I almost walk right into incoming traffic, but a woman saves me, grabbing my wrist.

  “Jesus Christ, Carter,” she says, pulling me back onto the curb as a honking car whizzes by.

  I glance at her through the haze of my whiskey buzz. She must notice how glazed over my eyes are, because she asks me if I’m okay.

  “Fine,” I croak, my eyes totally unfocused. But that smell. “Lacy?”

  “Carter, you’re not okay. Let’s go back to the apartment.”

  “Leave me alone,” I growl, brushing her hand off as the light turns green. I cross the street.

  I walk briskly, and Lacy has to practically jog to keep up with me. “Where are you going?” she begs.

  A bolt of rage flits through me, and I stop and grit my teeth. “What did I tell you about asking stupid questions?!” I seethe, the ire seeping into my tone.

  Lacy wraps her hands around my forearm as she hustles, keeping up with my long strides.

  “Please don’t say that. We—I just want to be here for you this time, Carter.”

  I tense up at her choice of words. This time. “Oh yeah?” I grunt. I steal a glance at Lacy. Her expression is soft, and tears stream down her face.

  “What are those for?” I ask, my eyes moving to her cheeks.

  “Can’t you just let me be there for you?”

  I swallow. “What don’t you understand about leave me alone?” I grit out.

  Tears stream down Lacy’s cheeks. She holds onto my arm tighter. We stop on a corner on busy Michigan avenue.

  Her eyes sear into mine as she pleads.

  “For God’s sake, Carter. I’m just trying to be a good friend to you. No, I can’t relate to what you’re going through. But can you please let me be there for you?”

  “I don’t need anyone. I told you.”

  She uses her wrist to wipe away tears. “When I got to this city, I didn’t know fucking anyone. Now, I’m on the shortlist for Blue Illusion. It’s because of you, Carter. What you said to me. You gave me the confidence. You and your—fucking stupid cocky self gave me the confidence to actually let go for one summer in my life and enjoy myself. And dammit, I have. I don’t even know what our relationship status is—and to be honest, I don’t care.”

  With pained eyes, she examines me. “Carter it’s not like I’m asking to get married. I just want to be there for you. It doesn’t matter right now.”

  I shake my arm loose of her grasp, my mind racing with frustration and confusion.

  “There are some things a man’s got to do on his own. Just let me be right now. I’ll see you in a couple of hours. I’ve got to clear my head.”

  She stops following me and I walk off.

  Picking up my phone, I dial the number of someone I should have called a long time ago.

  30

  Lacy

  I wipe the tears from my eyes as I step into the elevator to head back up to Carter’s penthouse.

  I sigh. Carter’s Penthouse.

  Although I’ve lived here for almost seven weeks, I still have a tough time calling it ‘my apartment.’ Maybe that was because I still feel like a guest living here.

  But it could also be due to the way Carter still seems to keep one odd degree of separation between us. As close as we’ve become, he still puts up this distance at times that I can’t quite articulate.

  We’ve been growing close, and I know he cares about me. I’m not imagining that.

  But now, riding up the elevator without him, I finally have a concrete example in my mind of the things I’ve been feeling. It’s true that I can’t relate to the sort of anguish he must be feeling. I don’t know what it’s like to grow up without a father. I just wish he’d let me me be there for him. Walk with him silently. Be by his side.

  The elevator dings as I reach the floor. The entryway door is wide open, just as it was when I rushed out to catch up with Carter.

&n
bsp; I see Chandler and Amy before they see me, and I stop my step to reflect on them.

  They sit on the couch. Chandler is noticeably shaken, rubbing his eyes and forehead as Amy stares him dead on in the eyes, inches from him. Her hands are on his shoulders.

  It hits me, and I swallow down a ball of tension in my throat.

  That’s what I want.

  Sure, Carter is amazing in a multitude of ways. He’s been opening up—albeit slowly—to me over these past few weeks. But could he ever truly admit it when he needed help?

  I start to move again, heading into the apartment. Chandler and Amy turn when they hear me.

  “Hey Lacy,” Amy says, her tone a little somber.

  I offer her a wave. “Hi.”

  “Did you find him?” Chandler asks, his voice sounding shaken.

  I nod. “Yes. I was able to track him down. He wants to be alone now, though. How are you doing?”

  Chandler shrugs, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I’m okay. Other than the fact that my half-brother apparently is so freaked out about me being related to him that he wants to run away.”

  I sigh. “You know that’s got nothing to do with you, right?”

  Chandler nods. “Of course. Honestly, I’ve been seeing a therapist since I moved here last year from Barcelona. Best thing I ever did. I know it’s crazy—it sucks, in a way. But I’m done expending energy giving a shit what that shitbag—Jack Whitehead—did years ago.”

  Chandler squints and unfocuses his eyes, sort of staring into his drink.

  I pinch my eyebrows, trying to piece together what he said. “Who is Jack Whitehead?”

  Chandler pauses, his pupils dilated and his gaze still unfocused. Amy rubs the back of his neck. “Babe,” she says softly. “Did you hear what Lacy asked?”

  “Oh, shit. Sorry,” Chandler says, shaking his head rapidly, almost like a dog does when trying to get rid of moisture. “I just had a weird thought. Jack Whitehead is the name of my father—I mean sperm donor, as I like to refer to him. And when I went to see him last year, he said he had seventeen children. Seven-fucking-teen. You believe that? Nuts.”

  My jaw slackens in disbelief. “That’s totally crazy. That means . . .”

  “There’s more of us out there,” Chandler says forcefully, taking the words out of my mouth. “It’s just so fucking crazy—Carter was right under my nose this whole time and we didn’t notice anything.”

  “What the hell was this Jack Whitehead guy?” I say, my voice stained with vitriol. I walk over to the couch and take a seat next to Chandler. “Was he a traveling milkman or something?”

  I hunch my back, running my hands over my face.

  “Honestly, I didn’t even ask him. After we visited him, all I wanted to do was get the fuck out of there. Jack Whitehead I met didn’t even keep track of his kids. That doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “I’m open to ideas. Honestly, I thought we’d just put it behind us and never wonder too hard about it.”

  “Obviously that’s not likely,” Chandler says, his voice gruff. “Somebody’s wondering very hard about it right now.” Tipping his chin in the direction of the balcony window, he flits his gaze to the city outside. The sky is a gorgeous red-orange hue as the sun breathes its last breaths on the horizon.

  I inhale a deep breath, and look at the two of them. “Thanks for coming over so quickly you guys,” I say. “And thanks for staying with me.”

  “No thank you necessary,” Chandler grits. “I’m keeping a solid front but this is as mind-blowing to me as anyone. To find out that for the past year, I’ve been playing on the same basketball team as my biological half-brother? This is fucked. In the best way--I mean I’m pumped for whatever the future holds.”

  Chandler trails off. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say more, but nothing comes out.

  “What is it?” I insist.

  “My biological dad said he had more. He said he had seventeen other kids besides me.”

  “Seventeen?! You mean there could be more of you out there?”

  “I assumed he was bullshitting. I don’t know. Goddamn. I always wanted a brother, too.”

  The gravity of his words hang in the air for a few moments.

  “Well, you finally have one.”

  “So does Carter.”

  Amy and I exchange a glance. “We can stick around for the night,” she adds. “Until Carter comes back. Want to cook something? Or order in?”

  I smile. “That sounds amazing.”

  We end up ordering Chinese food—plenty for four. I set Carter’s plate—and put a lid over it—so it’s ready for him the moment he walks in.

  Chandler, Amy, and I spend the night trying to come up with theories as to why Carter’s mom would have freaked out out of the blue one night when Carter was eighteen years old .

  My theory about a possible custody battle is still the best we can manage, even though Chandler brushes it off.

  The night gradually creeps in, and around quarter to eleven Chandler and Amy rise up to leave.

  The door is still wide open. I haven’t closed it since I came in, hoping Carter would surge through it some time soon.

  “You want us to stay here?” Amy offers.

  “No, no. It’s fine. Carter does have a key. And he’s a grown man. I’m sure he’ll be fine. He’s just got to deal with this in his own way.”

  “Text me when he comes back,” Chandler says as he gives me a big hug. Amy hugs me goodbye, too.

  I feel a strong connection with the two of them as I wave goodbye and watch them walk down the hall, hand in hand.

  When I close the door, I lean against it with my back and let my shoulders slump.

  31

  Lacy

  Sleep is hard to come by as I snuggle under the covers in Carter’s room.

  We’ve been sleeping in the same bed the last few weeks, but our night of sleep usually begins with a romp between the sheets before we shower—or don’t—and pass out together.

  So with him gone tonight, I feel a little off. Not that I should have to ask him at this point whether or not I can sleep in his bed.

  Without flipping the light on, I grab my iPad from the nightstand and sit up.

  I pull up the browser tab with the apartments in New York I was looking at earlier today.

  Flipping through a few different options, I frown as I look at the prices. Rent in New York is twice as expensive in Chicago for half as much. And although I’m not spending any money right now thanks to Carter’s generosity, I’m also not making any.

  Shivers run down my spine as I see a studio apartment the size of Carter’s walk-in closet—literally—for over two grand.

  Should I just forget about New York right now and accept that, even if I do win a spot on Blue Illusion, I’m going to have to find a part-time job just to make ends meet?

  I purse my lips. How do middle class people live in New York at all? You’d have to be making two-hundred grand a year before taxes just to afford your own normal-sized place. It makes no sense to me.

  I suck in a deep breath, refocusing my eyes as I flip to another closet in manhattan that costs a ludicrous amount of money. I glance at the empty spot on the bed to my left, and my mind drifts to the giant elephant in the room.

  What the hell are Carter and I going to do when and if I move to New York?

  Since we broke the seal on our friendship and started sleeping together, we’ve not once had a conversation about our relationship status. It didn’t seem right, anyway, badgering Carter about it when I’m the one who’s going to be moving away.

  But I can’t help the little thought virus gnawing at my heart. With only one week to go before my big show next weekend—the final show after which I find out if I’ve made the company, the shadow of the future looms ever larger between us.

  I close my eyes and inhale. There’s no smell in the world like Carter’s room. It smells like the woods and fresh rubber from the basketball next to his bed, and boy and se
x, all combined to form one amazingly pristine scent. I wish I could bottle it up with me and take it to New York.

  I wish I could take Carter to New York.

  If I go.

  There’s another scent lingering in the room too—and the corners of my lips turn up in a slight smile as I realize what it is.

  It’s my shampoo. It’s . . . me.

  As much as he’s rubbing off on me, I wonder if Carter has these same thoughts about me rubbing off on him. My smile broadens, and a wave of emotion flows through me.

  As unlikely as we are, I can’t imagine myself with anyone else right now.

  Carter’s cockiness has rubbed off on me a little in my personal life—even the other dancers have commented on a shift in me over the past weeks.

  I wonder if my softness—my propensity toward empathy has rubbed off on Carter. I hope it has, but after today’s events I’m not so sure.

  Just then, I hear the sound of the front door opening. Keys rattling. Then a grunt, and the noise of the microwave turning on. I smile. He’s eating the food.

  Part of me wants to go outside and join him, but after our confrontation on the sidewalk I’ve left the ball in Carter’s court. I don’t want to push him any more than I already have.

  I flip my iPad off, close my eyes, and try to sleep. It’s hopeless, though. Every tiny noise Carter makes is magnified in the otherwise quiet night as it echoes down the hall.

  Finally I hear him walking down the hall. Still, I feign sleep, curled up on my side as I keep my breath steady and slow.

  His side of the bed caves in, and I hear him blow out a loud exhale.

  I want to open my eyes so badly, to know what he’s looking at. Is he just starting out into space? Looking at me?

  I feel the sheet at my waist creep up toward my neck. He’s tucking me in.

  I try to breathe steady. At this point it would just be creepy if I opened my eyes all of a sudden.