Tell Me Lies

by Carola Lovering

  “I’m just tired.”

  “I’m sorry. Bad day at work?”

  “Not the best. How are you? I’m excited to see you.”

  “I’m good . . .” Her voice was distracted, far away.

  “Glad to hear.”

  “Stephen, I actually need to talk to you about something.”

  “Okay, what’s up?” I walked over to the only window in my bedroom and pulled the curtain aside, before remembering that the view was a close-up of the adjacent building’s brick wall. Fucking New York City.

  Diana was quiet on the other end of the line.

  “Di?” I pressed. It was late. I didn’t have time for an emotional, drawn-out conversation. I just wanted to pass out.

  “I can’t come visit you this weekend. I canceled my trip.”

  Built-up frustration from the day teetered. “Um, why? What’s wrong?”

  “I’m seeing someone here.”

  “Excuse me?” Anger seized me, instant fumes rising, pummeling up through my chest.

  “Look, Stephen, we’re not together. I know you’ve been sleeping with Lucy all summer, so don’t act so surprised that I haven’t been sitting around waiting for you. We never said we wouldn’t hook up with other people.” She sounded frank. The lack of sensitivity in her voice was concerning.

  “Yes, we never said we wouldn’t hook up with other people. Not date other people.”

  “You’re so full of shit. I know you’re dating Lucy. Katie Kopecky saw you two out in the Hamptons together.”

  “Who the fuck is Katie Kopecky?”

  “She was in our class at Baird, Stephen. She’s from New York City.”

  “Diana,” I exhaled, trying to wrap my head around the words coming out of her mouth. “Lucy is about to go back to school. It was just a summer fling.”

  “Whatever. I honestly don’t care what you do anymore, that’s what I’m trying to say. I’ve developed feelings for someone else. It just sort of happened. He’s not like you.”

  “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

  “It means I can trust him.” I had never heard her voice sound so icy.

  Half of me cared. Half of me genuinely cared, genuinely wanted to hang up the phone, take a cab to LaGuardia, buy a one-way ticket to Milwaukee, show up at Diana’s door and fight for her. I thought of her knobby knees, her pale breasts, and the way she looked at me with that distinct expression that was at once girlish and sexy. She was mine, and I didn’t want some dirty bastard getting his hands on her.

  But I didn’t know her new address in Milwaukee, and I was suddenly so exhausted that my eyelids drooped as though they held weights. I had to be up for work in six hours. And this other half of me really didn’t care at all. It was just about winning, and you have to pick your battles.

  I had always known Diana and I weren’t going to end up together. I knew this. So maybe it would be better this way. Diana and I would end for good, Lucy would go back to school in a week, and I would find a new girlfriend, a New York girlfriend. Something new.

  “Hello?! Stephen?!” Diana’s voice blared through the phone, jolting me awake.

  My eyes popped open. “Sorry. I’m just thinking.”

  “I’m so sorry to do this.” She sighed, and I could tell she had started crying.

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “You could take some of the responsibility for this, you know.”

  “I do. I understand that my actions have impacted the dynamic of our relationship.”

  “You sound like a robot. Do you even care?”

  “Yes, I care. Jesus Christ, Diana, you’re the one who’s ending this. You think it’s easy for me to hear that you’re with another guy? Have a little heart.”

  “I’m so sorry, Stephen,” she whispered, the octaves of her voice breaking. Then she really started bawling. The never-ending river of tears.

  “Just tell me who he is.”

  “You don’t know him.” She sniffled.

  “No shit. I don’t know anyone in Milwaukee.”

  “We met through mutual friends. He’s also in social work. He’s actually going to be in my same program at Wash U.”

  “So you’re moving to Saint Louis together?”

  “Not together exactly, but . . .” Her voice trailed.

  “Well, that’s wonderful.”

  “Oh, Stephen.” Diana broke into what sounded like a fresh batch of tears.

  The image of some random dude fucking Diana partly outraged me and partly turned me on. I felt a flutter in between my legs.

  “I need to go to sleep, Diana.”

  “Stephen, please. Please don’t hate me.”

  “I don’t hate you. I’m just tired. It’s past midnight here and I have to be up at six.”

  “You can still have the Wicked tickets, of course. My mom is going to send them to you.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Just tell her to return them.”

  “They’re nonrefundable, is the thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’ll always love you, Stephen,” she said before we hung up. “I just can’t be with you anymore.”

  I texted Lucy that I would be available to spend the weekend with her after all, and that I’d managed to snag two tickets to the Saturday matinee of Wicked, if she’d like to join me. I plugged in my phone to charge overnight. I still had a boner, so I summoned the energy to jerk off—it always calms me down.

  29

  LUCY

  AUGUST 2012

  CJ made pizza the night before I left to go back to Baird; I caught the scent of fresh dough and tomatoes when I walked in the door. I’d just come from spending my last weekend in the city with Stephen. My eyes were red from crying on the train.

  “You have got to finish packing, Lucy,” CJ nagged. “I told you to pack before you went to the city. We’re leaving for LaGuardia at six tomorrow morning.”

  “I know. I’m almost done.”

  I sat down in one of the beige armchairs in the family room off the kitchen and took in the familiar details of my house: the peach-colored curtains, the sterling silver–framed photographs, the white cashmere blanket that CJ had carefully folded over the back of the couch. I closed my eyes, which burned with exhaustion. Traces of the morning’s hangover tugged at the back of my brain.

  CJ kissed me on the forehead and scrunched up her nose. “You smell like a distillery. Have you been drinking?”

  “Not since last night.”

  “Well, I’m making pizza for dinner. The best hangover cure.”

  Stephen and I had eaten at Motorino the night before, after he’d taken me to see Wicked on Broadway, and pizza was the last thing I wanted, but I felt too guilty to object. There was something about the way CJ stood there in her frayed Berkeley T-shirt and leggings that made me feel sad and sorry about something. Charcoal circles ringed her clear blue eyes. Grayish roots were visible at the top of her short blond hair. I studied her face; fine lines seemed to smudge what were once sharper, more defined features. My parents still had their good looks but had begun to appear weather-beaten, like old jackets marked by winters of wear.

  My dad turned on a Frank Sinatra album, and an old rendition of “The Way You Look Tonight” filled the room.

  “Oh, Ben!” CJ smiled at my father. “Our wedding song.”

  “Did you know you have the most wonderful mother in the world?” he asked, wrapping his arms around CJ’s middle. She laughed and they slipped into a slow dance, looping and twirling around the kitchen. At six two, my dad stood a good eight inches taller than her. During the slow parts he leaned down and buried his face in her hair.

  I thought I might be sick. I wished Georgia were home, but she’d already gone back to Yale.

  The pizza tasted strange, like the tomato sauce was sour. CJ has never been the greatest cook. She peppered me with questions about Baird and the classes I’d signed up for for junior year, and who was going abroad and who wasn’t.

  Af
ter dinner I was finally able to escape to my bedroom, where I replayed the conversation in my head. We’d been lying in his bed that morning drinking coffee, our legs tangled underneath the covers.

  “Sooo, I’ll see you over Thanksgiving?” I knew I was being the quintessential clingy girl, trying to pinpoint our status. Stephen was being aggravatingly cryptic.

  “I’ll be here. You have an open invitation to my bedroom.”

  I struggled with this response, trying to mold it into some sort of definitive answer.

  “So are you going to hook up with other people?” God, I was pathetic.

  “That’s not going to be my focus,” he said, staring at something on his laptop.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means exactly what it’s supposed to mean.”

  “So you might hook up with other people.” I felt like a bothersome child. When he wasn’t all over me, I sometimes got the feeling that all I did was irritate him.

  “Lucy.” He closed his computer and finally looked at me. “You’re going back to school. You have two more whole years at Baird. And I’m in New York now.”

  “I know.” My stomach plummeted. I hated that I was making him tell me something that I didn’t even want to hear.

  “So I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he said. “Let’s just try to talk when we can. If I get to a point where I’m feeling like I want to hook up with someone, I’ll tell you.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “What? What is it that you want me to say, Lucy? Look, I have to concentrate on work and applying to law school. I’m sorry, but that has to be my priority. I’m really not looking to go hook up with a bunch of random chicks in the city. But I also can’t exactly get myself into a long-distance relationship right now.”

  I didn’t know what I’d expected him to say. The back of my throat felt tight and I sensed the tears collecting behind my eyes. I hated how fragile and powerless I felt. I really, really didn’t want him to see me cry.

  “Lucy . . .” he pulled me onto his chest and ran his hands through my hair, the way he did. Two more whole years at Baird. I couldn’t stand it. I didn’t want two more years at Baird, not if it meant losing Stephen.

  We had sex one more time, in the late-morning light; I swallowed back tears as he pulled my face toward his, our foreheads pressed together, our eyes locked, as in sync as we had been. It lasted longer than it ever had—a drawn-out, sad goodbye.

  Afterward I’d packed up my weekend bag and he’d walked me to the subway, a noticeable nip in the late August air. Fall loomed. The end of summer always pierced something inside me—but this year was worse than ever. Stephen wrapped his arms around me outside the Twenty-Third Street station.

  “That was amazing sex before,” he whispered in my ear.

  I nodded, unable to speak. I felt like I might break into a million pieces if he let go of me.

  “I’ll miss you,” he’d said. “Maybe I can try to come visit one weekend, if work isn’t too crazy. Otherwise, see you over Thanksgiving?”

  I’d nodded, a little hope filling the pit in my stomach.

  “Luce. Say something.”

  “Goodbye,” was all I could manage. I kissed him and ran down into the subway, swiping my MetroCard and barging through the turnstile before I could change my mind and do something crazy, like run back up the stairs and chase him down the street and tell him I wanted to drop out of college and stay in New York.

  In my bedroom I forced myself to finish packing and then took a long shower, wrapped myself in a towel, and collapsed onto my bed. I sank back into my pillows and pictured Stephen’s face: his intense, inquisitive green eyes, small but distinct mouth, the scruff on the side of his jawline. I already missed him more than I could stand. The summer had been a dream, from that first night on the Kiss Me Kate. I couldn’t believe it was over. I would be back in California the next day. Pippa and Bree were spending first semester abroad in Madrid, so Jackie and I were moving into a house off campus—just the two of us. I wished I’d had the foresight to apply for study abroad programs, but I hadn’t. I supposed I’d been counting on Writers on the Riviera in France to be my overseas experience, or perhaps it was really just the lack of motivation that was progressively becoming an issue.

  I wanted to feel remotely excited about going back to school, about unpacking and decorating the house with Jackie, but I was dreading all of it. I could already feel the bleakness of the months ahead, the same bleakness I’d felt before the summer. The perfect, perfect summer, that was over.

  I heard CJ’s distinct footsteps move up the staircase and prayed she wouldn’t come into my room, but the door creaked open. Hickory followed, leaping up onto my bed and curling into a blond ball. I rubbed her velvety ears. CJ placed a mug of steaming chai on my bedside table, the scents of vanilla and cardamom filling my nostrils.

  “Thanks, Seej.”

  “I thought maybe you wanted some help packing.” She didn’t sound as wound up as before, thank God.

  “I’m almost finished, but thanks.”

  “Are you excited to go back?” She sat down on the edge of my bed and smoothed my forehead with her hand, which was warm from the chai.

  “I guess.”

  “How was the weekend? Did you say goodbye to him?”

  “Yeah.” My voice cracked, the tears pooling in my eyes. There is something about hearing my mother’s voice when I’m sad that will always make me cry. “I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “Luce.” She brushed my cheek with her warm hand. “It’s going to be okay. I know it’s the hardest thing, but you have to trust that whatever is meant to be, will be. Time tells all.”

  “I know.”

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I just—I got a vibe from him, if I’m being honest. I can’t put my finger on it but—”

  “CJ. Stop.”

  “He doesn’t appreciate you.”

  “You don’t even know him. You met him for five seconds.”

  “It’s a gut feeling.”

  “Please just leave my room, CJ.”

  “Sass.” CJ’s voice was hushed but clear. “I’m always here, you know. If you ever need me. I’m right here.”

  I kept my eyes shut; hot, silent tears slid down my cheeks. CJ squeezed my hand, and when I finally opened my eyes, I saw that she was crying, too.

  “What happened to us?” she whispered, her voice cracking, and I tried to answer but when I opened my mouth no sound came out, and CJ was already standing and straightening my duvet, and then she left the room.

  30

  STEPHEN

  OCTOBER 2012

  With Lucy back at school again, and Diana and me definitely over, and work sucking the life out of me, and the days growing shorter, I was beginning to go a little crazy. What I needed was to find a new girlfriend, and fast.

  New York was a stale, lonely place to be single, especially with the onset of winter and my law school applications looming. So when Carl invited me to a dinner party that his girlfriend was throwing because they needed more dudes, I gladly obliged.

  Carl’s girlfriend was this tall, horsey-looking chick named Beth. I thought she was a wet blanket and wasn’t sure exactly what Carl saw in her, but then again Carl looks like Seth Rogen and he doesn’t have good game when it comes to women.

  I guessed that Beth didn’t have very many friends, because the party was small. We gathered around the living room with our drinks like a bunch of boring yuppies while Beth passed around hors d’oeuvres.

  When the doorbell rang, Beth rushed to answer it with such urgency you’d think the president was arriving. A girl entered the room, her cheeks flushed pink from the cold. I heard her apologize to Beth for being late and mutter something about a crazy cabdriver. I watched the girl take off her coat and set down the bottle of wine she’d brought. Someone handed her a glass from one of the alre
ady-opened bottles.

  “This is Alice,” Carl said when she sat down next to me in the only free chair. “She knows Beth through . . . work?”

  Alice nodded, and I shook her hand while inconspicuously checking her out. She was cute. Her blond hair was clearly highlighted—I could see the darker roots coming in—and it fell in silky wisps past her shoulders. She was wearing lots of eye makeup and a fitted maroon dress, her substantial tits spilling out of the low-cut scoop neck.

  Beth had cooked some kind of Middle Eastern meal, and Alice munched on a bite of lentil salad. I poured myself more wine and turned toward her, and we proceeded to have the standard introductory conversation that everyone in New York in their twenties has upon meeting someone new. What do you do for work? Where are you from? Where did you go to school? Who are our mutual friends?

  After several minutes I learned that Alice also graduated last May and had started her job in insurance in June. She grew up outside of Pittsburgh and had attended Penn State, where she was very involved in her sorority. She had one of those bubbly personalities that rose quickly to the surface and allowed for easy, sinuous repartee. I identified her as a girly girl from a close-knit family who’d lived an uncomplicated life thus far, and saw New York City as one long opportunity to turn her narrative into a Nora Ephron film. I could tell she was the type of girl who’d get upset if she got a little muddy.

  The bottle of wine in front of us was soon empty, and Alice asked if I wanted more. I said that I did, and she rose to go retrieve the bottle she brought from the kitchen, which gave me the chance to fully check her out. She was shorter than I’d realized, and flaunted incredible curves. As she strolled back toward the table with a bottle of pinot noir, I found myself imagining her naked.

  I was starting to feel a little uneasy at the party for some reason, and I was glad when she sat back down next to me. I watched as she expertly uncorked the bottle.

  “I was a waitress for, like, three summers,” she explained. Her smile revealed a large set of gums and teeth that protruded a bit, but it didn’t take away from her cuteness.

  “So where do you live in the city?” I prodded.