WITH THIS LIE: A NOVEL

by Savage, Kat

  For as long as I could remember, anytime I needed to cry, I sought out my closet. I never cried outside of a closet. The world is no place for softness, for vulnerability. It will destroy it. It will take a soft thing and bend it until it breaks. The world is no place for tears or hearts. I leave that all in here, in the closet. This is the only place it’s ever felt safe to do so.

  I close my eyes and let it all out on the floor of my closet, like a child, like a frightened small thing. I am angry with myself. I am angry with Mark. I don’t let men make me feel this way. I don’t let men make me feel any way, good or bad, for that matter. I have to regain composure. I will sit here until I can leave this all here behind me. That’s what the closet is for. Still, after all this time, my tiny castle is where I leave all my softness.

  My eyes begin to dry and I picture my mother’s face smiling at me, cupping my chin like I am five again. The problem with losing your mother before you’re done needing her is that your mind begins to manifest false memories. You start to inject her in places she never was. And the problem with life is, you’re never done needing her. Foster care taught me a lot. I didn’t suffer the bad experiences I know some others did. Sure, I bounced in and out of homes. No place became permanent. I eventually aged out. But it wasn’t the worst thing. Nothing though, nothing had taught me how to stop missing her. And no one would understand the real reason she was gone.

  I wipe the last few tears from my face and stand up. I stare at my phone for a moment and think about reading the texts from Mark but decide it isn’t worth it. I’m ready for bed and whatever he says can wait until morning to be erased.

  I lie down and replay the evening one last time. Mark had been a nightmare. Work had been way too busy. Nearly assaulted. Caught off guard by the illustrious Lucas. I wonder if he goes by Luke? Stupid Mark. Stupid, stupid Mark. Who even acts like that? Prick. I was looking to end things with him soon anyway but he certainly helped the cause tonight.

  I don’t want to think of him while I fall asleep. I shift my thoughts back to Lucas. His smile. His dimples. His hair. He is too pretty not to think about while drifting off. Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and all this will have never happened. I can’t get that lucky in life. I know one thing. At least I’m free again. These days though, freedom feels a lot like loneliness.

  6

  Lucas

  I wake abruptly to the sun shining in on me, causing me to sweat. I check my phone and I see that I fucking slept until eleven. That’s lunch time for some people. I guess I really needed it. The night did end on an intense note after all.

  I make my way to the kitchen, to the coffee. I slept half my Saturday away. Now what? I hate that I always feel guilty for sleeping. It feels like wasted time, and apparently as an adult, you’re not allowed to do that. It makes no sense to me. Maybe I will take the day to just be by myself. Maybe go for a run or drive out of the city. I’m not awake enough to make that decision just yet.

  I grab my coffee and slump into the living room and onto the couch. I stare at my mother’s record player. I wasn’t much for listening to music myself, but she wanted me to have it when she died so I held onto it along with her entire vinyl collection. I never actually play it. It’s a shame really. I’m sure there are others who would enjoy it much more than I am. I flip through some vinyl records in a box next to me. I don’t even know most of these bands.

  I check my phone as I sip my coffee. Elliott still hasn’t replied to me. I snap my rubber band against my wrist. Not surprising. We haven’t seen each other in so long. He doesn’t know I’ve cut all my hair off or that I have a beard now. Or that I’ve put on several pounds of muscle. I’m not the chubby kid I was back then. Hell, he probably wouldn’t even recognize me on the street. But if I know him, and I do, he won’t look any different. He will still be the same, polished priss he always was. I stop my thoughts there. No need to dwell on something that will never change.

  It feels like a walking day. Every once in a while, I take a free day and I walk around the city. I meander up and down streets for miles, nearly getting lost. Sometimes I walk for hours. Yeah, that sounds like a good plan. It will give me time to reflect on my thoughts, and I won’t be a shut in. Sometimes getting lost is the best way to find the answers.

  I put on some jeans and a t-shirt along with some shoes comfortable enough to do a lot of walking in and head out. I turn right and just start walking with no intention and no direction in mind, ready to see where the day takes me. I like to observe people as I walk, the way they interact with others. I notice a woman getting out of what I can only assume is an Uber ride. I notice a business man on his cell phone, late to a meeting no doubt. He narrowly misses running into a woman coming out of a shop. Men like that have no sense of an outside world, no sense of others with just as complex lives as they have. These are my least favorite people.

  Two kids are playing at the edge of the park on the corner and I decide to cut through there. The city did a good job of nestling parks throughout, with mature trees and pleasant paths. They almost make you forget you are actually in a concrete jungle. I walk the longest path, taking me from one side of the park to the other, several blocks over. I come out the other side near a café I’ve never tried so I decide to stop in for lunch. Considering I slept so late, I’m skipping right over breakfast which is so unfortunate.

  I take a seat in the corner booth next to the window so I can watch people pass by on the street. I like watching men in particular. Not because I’m harboring any latent sexual curiosities, but because I wonder what they are like. I wonder if they have families. I wonder if love screwed them over too. I envy the ones that look happy. I imagine they have wives and children and houses they’ve worked for. I imagine they didn’t fuck up their lives like I did by being too frightened to “get back out there” as my friends call it. With just one continuous lie, I managed to completely restructure my entire life.

  “What can I get for you?” the waitress asks, breaking my thoughts and stare. I snap my rubber band and look up at her.

  I shift in my seat and grab the menu. “I just need a few minutes, but can I get a water with lemon?”

  She nods her head and turns on her heel. I stare down at the menu and realize I’m not really that hungry but probably should eat if I plan to walk the day away. I begin to mindlessly read each item and its whole description like I don’t know what comes on a BLT all of a sudden. This is the sort of thing I do when I’m being indecisive.

  “Hello,” a familiar voice says, just beyond the menu.

  I pull the menu down from my face to see who has interrupted my thoughts this time. I glance up to see an even more familiar bouncy blonde bob and a head tilted sideways at me.

  “Well, hello there.” I smile at her.

  “Do you remember me?” she asks.

  “Of course I do. Dani, right?” I pretend to have forgotten a little, so as not to appear so eager. This is the type of thing you have to keep in check.

  She smiles again. “That’s right. So do you live around here?” she asks, looking out the window in different directions.

  “Not so fast. Do you remember my name?” I tease, smiling mischievously.

  “Lucas,” she says, raising a hand to one hip.

  “Okay, okay, I’m just checking,” I say. “And to answer your question, sort of. If you were to walk through that park over there, I’m on the other side of it. Do you live around here?”

  “The bar where we met, the one I work at, is just about two blocks up from here.”

  I look out the window, up and down the street. “Oh, I guess I hadn’t realized,” I say. “Small world, huh?”

  “And getting smaller,” she says.

  She’s still standing and it’s getting to the point where I need to say something. “So, would you like to join me?” I ask, gesturing to the seat across from me.

  There’s a little hesitation in her face and she looks around.

  I wait for just a few moments
longer.

  “Sure, why not?” she finally says.

  “Don’t sound so excited,” I say.

  “I could pretend for you, if you want?” she says, teasing back.

  “Ouch. You pull no punches,” I say.

  She sits across from me and picks up the other menu.

  I pretend to look over it even though I decided what I wanted before I ever came in and started reading the damn thing. “So what will you have?” I ask.

  “Probably a salad,” she says.

  “Why?” I ask.

  “Why what?”

  “Why probably a salad? Is it because you’re one of those girls who likes salad or is it because some moron told you that you were fat at some point?” I ask.

  “Wow. Now who’s not pulling any punches?”

  “I can be blunt sometimes. I apologize,” I say, sitting my menu down in front of me.

  “It’s okay. I like it,” she says. “It’s a bit refreshing, given humanity’s current climate.”

  We both laugh and settle into a bit of silence before the waitress returns.

  “I noticed you had company, so I brought two waters with lemon. Hope that’s okay?” she asks, looking down at Dani.

  “It’s perfect, thank you,” Dani says.

  The waitress takes our orders and walks away and we are facing the silence again.

  “To answer your question, both,” Dani says. “I genuinely like salad. And also, at some point in my life, men have been mean to me.”

  I nod, admiring her complete honesty and vulnerability in this moment. There was nothing to tease about there. “Thank you for your honesty,” I say.

  “You would be the only one thanking me. No one else seems to actually appreciate honesty the way they say they do. Everyone wants the truth, but only if it fits into their box, if it fits their needs. If it doesn’t, well, then you’re not being honest, you’re being a dick. I guess I just fail to see the difference.” She shrugs.

  Wow. In all my life, I’m not sure I’ve met someone who spoke this kind of honesty. It isn’t just refreshing, it’s sexy. “You might not believe me, but I completely and totally agree with you,” I say.

  She smiles and nods in confirmation.

  Our booth falls silent for a few minutes, perhaps because neither of us know what to say next. Perhaps because we are both trying not to say too much. It isn’t as awkward as I imagine some encounters to be. It’s sort of nice, actually. More natural.

  “So you’re married?” she asks, gesturing down at my ring.

  Fuck. Full on panic mode is now settling in. I can’t exactly back up now. Fuck. “Umm, yeah, I am actually,” I say. I snap my rubber band. Curse this stupid ring and curse my habitual putting it on when I leave the house and curse me for being such a dick.

  “Happily?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and smirking.

  What? No way. Not her. Really? If I knew anything by now, it’s how a woman reacts to news that you’re married but doesn’t actually give a shit and would totally pursue you anyway. And this was that. And I didn’t expect that. “You caught me. No, not really. It’s been very hard recently,” I reply, playing my part as usual.

  “Why don’t you just leave her, then?” she asks.

  This is always the next question. I always give the same answer. “I’m not sure, really. A part of me really loves her, you know? A part of me tries to hold onto the memories of what we were before this, and I like to believe we are capable of being those people again, capable of having what we had again.” This always gets them right in the heart.

  But Dani just nods her head. She sits back all the way against the booth seat and folds her arms in front of her. “I call bullshit,” she says.

  Well, I can’t say that’s ever happened until now. ‘I’m sorry?” I ask quickly.

  “You heard me. Bullshit,” she says.

  I stare back at her in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I say.

  “Well, the way I see it, one of two things is really happening. You’re either still in love with her and actively working to get back to the happiness you once shared. Or you don’t love her, and you’re actively trying to leave. But, since you’re not doing either of those, and you’re sitting here with me, I say you like things just the way they are.” She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows at me.

  Fuck. I can’t say I’ve ever had someone call me out like this. I’m not even sure what to say to her in response at this point. She’s still just sitting there waiting for me to make sense. I can deny it, or I can risk it. Decisions, decisions. “You caught me again,” I say. “The truth is, we’ve grown so far apart. I miss affection. Sometimes I look for it somewhere else. And I’m sure she’s doing the same.”

  Dani seems at least a little satisfied with my answer, nodding her head again in my direction. “So is that what this is? You looking elsewhere? Is that why you invited me to join you?” she asks.

  I hesitate. Here is the moment. “No, no. Well, I mean, maybe,” I say, fidgeting with the silverware at the edge of my napkin. I look up into her eyes. I can tell she’s contemplating my words. I can tell she’s thinking hard on it. I don’t know what kind of woman she is. And I’m afraid I’ll get what I want, which isn’t what I want. I want her to be better than that. I want to know she’s a good, decent woman.

  “I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone,” she says. “And I don’t know why I’m going to do it, but for some reason, I don’t want you to paint me a certain way when there’s more to it than what’s on the surface. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I say.

  “I only date married men. And it’s not because it’s fun to be bad, or because I like it in some strange way. And it’s not because I’m looking to wreck a home. I do it for security. Because I don’t want love and I don’t want ‘the real thing’ and I don’t want to get hurt. And dating married men makes that easier. Married men never leave their wives, even when you ask them to, and married men aren’t there to catch feelings. They just want to have fun. And that’s all I want. And that’s it,” she says.

  I wait for a moment, to see if there’s more but that really is it, and I’m left a little speechless. I comb back over her words in my mind and think about how wounded she must have been in her life to arrive on this path, how painfully someone must have hurt her to be so shut down toward love. But what’s worse, is I understand it on a level she’ll never know about. I understand it in my core. She’s the same as me in terms of self-preservation, which makes me wonder if I should tell her my secret.

  “I get it,” I say. And I could choose to tell her the truth about me now, but then I’ll never have a chance to get to know her. She’d shut us down before we ever started because then she’d know I’m not actually married. Or, I could keep pretending to be married. I could keep pretending so I can get to know this strange and beautiful creature that grows even more so with each minute. And the inevitable end? I couldn’t worry about that now. All these things eventually end. I would have to deal with that later.

  “You do?” she asks.

  “I really do, actually. After my first fiancé left me, I shut down for a long time. I didn’t let anyone in. And then, well, I guess I just healed little by little as time went on,” I say.

  “And then you found it?” she asks.

  “Yeah, I did,” I say. I snap my rubber band again.

  She smiles at me. Her face is almost hopeful. “That sounds nice. I’m glad you found it,” she says.

  And I know she’s genuine. Silence falls over us again and our food gets delivered. We each look down at our plates and back up at each other.

  “So, now what?” I ask.

  “Now, we eat,” she says, picking up her fork.

  I nod. Eating is simple. I can eat. I pick up my BLT and take a bite. I watch her drizzle dressing onto her salad and mix it around with her fork. I see her cross her legs at the edge of the table and see a tattoo on her thigh peeking out from her shorts. I
want to ask what it is but I don’t want her to know I’m staring at her legs so I decide against it.

  “Where does your wife think you are when you’re…occupied?” she asks.

  She’s so forward. No one ever asks these things.

  “Well, it depends on the time and day. Sometimes I’m working. Sometimes I’m hanging out with friends. Sometimes I’m having alone time,” I reply.

  “And she never questions you?” she asks.

  “Not usually. Like I said, she doesn’t seem to care,” I say.

  Dani nods. “Do you want to come see me later at work?” she asks.

  Even with the mouthful of food, I start to nod and try to mumble a “yes” through the chewing.

  She laughs and I like the way it sounds.

  “What time should I be there?” I ask.

  “My shift starts at eight and I get off at midnight. Just a short one tonight to cover for someone else. Maybe if you show up before I get off you can find me behind the bar. Then we could hang out after I get off, if you want?” she asks.

  “Definitely,” I say. I’m eager and she knows it.

  She smiles and I’d like to do more things that make her smile.

  We finish eating and walk outside onto the sidewalk. As we’re standing there, she pulls out her headphones.

  “What kind of music do you listen to?” she asks.

  “I don’t really listen to music,” I reply.

  Her jaw drops and she looks almost wounded.

  I shift my eyes back and forth and I don’t know what I’ve done wrong.

  “What do you mean you don’t really listen to music? How is that even possible?” she asks, dismay in her voice.

  “I mean…I don’t know, I just never got into it,” I say. By this point, she’s looking at me like I’m an alien. I’m not sure what else to say so I wait for her to say something.