One Little Lie: a hate to love rom-com

by Whitney Barbetti

At that, she really looked confused. Was I lying to myself? No, I knew. I remembered how she’d looked at me at the party, when I thought I had cracked her surface to see what was underneath. She’d watched as I had been made a fool of. She hadn’t stood up for me. She’d been silent.

  “I’ve never once thought that.” The fire seemed to go out of her and her arms dropped. I didn’t know if I could believe her. She’d switched so fast before. She was more than met the eye, more than I had ever assumed her to be.

  “You watched. You did nothing.” Instantly, I wanted to snatch the words back. I had my pride and nursed it more than I probably should, but disarming myself in front of her wasn’t something I had ever wanted to do. “But like I said, it doesn’t matter. You’re you and I’m me.”

  “If that’s supposed to allude to something that actually makes sense, I don’t get it.” The fire was back again, stoking itself just behind her thick lashes.

  “You’re Hollis Vinke, daughter to the town’s most well-known philanthropist. I’m Adam Oliver, son of the town’s most gossiped about philanderer.”

  “I think you’re giving your dad too much credit.”

  I didn’t know what it was about that wording in particular that made anger light up in my veins. Perhaps it was the delivery, like she was better than me, always had been, because her dad was rich and well-admired. “Okay, right, let me make this simpler: your dad is rich and better than my dad. I’m just some stupid kid who you toyed with in high school for a few minutes at a party.”

  “I never toyed with you.”

  “But you did.”

  I watched her jaw clench, briefly hollowing out her cheeks. “I did no such thing. I think the problem is that you put me on a pedestal I didn’t ask to be put upon and when I made a mistake I was suddenly some kind of jezebel, worthy of your stones.” Her phone rang and she glanced at it before tossing it on the bed. “I didn’t ask you to talk to me at that party and I don’t know what I did to make you think I was some asshole, but I promise you that I wanted to talk to you. Okay?” She was breathing heavily like she’d just run a marathon. Like the words had been an effort for her to say. To admit.

  “Oh, don’t try to nurture my wounded pride now, years later, Hollis. I’m a big boy. I don’t need to you make me feel like you actually thought I was special.”

  “You really have a low opinion of me, don’t you?” Her eyes shined with fury. “Well, get in line.”

  “Don’t give me the poor little rich girl sob story, Hollis. You know you’re better than that.”

  “Am I? You’re not painting me in a very good light right now. I feel like I’m on trial for something I didn’t do.” The uncontrolled look in her eyes I had seen before was wilder now, and I saw it reflected in her body, in the way her hands shook as her own anger took her over. Was I an asshole for wanting to see her angry? For wanting to see her as anything but the unfeeling image I still held of her, seared in my mind?

  “Do you deny that you had friends who looked down on people like me?”

  “Navy and Tori never did that.”

  “I’m not talking about them,” I said, unable to keep the frustration from my voice. “I’m talking about you. I’m talking about the people you joined in mocking me at that stupid fucking party that night. After we’d talked on the deck and after you’d let me in. Just a little. Was it all an act? Is that who you are? Just another fake person in a crowd of frauds?”

  She had the nerve to actually look hurt by that, as if what I was saying wasn’t true. She’d spent a good chunk of our conversation that night telling me she wasn’t like the rest of them. But her actions had proved otherwise.

  “You are so…”

  “What?” I held my arms wide. “Mean? Am I a dick? A loser? No… what was it they were chanting that night? Band geek?” I scoffed. “Pretty fucking unoriginal insult. Or do you want to take a dig at my dad, too?”

  The phone rang again and she picked it up. In slow motion, I watched the scrunching of her eyes and the grimace that curled her mouth and then—most spectacular of all that—when she sent her phone flying across the room until it crashed unceremoniously into a bookcase. Woven dolls, books, and frames fell to the ground and I looked back at her.

  Her hands clapped over her mouth as she stared at the destruction. Well, destruction was really exaggerating the mess she’d made. A toddler could’ve done worse. “I’ve never done that,” she said around her fingers. She seemed genuinely shocked by her own outburst and turned to me. “I’m sorry you saw that.”

  What the fuck. I had no clue what to make of her then. Who was she? She wasn’t the girl I’d talked to at length at that party, the one I thought was so composed, so tightly-wound, until she’d loosened during our conversation. But she also wasn’t the girl who’d accepted my verbal barbs in the car several days ago and hand’t stood up for herself. She was someone else entirely. Someone who was so closed off that their outbursts were rare and shocking to even themselves.

  “It’s fine,” I said, not really sure what to say. But she stood, frozen, staring at the mess. I found myself dropping to my knees in front of the bookcase and picking up the frames and books and knickknacks, not sure how they went back on the shelf but trying my best to arrange it the way it was.

  “No—don’t.” She collapsed next to me, taking the doll from my hands and running her long, delicate fingers over the clothes it wore, brushing the doll’s hair back from its face. It didn’t look like a doll Casey had ever had. This one looked homemade and not like a child’s toy but a souvenir of some kind. I picked up a picture frame, inspecting the glass for cracks. There were three girls in the photo, their heights so distant that it looked like a papa bear, momma bear, baby bear arrangement. “Is this you?” I asked, pointing to the smallest.

  “Yes. My sisters,” she said, tapping the other two girls. “They’re a bit older than me.”

  “I figured,” I said. She took it from my hands and I picked up the next one. “Your mom?” I asked. I could see Hollis a little in her, in all the ways she didn’t look like her dad, at least.

  “Yes.” She placed the frame on the shelf next to a stack of biology books. Their spines were creased and the lamination was peeling, but still they appeared to be in neat order. “Sorry,” she said again. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get the best of me.”

  I didn’t necessarily agree with her. Seeing that little burst of anger from her was oddly refreshing. I couldn’t explain it really, except that she was different—multi-faceted in ways I was only beginning to discover. “Stop apologizing.”

  “Okay.” She took a breath and I knew she was about to fucking apologize again so I put a hand on her knee for a brief moment before removing it.

  “I suppose this is where I say I’m sorry for making you so angry.”

  “You suppose?” She arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow.

  “Yes, suppose. But, since I’m not sorry…”

  “If you’re trying to get me angry again…” she began, but was interrupted by her phone trilling. She picked it up and huffed, throwing it on her bed. Where it was safe from causing damage.

  “I don’t think I was the reason you were so angry,” I said. “Your dad?” I had only glanced at the text enough to see the sender, not the contents of the message.

  “Yes, well, you’re not the only one with Dad problems.” She winced, like she hadn’t meant to say that.

  “Are you saying you don’t get along with your dad or something?”

  She was still crouched beside me, her hands braced on the floor, as she turned to look at me. She waited a breath, one long moment as she searched my eyes. “My father has expectations of me.”

  “Don’t all parents?”

  “I don’t know. Does your dad?”

  At my shrug, she continued.

  “Sorry, that was a rude thing to say. I know your situation. Or, Casey told me.” When I didn’t say anything, she barreled on. “I mean, she didn’t divulge every
detail to me or anything. But she gave me a good idea.” When I still didn’t say anything, she kept rambling to fill the void in our conversation. “My dad cares—yes, but one could argue he cares too much. And his care is essentially control.”

  “At least he cares,” I said, wondering what it would be like to have my dad give a shit about me.

  “Okay, well at least your dad doesn’t hold your very future hostage over your head, like mine does.”

  “And how does yours do that?”

  “My sisters,” she said, pointing to the photo frames. “They each received access to their trust funds upon their college graduations and then took off. They only visit home under duress. Me? Well, up until a couple weeks ago, the plan was the same for me. Once the diploma was in my hands, I’d finally have access to that money.”

  She wasn’t looking at me, but at the doll she still held in her hands. If pity was what she was looking for from me, she’d have to do better to get it. Money was the biggest worry of my mind. The idea of having access to a large sum at some major milestone in my life wasn’t something I could relate to. But I let her continue without interruption, waiting for it to get better. For me to understand her better.

  “But my dear sisters, having gone off to live in a commune or swim with sharks aren’t producing the one thing my father wants most: grandchildren.”

  That perked my ears up. Surely, he wasn’t pressuring Hollis to get knocked up at this young age?

  “I know what you’re thinking and the simple answer is no. But the not simple answer is, in a way, yes. I won’t have access to my trust fund upon graduation. Rather, I’ll have access when I’ve announced an engagement. My dad has traditionalist values in that he sees life in steps: college graduation, engagement, career beginning, wedding, children. It’s his thought that having his daughter engaged will earn him what he most covets.”

  “So you don’t get this pay day until someone puts a ring on it.”

  “Right.” She rubbed her lips together and a line creased her forehead. “And it’s all the more laughable to them because I’m virtually a spinster in their eyes.”

  “A spinster? What is this, the 1700s? You’re no more of a spinster than a—what was it you called yourself earlier?—a jezebel. You’re twenty-one.”

  “Exactly. Nearing twenty-two. Practically ancient, in my father’s eyes at least. And because his eldest two have not had kids nor have the idea of marriage on the horizon, my dad is pinning his hopes and dreams on me. So, I must deliver in order to access that money.”

  “So you have to inspire a man to propose in order for your dad to surrender your money?” I asked. “That’s first world problems at its finest.”

  She waited for a beat, eyes flashing. That anger was back, brighter than before. She still held the doll in her hands and I eyed it with suspicion, hoping she wouldn’t feel so inspired to hit me with it. I didn’t think she was capable of violence, but then again I didn’t know her all that well to be the judge of that, did I?

  “It gets worse.” She sat back on her haunches and rubbed her temples. She looked defeated, like she had nothing left to lose. “Are you ready to hear one of the bigger lies I’ve told?”

  “What?” More lies? It would surprise me to hear she was anything less than perfect.

  She laughed, but it wasn’t reflected in her eyes. Instead, there was a shining in there that had nothing to do with humor. “My parents have been trying to set me up for years now. With a variety of people they’re acquainted with. Like this is some Regency time period. So,” she swallowed a breath and wouldn’t look me in the eyes. “I made up a story, a couple years ago, that I was seeing someone. Not a boyfriend, necessarily. But I made them believe … I was not single. And therefore, unavailable for their match-making.”

  I mulled that over. “That doesn’t sound highly unreasonable.”

  She barked another laugh so sharp that she clapped a hand over her mouth. Her normally well-put together hair was fraying along her crown, with tendrils curling over the gentle slope of her forehead. When I stopped to really take her in, it was striking to me just how beautiful she was. A fact I resented, for complicated reasons.

  “I hate to echo myself, but it gets worse still.”

  “Try me.”

  She laughed again, but moisture was collecting at the corners of her eyes. “When they dropped the bombshell, about altering my trust, Tori was there.”

  This was taking a twist. I was equally interested in hearing her continue and also, strangely, dreading it. What could she possibly say that made this worse? But, judging by the way she kept side-eye looking at me, I had a feeling something big was coming.

  “And Tori,” she swallowed, “unhelpfully told them the name of my fake suitor.”

  “She did?”

  Her eyes met mine, that flash of brown looking wholly terrified. “Yes.” I watched the column of her throat as she swallowed. “She used yours.”

  Silence fell over us. As I absorbed this new knowledge, her eyes grew wider and wider, like I was an oncoming semi and she was a deer, frozen in its headlights; waiting for its inevitable demise. She was bracing herself. For me.

  “Tori named me,” I finally said after a while. “Why?”

  Hollis’s eyes darted to the side and I reached out, touching her chin, making her look directly at me.

  “You’ve racked up quite the number of lies as of late. Let’s try on the truth, Hollis.”

  “This is embarrassing,” she whispered. A pink tongue darted out, wetting her lips. “It’s not my fault she said your name.”

  “No,” I agreed, but hadn’t let go of her chin. “It’s not. But the question remains. Why did she say my name?”

  “Because, once upon a time, I had a crush on you.” When I said nothing, she hurried on. “After that party.” She winced. That party. It seemed unbelievable, given the way things had turned out.

  I held her chin a moment longer, searching her eyes and only coming up with the knowledge that this time, she wasn’t lying. “Okay,” I said and let go. I didn’t really believe it—or at least, that’s what I told myself. But deep down, I knew—I just knew—there’d been something between us at that party. Some unspoken set of feelings. Emotions that had laid dormant until we’d spoken to one another. “Well, that’s awkward.”

  She flinched and pulled away from me. “Yeah. It was supposed to be one little lie.”

  “Your lies have the effect of a snowball becoming an avalanche.” I gestured to myself, reminding her of why I was even here in the first place.

  She flinched again. I started feeling a little sorry for her. I was still sorting through the rest of my feelings, but she’d definitely found herself in a pickle.

  After we were both silent for a little while, she said, “Are you done yelling at me?”

  I realized we were still on the floor, and the wreckage from Hollis’s little burst had been cleaned up entirely. “Yeah, I think so.” I stood to leave, but Hollis stopped me with her hand lightly touching mine.

  “Please don’t sell your keyboard. I’m not worried about the money. I understand and acknowledge that that’s a fortunate thing for me, to not have to worry about. I don’t say that to make you hate me even more, but to tell you that I want to help you, in the only way I can.”

  I stared at her, but she wouldn’t lift her head to meet my eyes. So, I left.

  On my way home, I called Caleb. I hadn’t had a real conversation with him in a while and I needed an answer one way or another from him, so I’d know how to proceed with the job and with Gram. I had filled him in on Gram’s status the day my car had broken down, but we hadn’t discussed next steps.

  “Hey,” he said. “What’s up?”

  There was an explosion of sound on the other end of the phone, and he laughed and hollered something away from the receiver.

  “Caleb,” I said, impatience simmering in my voice. “This is serious.”

  “What?”

  “The
Gram stuff. You get what I told you, right? She’s not in great shape.” I swallowed, staring out the windshield as the sun set beyond the mountains. “I need to know the plan.” I rapped my knuckles on the steering wheel, already bracing for the answer I expected.

  “Well, I’m not coming home.”

  Right. Of course he wasn’t.

  “I’ve got school.”

  And I had a band. “I thought as much.”

  I heard a sigh on the other end of the line. “Hold on a second, Adam. I can barely hear you.”

  I stopped at an intersection and watched as the railroad crossing began blinking lights. Of course, I’d take the wrong route home right during the train’s nightly run. Amber Lake had boomed in the late 1940s and as a result the town grew faster than it had adequately prepared for. The railroad tracks crossed over nearly every major roadway intersection, causing backed-up traffic in a town that didn’t have that kind of traffic normally.

  I moved the car into park and waited for Caleb to stop saying hi to people who weren’t me on the other line as he navigated to a quieter area.

  “Hey,” he said. “What did you say?”

  What had I said? “I guess it’s on my shoulders to figure this out, right?”

  “Well, you don’t have to put it that way.”

  “What other way is there to say it? You’re staying across the state. Casey has been struggling in school for the last year and Gram is dying. Do you get that, Caleb? She’s dying.”

  “Calm down, Adam.”

  I clenched my jaw, willing myself not to explode on him. Caleb had been lucky enough to get out before Dad had deteriorated, becoming the man he was now. He wasn’t ever home often enough to see how bad it had gotten, or he did see it and ignored it. “Did you hear what I said?”

  “Casey’s always struggled in school.”

  “No, she hasn’t.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “She was doing well until the last couple of years. Right when Dad stopped taking care of her.” Taking care of her was a gross misrepresentation. Casey was used to fending for herself, had to be in order to survive the few years since I had left. Gram did her best, but no one could fault her for not being there for her granddaughter when her heart was failing her.