The Absolutely True Story of Us

by Melanie Marchande

  "Not that much," I lie. "It's just...it's fun. Or at least it was. Now, I don't know what to think. There are only two people in the world who know about Andrew and Dean, and if he's not you, that only leaves one option."

  For a while, all I hear is the faint noise of traffic and pedestrians.

  "You really think it could be him?" Jack asks, finally.

  "I don't know." I'm trying to rub the tension headache out of my forehead, but I know it's not going anywhere. "On the surface, it doesn't seem to make any sense. The timing, for one. Sometimes I got texts from him when Dean was right nearby, or even in the same room. But he must know Dean, right? Or you."

  "Right," says Jack. "Because I make a habit of telling all the mundane details of your life to everyone I know."

  "You've never told anyone?"

  "Why would I?" He lets out a bewildered laugh. "Listen, Lissy - I'm freezing to death. I have to go. But try to think through the rational explanations first. You have to absolutely, categorically eliminate the possibility that you might've told him, or at least given him enough information that he could vaguely reference the situation without really knowing the details. Because, really, there has to be a rational explanation for this. I know you're always looking for conspiracies with that writer brain of yours, but it's got to be something simple."

  ***

  My mind won't stop racing.

  It has to be something simple.

  That's what Jack said to me. And he was right - nothing in real life is ever as complicated as the stuff I can dream up for my books. It just seems like a hell of a coincidence, unless...

  Unless, of course, it wasn't.

  Unless, of course, I accidentally created M.

  Heart pounding, I flip open my computer. I have to double-check the publication date on my first book, The New Haven, to make absolutely sure - because yes, I am that girl who searches for her phone while she's holding it. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong about this.

  I cross-check the date with some of the early posts on M's blog. It takes me a second to dig through the archives; he's made them a bit harder to find, it seems like, to the point where I wonder if some of his regular readers would ever think to poke around this deep.

  It kind of makes sense. When he started out, he was a much kinder, gentler M. I've looked at some of his older reviews before, and they didn't have any of the bite he developed later. So maybe it was really just a marketing ploy - although clearly, it's become a pretty important part of his personality, even if it wasn't before.

  I remember now, when I first started out, I was always picking Dean's brain for his marketing know-how. I explained to him how there were all these book blogs out there, and some of them had a crazy amount of influence, and sometimes I thought he was just pretending to be interested. But maybe I got through, more than I realized.

  I start combing through the blog archives. Yes, his first post dates back to just a month or so before I published my first book.

  And then, I notice something I've never noticed before.

  REVIEW: The New Haven, by Lana DeVane

  Frowning, I click on it. The beginning of the post is just rehashing the plot of the book, blah blah blah - I scroll down to the end, to get to the good stuff.

  FIVE STARS - RECOMMENDED

  What?

  There are fifty comments on the post, most of them from nearly a year later. I start skimming through them, stomach clenching slightly at the words.

  TRACKBACK: Hey, check it out, guys. Looks like M wasn't always so snarky. All his other posts from this time period are books you'd recognize, and then there's this...when a new blogger starts out reviewing an unknown author, you have to wonder what the connection is there... [Read entire post]

  Wow. Just wow.

  I can't believe you used to be just like the rest of them. Coddling authors and treating them like their books are precious babies. At least you came to your senses, I guess?

  So has anyone else seen the theory that M either knows Lana DeVane or is secretly her? Because I read this book and I can't think of any other reason why this review would exist.

  People change. I don't know why everyone is piling on M. We don't know the whole story.

  Please. It's pretty easy to figure out what's going on here. Be very interested to see if M actually addresses this. I'm not holding my breath.

  Seriously? I'm disappointed in you, M...

  My heart squeezes with the realizations that are crashing down on me, all at once. M...Dean...might've started this blog with the intention of helping me, not hurting me. He didn't tell me because he knew I'd hate it, wanting my book to sink or swim on its own merits.

  After everything fell apart between us, just like magic, M became the king of snark.

  The timeline is almost perfect. His review of Mergers & Acquisitions showed up shortly after someone discovered his old review of The New Haven, judging by the timestamps on the comments. It was the perfect opportunity to regain some credibility that he'd lost by trying to help me. And, I suspect, to work through some of the unresolved hostility between us.

  Could it possibly be? Maybe Jack was right in the first place. Maybe I really am such a scatterbrain that I told M some of my deepest, darkest secrets and completely forgot. Maybe I'm just grasping at straws, searching for connections that aren't there.

  It's hard to imagine Dean being so cold. Then again, what he said to me that night after the fetish ball...

  He really thought I hated him.

  Yes, he shouldn't have lied. Yes, he could have fought harder to win my trust again. Yes, our relationship was plagued by a thousand little problems that neither one of us wanted to admit, let alone deal with, and he's at least half responsible for that. But the moment I saw him with Jessica, I shut him out. Not because I hated him, because I loved him so much. Because it was too painful.

  And in that moment, I hardly cared what the nature of their relationship was. It didn't matter, really. Because no matter what, it meant that I wasn't enough. I couldn't be everything to him.

  I did try, once or twice. I offered to take up running so he wouldn't have to be alone. I thought we could motivate each other. But he was always going for too long, or too fast, or he was training for something and it just wasn't a good time to jog along with some slowpoke who was huffing and puffing her way up the sidewalk. He didn't put it exactly in those terms, but he didn't need to.

  He rejected me. I told myself I shouldn't care, didn't care, because it was completely understandable. Running was just His Thing. He didn't want me interfering. That was fine.

  But it turned out running wasn't just His Thing. It was Their Thing.

  And that was it, really. By the end of our relationship, there was so little that we shared. I struggled to think of anything we had in common, aside from the fact that we lived together and occasionally had sex.

  I don't care if I was cold, that doesn't excuse the things he said about me as M.

  Then again -

  I think of all the times M actually made an effort to make me feel better, to try and take care of me. I couldn't come up with an explanation for it, but now...

  I remember the other thing Jack said.

  He's still in love with you.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The Park

  Dean

  "So, you've got the ring?" Bea's eyes glitter as she hovers by me.

  "Yes." I'm hoping my gritted teeth pass for a genuine smile.

  I don't know what the hell is going on with Lissy. She's hot and cold, and now she's acting like she doesn't even want to see me. There was no good time for this stupid fucking proposal, but this is probably the worst.

  "We've got something amazing planned," Tabby assures me, practically quivering with excitement. "Just be ready when we cue you."

  How the hell am I going to put a stop to this? I can't let it happen, but none of these people will take no for an answer.

  At least I already had the ring. It was
vintage, my grandmother's, one of the few sentimental things I still keep in my life. It's beautiful, and better made than anything nowadays. Lissy's never been big on jewelry, but I feel like she'd probably appreciate it. If only this were real.

  It's about to get very real, very quickly.

  ***

  Lissy

  "Hey, Arthur." I smile at my brother, nudging him a little with my elbow. "So, what's going on?"

  He glances at me, sidelong. "Not much," he says, slowly. "I think the girls are planning something."

  I shrug. "They're always planning something, aren't they?"

  "Yeah." He smiles a little. "I don't think I ever told you congratulations."

  "Thanks. Honestly, I've lost track of who's said what."

  "That can happen." He glances at me again. "Must be fun - writing romance novels."

  "It's a job," I tell him. "But as far as jobs go, yeah...it doesn't get a lot more fun than this."

  "I would've figured Mom and Dad would be a little more..." He shrugs. "Judgmental. I don't know."

  "Well, they just want us to be happy." I sigh a little as I notice Tabby and Stephanie orbiting around Dean like he's some kind of rockstar. "It's just that, you know...they don't always trust us to know exactly what's right for ourselves. You have to remember, there's a part of them that still pictures us crawling around in diapers and trying to eat dirt off the floor. It's a hard adjustment to make."

  "Yeah." Arthur's staring at his shoes.

  "Come on, there's something going on with you," I say, as jovially as I can manage. "What is it? Your secret's safe with me."

  He shrugs uncomfortably. "It's nothing."

  "It's obviously not nothing." I smile at him. "But if you really, really don't want to tell me - that's fine. Just know it's an option. Okay?"

  Arthur is silent for a few minutes.

  "I kind of hate my job," he says, finally.

  My parents, bless them, have been pushing him into auto body repair since he was about three years old. He showed a vague interest in cars once, as most kids do - it's a symbol of the freedom you crave so badly before you realize that being responsible for your own life actually sucks.

  "Well, have you..."

  "Botany," he says before I can finish my sentence. "I just...I like plants, you know? There's so much about them that we still don't understand."

  "Really?" That one's new by me. "Uh...well, you know, that's...you should definitely do it. I'm not sure exactly what botanists do in the work force, but..."

  "Museums, natural parks, consulting companies, the federal government...there's a jillion career opportunities," he assures me, his eyes lighting up. "I already looked into programs, and...and..."

  "So, what's stopping you?" I already know the answer.

  He sighs, looking down at the ground again. "Can you imagine Dad's face?"

  I can.

  "Look, Arthur...they don't really get me, either. They never have. But Mom and Dad really do love us, that much I know. They might be confused at first, or even upset, but at the end of the day...they just want to see us smile. They want to see us achieve whatever will make us feel fulfilled."

  I wasn't even aware of how true it was until I said it. Clapping Arthur on the shoulder, I take a look at our surroundings for the first time in a while. We've been walking for several blocks to an unknown destination, and I've just been following my dad's hideous yellow tourist shirt like a homing beacon. I wasn't really paying attention, until...

  We're right across from the park.

  The park where I saw Dean and Jessica jogging together.

  I take a deep breath, reminding myself, somewhat forcefully, and everything's going to be okay. Sure, I've avoided this park, this block, this entire area for the last few years. I didn't know how I'd react. It's been a long time, and now I know the truth.

  Of course, that doesn't make it any easier.

  I remember, in vivid detail, exactly how it felt to be sitting there and witnessing something so devastating. But now, with the added bonus of knowing just how much I misunderstood it...

  We're crossing towards the park. Dean glances back at me with a look on his face that mirrors almost exactly what I'm feeling, except there's something else. Something he knows that I don't know.

  "Come on, this looks like the perfect spot for a family portrait!" My mom is beckoning us all towards the lake, and I walk like I'm being propelled there, just putting one foot in front of the other, wishing I could keep walking until I was in the water, letting it go up past my head.

  My family all clusters in an awkward group, like they've never taken a damn portrait before. Nothing could be further from the truth, so what the hell is going on, exactly?

  I'm concentrating very hard on breathing, slow and steady, so I almost don't notice the elaborate series of hand gestures and stage whispers my mom is directing towards Dean.

  Oh, no.

  Oh, God no.

  In the split second it takes for him to approach me, a lifetime passes. I remember all the time my mother cooed and gasped over public proposals, especially the ones that included family.

  She's orchestrated this.

  She's gone behind my back and...

  My breathing is no longer in control. I'm hyperventilating. There's an unspoken apology in Dean's face as he goes down on one knee, holding up a little velvet box towards me.

  I can see his lips moving, but I can't even begin to comprehend the words that are coming out of his mouth. My throat is closing up and I can't do this. I can't.

  But then I realize everyone in my family is staring at me expectantly, and I force my head to jerk forward. Once.

  A nod.

  That's enough to make them erupt into cheers, along with a few jovial bystanders. Dean slips the ring onto my finger and it fits perfectly, of course, because he was in on it too.

  I'm pretty sure I'm gasping like a beached fish, and I must look like death, because my mom rushes over to me with a sudden frown on her face.

  "Honey, are you okay?"

  It doesn't take her long to recognize that my face is not streaked with tears of happiness. Mother's intuition, indeed. She wraps me into a hug to conceal her urgent whispers.

  "Honey, I'm so sorry. I thought...I thought you would love this. What's wrong?"

  "N...nothing," I manage to choke out, fooling absolutely no one. "Nothing, Mom."

  My whole family is uncomfortably silent. I turn to Dean.

  "Can I talk to you for a second?" I rasp out.

  He nods, leading me around a little copse of trees while my family shuffles their feet anxiously.

  "I'm so sorry," he whispers, as soon as we're out of earshot. "I knew about the proposal, obviously, but I had no idea they would be bringing us here."

  "You knew?" I echo. He obviously did, but I still can't wrap my head around it.

  "Your parents have been..." He grimaces. "Your mom, at least, she's been planning this for a while. She sort of..."

  I don't want to hear it. "And you didn't tell me?"

  I'm aware my voice is becoming shrill, but I can't control it. I feel like I'm losing my grip on reality. My heart and head are pounding, and all I want to do is tell him I KNOW. I KNOW WHO YOU REALLY ARE.

  But I don't.

  "I have to get out of here," I tell him, my voice shaking. "Just...figure something out. Make an excuse. I have a migraine. We were fighting earlier. Whatever. I just need..."

  "I understand," Dean says, softly. "I'll take care of it."

  Of course he will. He's the goddamn king of everything.

  ***

  I'm running.

  I'm halfway to the hotel that M told me about, before I even realize where I'm going.

  Because I need the answer. I need to know. I need to check in, while the clerk tries not to look like she's staring, with my hair tangled and wild. I need to snatch the key and go into my room and take one moment, just one moment, to reconsider while the door clicks shut behind me.
>
  So I do.

  Then I open the app on my phone.

  I tap on M's name.

  Then, I text him three little numbers.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Meeting M

  I pull the door open, and I look at him. Calmly. My heart is about to beat out of my chest, but I just look at him like he's coming to deliver my morning paper.

  Of course it's Dean. Of course.

  Occam's Razor. The simplest explanation is always the best.

  It doesn't take more than a split second for him to realize that I'm not shocked.

  "Just curious," I say, still standing in the half-open doorway. "What were you planning on telling me when you walked in here?"

  "Honestly?" His hands are shoved deep in his pockets, ruining the line of his suit. "I was just going to wing it. It's worked pretty well for me so far."

  "You have a lot of explaining to do," I inform him.

  "I'm aware," he says. "Are you going to make me do it in the hallway?"

  I step aside to let him in. He paces the room for a second, pausing at the window, staring out at the city lights like they're going to help him get through this, somehow.

  "You're smart," he says. "Smart enough to send your friend after me to find out if I was a liar. I'm sure you've pieced it together already, for the most part."

  Damn it, Jack. "Was it that obvious?"

  He shrugs. "Not at first. Everything I told him was true. But he's pretty damn good at getting people to talk. He should probably think about hosting Taxicab Confessions."

  "I've always said that." Maybe I should feel mortified. I don't know. Although I'd started to suspect, I needed to hear the truth from someone I could trust.