The (Half) Truth

by Harper, Leddy

  “How much are you supposed to use? I have a tendency to go a little overboard.”

  “Well . . .” Assuming she had a personal interest in my answer, rather than asking for the sake of the show, I looked at her. “It all depends on what you’re making. You should really follow the recipe and use the exact amount it calls for.”

  Her eyes widened the tiniest bit, but she quickly shook off the surprise in favor of a smile. She grabbed my wrist and pulled the bottle away from the pan, using her hold on me to set it on the counter. “I think that looks like enough; don’t you?”

  It wasn’t until I glanced back to what I had on the stove that I realized I’d continued pouring while staring at her. “Oh, this will be fine.” I couldn’t guarantee that, but considering we were only doing enough to demonstrate each part rather than running through the entirety of the process, I assumed it wouldn’t be an issue. I mean, it wasn’t like I’d ever cooked anything without actually finishing each step. Gemma hustled me through the next few of those.

  “So once we have the breaded corn patties ready to go”—Gemma handed me the plate that had been prepared prior to filming—“it’s time to toss them into the pan. Is that right, Tatum?”

  I nodded and turned toward the stove.

  Two seconds later, any chance I had at being on television blew up in my face.

  23

  Jason

  Mom beamed at me from behind the center island in her kitchen. “There you are. I started to worry that you changed your mind about having dinner with me tonight.”

  I leaned over the counter to kiss her cheek and then turned to the fridge for a drink. “I told you I’d be here around five thirty. Why would you think I wasn’t coming?”

  “Because you’re late.”

  Twisting off the top of a water bottle, I glanced at the clock on the stove. “It’s five thirty-three, Ma. Which in everyone else’s world, falls under the around part of ‘I’ll be there around five thirty.’ See how that works?”

  Before she could say anything, the front door opened and closed. Mom didn’t seem surprised by another person walking into her house, which meant it had to be family.

  My flight home had been delayed, so I hadn’t even landed until after two in the morning, and then I’d had a full day at the office. I was far too tired to deal with anyone I was related to—Mom didn’t count; she’d given me life, so she always said that exempted her from situations like this.

  As luck would have it, our surprise guest was none other than Kelsey. I would’ve taken Uncle Fred and his fishing stories over the feisty redhead any day. Hell, Marlena’s rambunctious four-year-old seemed like a walk in the park compared to her. What was worse was that my mom had clearly known she was coming over, yet she hadn’t warned me; she probably knew I would’ve bailed—smart play on her part.

  “Hey, Aunt Lori.” Kelsey’s cheerful and bubbly greeting was nothing but a ruse. That theory was proven when she turned to face me. The smile she’d shown my mother vanished, as did the happy tone when she mumbled, “Jason.”

  Mom stepped around the island to give my cousin a hug, which was more than she’d done for me when I’d arrived. But I couldn’t focus on that, because I was instantly sidetracked by my mom’s bright-pink zebra-striped pants.

  “What are those?” I pointed to the ridiculous things painted on her legs.

  She glanced down, confusion narrowing her gaze. “They’re leggings. Kelsey gave them to me.”

  “Don’t ever do that again.” I glared at my cousin. “And who invited you to dinner?”

  She raised her brows and cocked her head to the side. “I did. Your mom told me you’d be here tonight, so I figured I’d join you. Since you were in Vegas this weekend, I thought this would be a good way to catch up.”

  This reeked of a setup.

  Ignoring Kelsey’s obvious interest in my weekend, I grabbed three plates from the cabinet and set them in front of my mom. I was perfectly capable of making my own plate, but here, Mom determined what everyone got.

  “Did you run out of food at your apartment?” I asked Kelsey after we each took a seat at the table. We sat across from each other, leaving the place at the end for my mother. Even though Bill was no longer here to occupy the chair at the other end, I never felt right taking it.

  Ironically, Kelsey didn’t give me a smug look. She just shrugged and said, “Tater’s filming the cooking segment today. I’m sure she doesn’t want to come home after that and then make me something to eat.”

  My stomach knotted at the mention of Tatum. However, hearing that she had accepted the morning-show offer left me feeling like I’d been shocked by a defibrillator—my chest ached, yet it made my heart beat again.

  I had to shake it off, refusing to get into a conversation with Kelsey about her roommate. “Are you not capable of making something for yourself?”

  “Of course I am. But why would I?”

  “Umm . . .” I blinked several times. “I’m just grasping at straws here, but maybe so you have something to eat?”

  Just then, my mom set a plate in front of her. She looked at it, then at me. “I can’t be sure, Jason, but it seems to me like I have something to eat—without having to cook it.”

  I stabbed my fork into the heap of macaroni salad and stuffed it into my mouth. It was the only way to keep from starting an argument about Tatum needing to cook. “This is amazing, Ma.”

  “Tatum made it yesterday at Diane’s.” Mom took a sip of her tea. “And swallow before you speak.”

  “Yeah, too bad you weren’t there. Dad did a pork loin.” Kelsey was never this nice. Something was definitely up. “So what were you doing in Vegas?” And there it was.

  Annoyed, I peered at my cousin while leaning over my plate, hoping she understood the imminent danger she faced if she kept this up. “None of your business.”

  Meanwhile, Mom sat blissfully unaware with a glass of ice tea in her hand. “Oh, before I forget . . .” She placed her hand on my arm to catch my attention. “Do you have any plans for Saturday?”

  This woman lectured me for speaking with food in my mouth, yet it never failed, she always waited until I took a bite before asking me a question. Rather than wait until I swallowed to give her an answer, I just shook my head.

  “Oh, good.” My mom’s eyes brightened with her enthusiastic grin. “Then you can come to your aunt’s house.”

  I took a moment to make sure I understood what she’d said. “She’s doing lunch on Saturday instead of Sunday?”

  “Yes. We’re going to record the morning show and watch it while we’re all together.” Seeing the pride in her eyes when she talked about Tatum made me wonder if it was visible when she spoke about me.

  I quickly shook that thought off; just because my feelings about Tatum had changed didn’t mean Mom’s had to as well. “Um . . . I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it.”

  “Why not? You just said you didn’t have plans.”

  I turned from my mom to Kelsey, only to catch her roll her eyes. At least she didn’t make a comment or snide remark; instead, she slid out of her chair and went to the fridge. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d done that to keep herself from saying something in front of my mom.

  With the fork close to my lips, I said, “I don’t, Ma. But that doesn’t mean I want to go.” And then I shoveled a scoop of meatloaf into my mouth, preventing myself from having to answer the questions I knew would follow.

  Except that wasn’t such a smart idea, because she surprised me by asking, “How much longer do you plan to avoid Tatum?” And I started to choke.

  My life flashed before my eyes as I leaned over my plate, coughing up meatloaf uncontrollably. And with the strength of a young bodybuilder, Mom slapped my back—although it felt more like a beating than a lifesaving measure.

  Once my airway was clear, I took a chance and played dumb. “Who said I was avoiding Tatum?”

  “Kelsey said you two aren’t speaking to each oth
er,” Mom said when she sat back down.

  I swung my glare to my cousin, who annoyingly, still had her head in the fridge. I couldn’t see her face, yet I knew she’d heard the whole thing. That point was proven when she called out, “Is this yogurt any good?”

  “I don’t have any yogurt, sweetheart.”

  “Oh, then I’m going to assume it’s not,” she muttered from behind the door.

  My fists landed on the table a little harder than intended when I glanced between Kelsey and my mom. “Does anyone in this family know how to keep their mouths shut?”

  After grabbing a water, Kelsey decided to stop hiding and moved away from the fridge. “In my defense, all I said was that you were upset with Tatum and haven’t spoken to her in a couple of weeks. I didn’t tell anyone that it’s because she told a few people at work she was dating you, and you found out about it.”

  I smacked my hand against my face, wishing I had something harder to bang my head into.

  “Well, son . . . I don’t see what’s so bad about a girl telling people that you’re going steady. I think that would be a compliment. Why would that upset you?”

  “He thinks she made him look like a fool,” Kelsey answered on my behalf. “And since he doesn’t offer anyone second chances, no matter how sorry they are or what lengths they go to make it right, she’s pretty much dead to him.”

  I groaned inwardly, hoping it would help release some of my irritation.

  Apparently, Mom thought that was the perfect time to offer her completely unsolicited advice. “Not everyone is like your father, Jason.”

  I dropped my hands to the table and stared at her for an obscene amount of time. “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “Whenever someone hurts or betrays you, you put up a wall between you and them. Anyone who’s watched ten minutes of a Dr. Phil show can see you do it to protect yourself. But at some point, you’re going to have to realize that while you think you’re keeping them from hurting you again, all you’re really doing is preventing either of you from healing.”

  As much as I hated to admit it, she had a point. However, none of that explained her comment about my dad. So, rather than give her insight much thought, I set it aside in favor of getting the answer to my original question. “And that pertains to my father . . . how?”

  “What she’s trying to say is”—Kelsey leaned forward with her arm stretched across the table to get my attention—“no matter how many times your dad let you down, you continued to give him chance after chance. And he continued to hurt you time after time. But you can’t assume everyone will do the same.” She sat up straight, slipping her hand back to her side of the table.

  My mom didn’t wait for me to argue before chiming in. “There will always be people in this world who’ll ruin every opportunity you give them, and then continue to crawl back for more. But there are others who’ll make mistakes, only to move heaven and earth to keep from ever making them again.”

  There was nothing quite like a psychological evaluation by relatives—none of whom had ever attended school to be a psychologist. Then again, I couldn’t expect anything different from my family.

  “Listen, guys . . .” I glanced between my mom and my cousin, addressing them both. “I appreciate the insight into my childhood trauma and diagnosis of daddy issues—I really do—but unfortunately, it’s unnecessary. Tatum and I were friends. That’s it. Nothing more. So while you both have some amazing theories about my motivations, it doesn’t apply to her. I have no problem being around her, nor do I hold anything against her.”

  “Does that mean we’ll see you Saturday?” Mom had either fallen on her head at Derby practice, or she had mastered the act of sweet old lady and was using it to her advantage.

  I picked up my fork and stared at the food in front of me. “I can’t make any promises.”

  My response seemed to pacify Mom—I didn’t care how Kelsey felt about it. I just knew I had to hurry up and leave before they could turn back into Oprah and Dr. Phil. If season two started, I wouldn’t be able to guarantee it would end as smoothly as the last.

  After scooping the last of the meatloaf into my mouth, I pushed my chair away from the table. My mom hated it when I excused myself before I finished chewing the last bite, but I was willing to risk the repercussions.

  “I hate to eat and run, Ma, but I have to get home.” I kissed her cheek, thankful she hadn’t mentioned how fast I’d inhaled my food. “And for the love of God . . . please throw out those tights you’re wearing. You should also stop feeding the strays,” I added while pointing to my cousin.

  “I really need to be going, too.” Kelsey stood up, which meant I had about ten seconds to get in my car and back out of the driveway.

  I didn’t even make it to the front door in ten seconds.

  “Jason, wait up. I have something in my car for you.” Of course she did.

  Reluctantly, I followed her outside and waited while she retrieved something from the driver’s seat. When she handed me a notebook, I waited for an explanation, yet she never gave me one. “What’s this?”

  She rolled her eyes. “My diary from seventh grade.”

  I grabbed her arm to prevent her from sliding into her seat. “Nope. You don’t get to poke and prod at me and then skip out when I need answers.”

  “You’re holding the answers. If you really want them, I suggest you take a look at it.”

  “Does this have to do with Tatum?”

  “I don’t know, Jason . . . what’d you go to Vegas for?” She propped her hand on her hip, as if her comeback satisfied her. “See? You won’t answer my questions, either.”

  “What does it matter, Kelsey? You never wanted me with Tatum in the first place, so where did this sudden interest come from?”

  She shrugged and dropped the arrogance. “There’s a chance—a small, tiny chance—that I unfairly judged you when you moved back. But Tatum didn’t. Regardless of all the nasty and deplorable things I may or may not have told her about you . . . she never let it stop her from seeing you in a completely unbiased way.”

  “And that somehow means I owe you something?”

  “No. It means you owe her something. I’m tired of seeing my best friend beat herself up. The worst part is . . . I’m unable to do anything for her. I just thought that maybe if I talked to you, and you gave me something to go on, I might be able to steer her in the right direction.”

  Thank God the sun had gone down; otherwise, she might’ve seen the pain register on my face in some way. “Let me guess . . . you want to know if I saw Jen. Because you think if I did, you could use it to make her hate me.”

  “Not hate you, just maybe stop glorifying you or something.”

  My ribcage felt bruised from the way my heart beat itself against it, though I wasn’t sure what that meant. It was caused either by the idea of Tatum glorifying me or the thought of her hating me. I wasn’t sure which. Then again, it could’ve been both.

  “Is she really that upset?” I barely got the words out.

  “You’re more than welcome to call her and find out for yourself.”

  “Come on, Kelsey. Why can’t you just tell me?”

  She sighed and dropped her chin. “Listen . . . I’ve already given you more than you deserve. I just don’t know what the big deal is. Why are you being so secretive about Vegas?”

  “Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “You saw her, didn’t you?”

  I nodded, incapable of speaking the truth.

  Without another word, Kelsey slipped into her car and closed the door. I stood in the driveway, unable to move, and waited as she started the engine and backed out. Then I waited a little while longer for the chains that had wrapped too tightly around my chest to ease up enough for me to breathe.

  And before I got into my car, I pulled out my phone. I had no doubt that my cousin would go straight home and tell Tatum about Jen, and even though I didn’t owe it to her, I wanted a chance to
explain first.

  Me: Can we talk?

  I stupidly read through the notebook as soon as I got home, which prevented my mind from shutting off, regardless of how exhausted I was. When Kelsey had given it to me, I’d had no idea what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been what I found.

  Tatum’s handwriting decorated the papers, and as I flipped through each one, I couldn’t help but grow lost in her words. I could almost hear her voice in the loopy letters, teaching me how to cook each recipe the way she had that very first night we’d spent together. By the third page, I began to understand why my cousin had felt the need to give it to me.

  Between the ingredients and their names, it was like reading a story about the weeks we’d spent together, the things we’d done, and the conversations we’d shared. In a way, it was a private letter from her to me, a secret only the two of us could understand.

  By the time I finished reading the very last word, it was midnight. I still hadn’t heard from her, though that didn’t stop me from trying again. I opened our text conversation, typed out a message, and hit send.

  Me: Please call or text me back.

  There was a chance she wasn’t awake, so after another half an hour without a word from her, I put my phone down and went to bed.

  “How’s Tatum?” Maryanne stood in the doorway with a gentle smile playing on her lips. She hadn’t been in the office much, and when she had, we’d both been too busy to offer more than a wave to each other.

  Confused by her question, I stilled with my hands perched over the keyboard on my desk. I hadn’t heard from Tatum at all. And after two texts, I’d given up. Waiting for a response for well over twenty-four hours was enough to prove that I’d made an effort, so Kelsey or anyone else couldn’t accuse me of not trying to smooth things over.

  The thought of her being with her ex soured my stomach, so I shook that thought loose and returned my attention to Maryanne and the concern that narrowed her gaze. “Uh, I guess she’s okay. Why?”