The Lies I Tell(20)

When I saw Cory approaching, I let my elbow kick out as I turned to greet him, knocking the full glass over and spilling beer down the woman’s back, using the chaos to slide the card into my back pocket.

“I’m so sorry,” I said to her, reaching for some napkins.

“Jesus, Meg.” Cory snatched them out of my hand and quickly mopped up the mess, people shuffling their stools away from the large puddle now dripping onto the floor.

I slipped into my coat as the bartender took over, wiping the rest of the beer up with a bar towel.

“Let me drive you home,” Nate said to the woman.

“That’s okay,” she said, holding her arms stiffly at her sides. “I’ve got my car.”

“I’m really sorry,” I said again to her, then offered Nate a tiny shrug. Tough luck.

As we walked toward the door, Nate called after us, “Don’t forget to give Cory his card back, Meg.”

I glanced over my shoulder. Nate stared back at me, his eyes narrowed, waiting.

I reached into my pocket and handed the card back to Cory as cold air from outside blasted into my face. Through the window I could see Nate, alone at the bar, a fresh drink in front of him.

That plan was bound to fail—if not in the moment, then in the days following. Cory would have asked for his card back eventually, and I would have had to give it to him. But the night was still a success because it showed me that I couldn’t steal what I wanted. Like the laptop, I needed to figure out a way for Cory to give it to me willingly.

***

The next morning Cory announced he was making a grocery run after his staff meeting that afternoon, and asked me to put a list together and text it to him by the end of the day. When he arrived home that night, he was short-tempered and exhausted. “The market was a mess,” he said, putting the bags on the counter.

I kissed his cheek and said, “Take a hot shower and change your clothes. I can deal with the groceries.”

“The staff meeting was a shit show,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. “My math department chair is completely useless, and we lost out on a major grant opportunity because he forgot to submit the paperwork.”

I pulled a cold beer out of the fridge and handed it to him, “Go. Relax. Dinner will be ready in thirty minutes.”

As I put the groceries away—fair trade organic coffee, grass-fed organic milk, and two filet mignon steaks that cost $12 each—my mind tallied up what this midweek trip must have cost. Two hundred dollars perhaps? That was about what my mother and I would have spent on food in a month.

I seasoned the steaks and popped them into the broiler. Then I threw together some romaine lettuce, a couple red peppers, carrots, and cucumbers—all organic, of course—for a salad while the steaks cooked. By the time Cory returned in sweatpants and wet hair from the shower, I’d set the table, lit the candles the way he liked, and poured the wine.

We settled across from each other, and I let him go into the details of his day, making sympathetic noises about the difficulties of running a public high school. Funding shortages, staffing problems, troubled students who might not graduate.

“You have so much on your plate,” I told him. “You do so much for so many people. Including me.”

He nodded and picked up his knife and fork.

“Let me help,” I continued. “I feel like all I do is take. I live here for free, I eat for free, you buy me expensive computers and love me…let me do something for you.”

“You do plenty for me,” he said, giving me a wink.

I pulled myself straight in my chair and said, “To be honest, it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. I’ve always been independent. Paid my own way and taken care of myself.” I crossed my arms and looked into the living room. “I know you mean well, and I appreciate everything you give me, but this isn’t how I was raised.” I looked back at him, my expression serious. “It makes me feel cheap.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

“I need to feel like an equal partner here. I know you think I’m young and naive.” He started to speak, but I kept talking. “I hear how you and Nate talk about me. And it’s fine, you’re not wrong. I don’t have as much experience in the world as you do; I don’t make as much money, but I can afford to contribute something. I can make life easier for you if you’ll let me.”

He thought for a moment. Finally, he said, “What did you have in mind?”

“Let me buy the groceries. Imagine how nice it’ll be to have that errand done for you. To come home to a hot meal.” Under the table I tugged the hem of my shirt so the V of my top would sink lower. “Maybe I’ll wear an apron.”

I could see him imagining it—me in something skimpy, serving him. “I suppose we can give that a try.”

I smiled and leaned over the table to kiss him.

***

The following week, I made a big show of assembling a list and checking for staples that needed to be replenished. “By the time you get home, the cupboards will be filled and dinner will be ready.” I grabbed Cory around the waist and hugged him. “This feels good,” I whispered into his ear. “Thank you.”

He slid his hands under my shirt and caressed my stomach. “I’ll be home at seven.”

***