The Lies I Told(71)

My head spun and churned up all the emotions buried deep. “I barely hugged her that last time.”

Tears fell down my cheeks. My stomach tumbled. There’d been a time when two glasses weren’t even a warm-up. But tonight, it hit me between the eyes. Drawing in a breath, I rose off the couch and stumbled. Lightweight. Out of training.

I moved to the kitchen and grabbed the bottle by the slim neck. I took a long drink. “Any job worth doing is worth doing well.”





40


BRIT

Friday, March 18, 2022

8:15 p.m.

I sat in the back of the Uber staring out the window, watching the lights of the city pass. I should’ve been happy. Should’ve been excited to see David, who, if I’d read his body language correctly, was going to ask me an important question. I’d also added Find My Friends to his phone when he’d been in the shower last week, justifying the move because he needed looking after just like Marisa. When he’d been late last week, that little app had told me he had been at a jeweler’s in the West End. Didn’t take higher math to add up that equation.

I should have been thrilled, over the moon, but Marisa’s visit now shadowed all those thoughts.

Marisa could ruin the best, most perfect day. She was the dark, angry cloud that had hung over our family since the day she’d been born. And after Mom’s death and most especially after Clare’s, she’d never once considered that we were all hurting in our own ways, and none of us had time for her anger issues.

And now she was doing it all over again. If her stupid, drunken car accident wasn’t enough, she was now using our dead sister to drain the fragile happiness from my life.

Before I’d left the house, I’d noticed the glass of wine and the bottle, which I’d accidentally left behind, had been emptied. That bottle had cost me fifty bucks, and I hated the idea of it going down the sink . . . and of Marisa gulping it like it was MD 20/20.

It would have been too bad if Marisa had drunk any of the wine. It would have been another nick in her fragile sobriety, which, let’s face it, wouldn’t stand the test of time. Marisa didn’t have that kind of discipline. She was a loose cannon. A tragedy better suited for the stage.

Another stint in rehab was all we needed, but I’d rise to the occasion as I always did.

“We’re here,” the driver said.

I realized then that the Uber had rolled up in front of the historic restaurant in the city’s Northside. “Thank you.”

Climbing out, I muscled away the tension with a shoulder roll and allowed the cool air to temper the anger that had left my face warm and flushed.

My smile was forced, but as I held it, and held it, it felt more natural. Like my mother, I used the same damn smile to get through the worst of life. And I’d keep it plastered on all evening even if it killed me.

I pushed through the doors of the restaurant, annoyed by the blast of heat. There’d been something comforting about the shivering air. Discomfort kept me on my toes, made me think more clearly. Comfort, however, was dangerous. Easy to let one’s guard down if too lax.

The hostess was a young woman in her twenties with ice-blond hair, bright expressive eyes, and the scripted word Fearless tattooed on her wrist.

“I’m meeting David Welbourne.”

Ms. Fearless checked her list and smiled. “He’s here. Right this way.”

“Thank you.”

I followed the woman’s swaying hips clad in too-tight black pants. Aware of white tablecloths, soft music, and the hum of subdued conversation, we moved around tables and rounded a column. David was sitting at a corner table, and when he spotted me, he rose, looking a little nervous. It was charming to see and made me feel better. His eyes slid over me, and I noted appreciation mingling with curiosity. He’d better like what he saw. I’d put enough thought into the outfit this morning.

Leaning in, I kissed him on the lips. He tasted of wine and nerves. “What’s got you so worked up?”

He touched his tie—an item I’d never seen him wear—and smiled. “You. Always you.”

I smiled. Once I’d been the center of attention in my parents’ lives, and then the twins had come along and my parents had become buried under a mountain of diapers, screams, and feeding schedules. Mommy and Daddy barely noticed me much after that.

But not tonight. Tonight, I had David. And I was his center. “I love you.”

His cheeks blushed in the most adorable way. “I love you.”

He held the back of my chair as I settled in my seat and placed a small beaded handbag in my lap. Carefully, I unfolded my napkin as he filled my wineglass with the open bottle on the table. He knew I liked a bottle best when it had time to breathe, time to soften. As I raised the glass, he sat and then clinked his against mine.

I sipped, trying to imagine Marisa staring at the open bottle in my kitchen. Of course, it’d been thoughtless of me to leave it behind. Not the kind of thing one does around an alcoholic. But Marisa had upset me. She’d thrown me off guard when she’d told me Clare had been pregnant. Dad had never told me she was expecting, but for some reason I couldn’t admit that to Marisa. I’d not been thinking when I lied.

“That was a far-off look,” David said.

I set my glass down carefully. “No far-off looks tonight. Just you.”