The Good Liar(29)

My lack of certainty.

“These are pretty,” Cassie had said, startling me.

She was holding the camisole and underwear I’d bought. She had a shy look on her face, as if she was thinking about the nice things she might wear for a man one day, someday soon.

“They are.” I rubbed my hands across the silky fabric, then swept everything on the bed into my suitcase without taking the time to fold anything.

“Mom!”

“What?”

“It’ll get all wrinkled like that.”

“Probably.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure I am, honey.”

I tugged on one of her braids, holding myself in check. I felt the first prick of hate for Tom, then, for making me lie to our daughter.

“I hope you have a stupendous time,” she said.

“Word of the day? I like it.”

Cassie smiled and gave me a quick hug, then darted out of the room, embarrassed.

I sat back on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall until Tom came home.



Before our date, I told Teo I needed to go home and change, but I also wanted time to do something I haven’t been doing enough of in the last couple months—visit the Rings.

We’ve spent a lot of time together in the last year, our two broken families blending into something resembling one. Being together was simple because there didn’t need to be any explanation. If someone cried, they were comforted. If someone needed to be distracted, there were enough petty squabbles and video games and chores to accomplish the task. If Josh didn’t feel like cooking or facing the freezer full of prepared guilt dinners the neighbors left, he knew they could always find a meal with us and vice versa. There were others who joined us, other families we knew from before who were also affected, but we were the core. For months and months and months.

Something shifted a while ago, slowly at first, then more rapidly. There were fewer dinners, fewer game nights or spontaneous drop-bys. Maybe it was a sign of healing, an inevitable change that meant things were improving. I’m not sure what started it, though things felt noticeably different during our last two evenings together, with Franny there. But that wasn’t Franny’s fault; it was us, our chemistry that wasn’t working as well when we didn’t need it so much. But when I saw their names hanging on the wall this afternoon, I realized I hadn’t seen them in weeks.

They live a few blocks from us, their brick colonial built on a similar plan to ours, so there’s always this moment of disorientation when I enter it. The colors are slightly off, the furniture not quite where I would’ve put it. But I don’t end up inside the house today. Instead, as I park my car, I see Franny leaving the house, one of the girls’ hands firmly in each of hers, like they belong there.

I reach for my seat belt to unclip it, but something stops me. Maybe it’s the normalness of it all, but why should that bother me? Where else should Franny be right now? This is her family, and a woman should be with her family in times like these. Maybe it’s as simple as the fact that, on some level, I blame her for being here instead of her mother, and thinking this makes me ashamed. It’s not Franny’s fault her mother’s gone, and, if anything, Franny’s loss is greater than mine. I lost a friend—she lost a parent. A future.

So I don’t get out of the car. Instead, I watch as the girls climb into the back seat of the minivan. Franny checks the girls’ seat belts, doing all the things a mother should. Doing all the things their mother should be doing.

When it hurts too much to watch anymore, I drive away.



Teo takes me to The Angry Crab on North Lincoln, a deliciously messy eating experience I’ve always loved. I don’t tell him it was one of the places Tom and I went with the kids. As the familiar bouquet of steamed shellfish and garlic fills my senses, I push those thoughts down, the memories that feel fresher than they have in a while, and decide to order something different from what I’d usually have, hoping the unfamiliar will make this evening less weird.

If this is a date, and I suppose it can’t be anything other than that, it’s the first I’ve been on in more than twenty years. Tom and I met in college, and I’m not sure we ever had a real first date. Does inviting me to his dorm room to watch a movie count? The last time I felt this awkward was a few months before that, when my roommate set me up with her boyfriend’s roommate and we all went for beers at a pub. I’d been worried that night, too, about what I should wear, and how my body fit into my clothes, and whether I’d be able to keep up my end of the conversation. Only this was Teo. He’d already seen me at my worst. Shaken, terrified, covered in dust and God knows what else.

We find a table and each order Dungeness crab in “grumpy” garlic butter sauce, making sure to pile up on napkins. It’s a BYOB restaurant, and Teo had the foresight to bring a six-pack of a great IPA I haven’t tasted before.

“I’m glad I didn’t get too dressed up,” I say as we dig into our bags of crab. A trail of spicy steam rises from the food and tickles my nose. The acoustics are terrible, so I have to lean toward Teo to catch much of what he says.

“I should’ve brought you somewhere nicer.”

“What? No. I love this place.”

He grabs a cracker from the table. “Tell the truth now, or I’ll use this on you.”