He called it a coincidence and insisted they had to be from my ex-boyfriend, Jonah, the bag of tools who’d dated me and three other women at the same time. But José was giving Jonah too much credit.
When men turn stalker, they show up outside your window late at night or steal your underpants. Women are more cunning.
“Me too,” I tell her. “I want to be friends.”
I feel awash with shame, because it comes out too easily. Mydad’s a good liar too. He lied his way into staying in a marriage that lasted decades longer than it should have.
My mother washed his clothes, cooked him meals, and bought him thoughtfully selected presents for every major holiday and birthday. He took everything she offered and gave her nothing but BS and gaslighting in return.
Then again, she probably should have known better. Not only were there several glaring signs that he was a disrespectful prick, but he was basically a professor of untruths. One of his most popular classes was the Psychology of Lying, no joke, and now that he’s been disgraced in academic circles for seducing students, he has a radio podcast about the same thing. I sometimes have the displeasure of hearing his voice when I’m channel surfing in my car.
I don’t want to be like that asshole, but can we really escape the influence of the people we surround ourselves with?
I’m not a liar. Usually. But sometimes I find myself exhibiting my dad’s other habits—like carrying on rhetorical conversations out loud or “cleaning” by shoving everything into the closet. So why not this too?
Pansy smiles, showing me that lipstick-stained tooth again. I nearly feel guilty enough to warn her about it when she says, “I’ll bet your parents would be really upset if they found out. It’s almost incest.”
“It’s not like he and I grew up together,” I say heatedly, as if I really am in love with Cormac and would defend our inappropriate relationship with my life.
“Oh, I get it.” She broadens her smile. “But I can understand why you wouldn’t want them to know. It would be embarrassing for everyone involved.”
I tilt my head, focusing on that tooth, because it’s the only thing that’s keeping me from snapping. “Sure.”
“I’d never tell, of course. But…you know…friends show support for each other, that’s what I always say. Did José happen to mention that I’ve started my own interior design company? I’m calling it Pads by Pansy.”
I’ll give my father this much?—
If I hadn’t inherited Vernon Leigh’s ability to lie with a straight face, I’d be laughing my ass off right now.
I take a deep breath. “Pads by Pansy. That’s an interesting name.”
“I like the alliteration.”
“Aren’t you worried people will think you’re talking about sanitary products?”
She lifts her chin, her blond curls bouncing on her shoulders. “No one uses pads anymore. They’re so last century.”
Tell that to all the women with pelvic floor issues.
“Well, that’s super cool, Pansy,” I say, “but I have to get out there to check on my mother. I’m her maid of honor.”
She reaches for my arm and digs her fingers in so I don’t go. “I thought maybe I could do some decorating for you. José told me you’d hired someone else, a friend, but we’re friends now, aren’t we?”
Ah, here it is.
She thinks she knows my deepest, darkest secret and wants to use it as a bargaining chip. I’d like nothing better than to tell her off. She’s an asshole, and so undeserving of José it physically pains me to be in the same room as them when they’re together.
The thing is: I need her to believe she has the upper hand.
I give her a slight nod. “Why don’t you send me your portfolio for—” I allow myself a microsecond pause “—Pads by Pansy.And we’ll go from there. But I really do have to check on my mom.”
Her smile purses to the side. “So she won’t guess you were making out with your stepbrother in a back room?”
I pretend to laugh, but then it hits me?—
Pansy didn’t know I was in here. Was she trying to sneak into my office, or did she hear us talking and decide to eavesdrop? Either way, there’s no way in hell I’m giving this woman a hall pass to sift through my papers or spit in my water bottle. I gesture at the door. “Let’s head out there together. They haven’t started serving the Ginger Ever After yet, but I’ll set you up with some.”
It’s a special ginger beer I made for my mother’s wedding—with a hint of raspberry, her favorite berry. My new brews are always inspired by something in my life, although admittedly this is the only new flavor I’ve felt inspired to make for months.
