Page 3 of City of Liars

My best friend snorted. “That bad, huh?”

“You have no idea. All he did was talk about his podiatry issues, his problematic politics, and his boring-as-heck job.” I sank onto a bench beneath the oaks that overhung the sidewalk, watching a line of people stream into a nearby bar for a night far superior to mine. A bar where my date would’ve concluded, if it hadn’t been a culinary remake of Apocalypse Now. “He chewed with his mouth open, and he got sauce in his pretentious mustache. And he ordered spaghetti, Tessa. Who orders spaghetti on a first date?”

“Someone who doesn’t live up to your parents’ standards.” Tessa’s tone was wry. “So you shouldn’t beat yourself up too much that it didn’t work out.”

“I didn’t want to go on this date in the first place.” I drew a deep breath, inhaling the intoxicating scent of a burger and fries wafting from across the street. My stomach growled, protesting the two scallops, three asparagus spears, and drizzle of sauce that I’d managed to consume before Tessa’s in-case-of-emergency-break-glass rescue call. “I only did it to appease my mother. But apparently, her taste isn’t any better than mine.”

Dishes clattered in the background; Tessa must’ve been washing up from supper. “Just because your marriage to Gray was a failure doesn’t mean you are, Liv,” she said. “It’s been eighteen months since you kicked his sorry ass to the curb. So yeah, maybe it’s time to get back out there. But you’re not obligated to go on blind dates with your mom’s country club friends’ loser sons just because you don’t want to let your parents down. Being a single mom with a successful career at thirty-four is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I know that,” I protested. “I just…”

My voice trailed off as a couple made their way into the bar. Atomic, it was called. They were holding hands, and he bent to whisper in her ear. When she laughed, turning her face up to be kissed, a familiar blend of envy and resentment simmered inside me.

I told myself to knock it off. I wanted a partner, not an entitled loser like the guy I’d met tonight, or a hypocrite full of empty flattery who dumped the responsibility of running our lives in my lap, like my ex. And I wasn’t likely to find that at a bar…or anywhere else, if my track record was any indication.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Tessa said. “Your therapy practice is doing great, right? Chloe’s rocking third grade. Give yourself a break. The rest will come. Meanwhile, why don’t you treat yourself to a decent meal or a drink somewhere?”

It was tempting. I was hungry, after all, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out on a weekend night. But sitting at a table by myself, while everyone around me lived it up with friends or gazed into each other’s eyes, sounded less than appealing.

I tugged at the bodice of my dress, which was threatening to sidestep come-hither and land squarely in risqué. No wonder Mustache Man had been staring. “It’s not that late. Can you come out and meet me? Please?”

“Sorry, hon. No can do.” Her dishwasher hummed as it came on. “It’s Victor’s night out with the guys, and the twins have a massive project for school. One of those trifold poster-board things. He helped them with the last one, since I had to present at that conference in Spain. So now, I’m stuck here. But you go have some fun.”

“You sound like my grandmother. That’s what she said, before she pushed me out the door: You’re in the prime of your life, and you deserve to have fun. She even talked me into wearing one of her vintage Manhattan society ball dresses. You should see me! I look like an extra who escaped a Rita Hayworth movie and crash-landed in the twenty-first century.”

“Come on, Liv,” Tessa coaxed. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating. The dress can’t be that bad.”

“I am not! I’ll take a selfie and send it to you. Then you can judge for yourself.”

I’d seen photos of my grandmother wearing this dress. On her, it had been a sophisticated slip; on me, it stretched tight over every curve. Then again, there was no reason to expect we’d share a physique. The two of us weren’t related…biologically, anyhow. We were close, though, far closer than me and my mother. As I’d told Grandma Ella when I was little, and my grandmother repeated any time she got the chance, we might not be related by blood, but we were connected by love. If it hadn’t been for her powers of persuasion, I wouldn’t have been willing to go on the awful date tonight at all, much less dressed like a 1940s ingénue.

Holding up my phone, I snapped the shot. “Do you see?” My voice crept up to a dangerous pitch. “I look like I just stepped out of a Broadway show.”

“Yeah, I see.” Tessa sounded like she was struggling not to laugh. “It’s a wonder Mustache Man was able to form a single boring word, given how low-cut that thing is. I do have one question, though. Where’s your feather boa?”

“Very funny,” I told her. “I can’t go out by myself, dressed like this. Just imagine me sitting at a bar, mainlining crappy wine while rude guys hit on me and mean girls point and laugh. Then imagine all my little cells, buckling under the strain, rewriting my genetic code into something illegible and devastating…”

She snorted. “Nice try, Liv. In my professional opinion, I think you’ll be okay.”

“Some best friend you are. You know what? Next time, I’ll…”

My voice trailed off. Because at the door to Atomic, slipping past the bouncer, was a small, gray-haired woman, visible to me only in profile. But that knife-edged blade of a nose, that small, determined chin…I’d know it anywhere.

What in the name of everything holy was my grandmother doing here?

“I’ve got to go,” I told Tessa as the woman disappeared inside. “I’ll call you later.”

Disconnecting the call, I stood and walked toward Atomic, bewildered. Grandma Ella was ninety-three; she wasn’t in the habit of going out late at night, let alone barhopping. Maybe I’d been mistaken. But then who⁠—

Ingénue costume or not, I had to find out. Following the path the mysterious woman had taken, I stepped past the bouncer and through the door. The small room was crowded, the press of bodies oppressive despite the crisp fall weather. At five-four, I couldn’t see much over the crowd. I stood on my tiptoes, scanning the dance floor and the bar for the woman who resembled my grandmother.

She was gone.

3

Liv

This made no sense. I didn’t see my grandmother anywhere, nor anyone I could’ve mistaken for her. But how could that be? Atomic was crowded, but not that crowded. Plus, she’d just walked in a minute before I did.