Page 17 of The Liar in Room 5

“Survived?” I scoffed. “Killed it.”

The car inched forward, and I continued to stare out the window as the blue box loomed closer.

“Andy, I have a question for you, and I need you to answer honestly.”

“Yeah?”

“Promise?”

“Yes, I promise.”

“Tell me the truth. You don’t want to go to the pickleball tournament at all, do you?”

Shoot.

My brain scrambled to think of an answer that wasn’t a lie.

“What do you mean? Of course I do.”

Why did this matter? I could have told him the damn truth. But he’d heard me talk about pickleball at Halo House, so how the heck could I explain that I didn’t even know how to say what I liked? Half the time, I couldn’t even remember, for Pete’s sake.

Henry remained quiet while he expertly moved through traffic and, like magic, managed to get over to the exit in time. His hand never left mine, but he didn’t talk either. There was every possibility that I’d messed this up, and I couldn’t even say what this was.

Off the feeder road, he pulled into the parking lot of a strip center lined with restaurants. When Henry switched off the ignition, I was fully prepared to get it with both barrels, but there was no way on God’s green earth my mouth was going to open first.

“Andy, I need to ask you something. It’s important to me.”

I stayed quiet because I had no idea what was coming next, and I hated that feeling.

“I feel like you’re lying a little to me.”

I whipped my head around and stared at him. Whatever I’d expected, it wasn’t that.

“I don’t care about the tournament. What’s important is that you’re honest with me.”

“This is silly. Sure, I like it.”

“I know you told Walter you did, but you don’t, do you?”

I shook my head.

“And you don’t like being called Andy, do you?”

I shook my head.

“And you don’t want to go to the racquet club either, do you?”

Another shake.

“Let’s go to Ikea.”

“Andy? Andy?”

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize you were talking to me.” After we’d parked, we’d followed the crowd up the escalator. We’d barely started, and I was already overwhelmed by the first few apartment setups.

It was fun to imagine what having a little apartment would be like because I’d only had one for a couple of months after I first moved to California. I started working as a barista near a downtown hospital and met Stephen, who was an executive there. He’d convinced me it would be so much easier for me to stop working. We were together for five years. When he broke up with me, he suggested I stay in one of his friend’s guesthouse, then another, and another. I was with Jonathan when I hit the wall. Every move had been choreographed, but I’d been the only one who hadn’t realized I was standing on a lazy Susan.

“I’ve noticed you make a little face when someone says your name. Is it because you don’t really like the name Andy?”