Lies We Tell Ourselves Page 17

  I looked up at him, aware that my face was a snotty, wet mess. “You can’t afford your own apartment. You’ll be stuck living here and…”

  He stopped me with a press of his finger to my bottom lip. “I’m not living here. That’s the only thing I know for certain. I’ll move in with…with…”

  “You can move in with me.” The words came out on an impulse, but there’s no hesitation. I mean them more than I’ve ever meant anything in my life.

  He stared as though waiting for me to realize the absurdity of my statement. My chin came up. Defiance. A dare for him to challenge me. As usual, he slipped on the proverbial boxing gloves.

  “I’m not living with you.”

  “Yes you are.”

  “No I’m not.”

  “Yes you are.”

  A childish argument, but I would win one way or another.

  “Where, Presley? Are you gonna stash me under your bed until curfew is over, then bring me out when all the other girls are asleep? Am I going to climb through your sixth floor dorm window and risk breaking my neck twice a day, fingers crossed that no one notices me? I’m pretty sure the university dorms have tighter security than that.”

  “I might be on the first floor.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not living in your dorm room.”

  I had accepted a scholarship at Georgia Tech last month, the announcement was made as I walked across the stage at graduation. Majoring in journalism, a full ride that I’d thanked my lucky stars for a dozen times over. If I hadn’t been smart the last three years of school, I wouldn’t be going anywhere. My mother’s views on college weren’t any different than Micah’s fathers.

  “I won’t go to Tech. I’ll go to the community college and we’ll get an apartment. The scholarship will transfer, and I can use the money I save to find a place to live.”

  His mouth falls open. “I won’t let you do that.”

  “I didn’t ask for your permission.”

  “It’s a dumb idea.”

  “I didn’t ask your opinion, either.”

  “You’re not changing your plans for me.”

  My temper flared, hot and acidic. I would win this word volley whether he liked it or not. “You’re not in charge here, Micah. I am. So stop arguing with me. If I want to switch schools, I will. If I want to change my major from English to French education with a minor in history, I will. If I want to start wearing my bra backwards and forgo underwear all together, I will. Got it?” Our tentative future at cohabitation wasn’t off to the best start. I blink up at him, waiting for a barb, an insult. An invisible ping-pong ball slammed against my forehead at the very least.

  “You’re going to major in French?”

  I sighed, exasperated. I didn’t know a single word of French and he knew it.

  “You’re missing the point.”

  He leaned his forehead against mine and focused on my mouth. “Why would you do that? Offer to change your plans for me?” His questions came out strained, a whisper fighting its way through a clogged wind pipe. His arms tightened around my waist and pulled me a half-inch closer. The move was subtle, casual, but the atmosphere shifted. Static crackled in the small space between us. I was hyper aware of his breathing, of my own erratic heart. It was skipping around like a child tripping over cracks in a sidewalk. Step step thud. Repeat. Thud. Catch yourself. Repeat.

  “Not just for you. I’d rather go to community college anyway.” The lie was so thick I could’ve run my finger through it and licked off the top.

  “No you wouldn’t. You’d rather go to Tech and do the whole college thing with the dorms and the schedules and the parties. Not to mention all the new guys you could date. Don’t settle, Presley.”

  “Don’t tell me what to do. You have no idea what I want.”

  It was the wrong thing to say at the exact wrong time. Full of innuendo both intentional and accidental. But it was there. Dangling, waiting for someone to reach for it. Of course, Micah tested it out.

  “What do you want?” I’m not sure an argument had ever involved so much whispering and tension and lip glances and non-anger. If I raised my head up just a little, I could kiss him. I’d spent most of my life wanting to kiss Micah, but I never actually thought it could be a possibility. I ran my tongue across my bottom lip and pondered the question. It was a pointless exercise. Nothing came to me.

  Micah’s eyes dropped to my mouth, and he inched forward. Something seemed to have come to him. “What if I already know what I want?” His voice was husky, pained. My heart sped up double time, my pulse a clock hammering out the seconds inside my ears. I wet my lips, hope making me more than a little eager.

  “Then I guess you should go get it.” I couldn’t believe I said it, but the words were out. An invitation, a dare. Micah had never been one to back down from a challenge.

  “I guess I should.” The sentence was barely finished before his lips found mine. The first press felt awkward and exciting at the same time. This was Micah. This was me. Best friends weren’t supposed to do this, were they? No one gave us the rule book, so we made up our own. Press in, pull apart, fingers in hair were good. Run them down the strands, grip the back of my neck, softer, harder, whatever way you want. We kissed for hours, for seconds, for all the time in between. When he pulled back like a gentleman, I knew I was gone. In all the ways I’d already managed to fall for Micah, this was different. Before, I managed to keep a part of my heart to myself. Now, I was all alone in the world. No heart, no brain, no need for them anymore.

  He pulled me into a hug. “Was that okay?”

  I smiled just under his earlobe, his skin warm against my mouth. “It was more than okay.”

  For a long time neither one of us spoke, we just held each other and let silence untangle our warbled thoughts. Finally, Micah pulled back to look at me.

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  I nodded. “Ask me anything.”

  He smiled. I should have recognized it as wicked. “About the no underwear thing. Are you wearing any right now?”

  I growled and slapped him on the arm before he could move out of the way.

  “Shut up, Micah. That’s between me and my jeans.” I flashed him an evil grin of my own. “Or maybe it isn’t.”

  Micah kissed me a long time ago, so long ago that I barely remember it. But I do remember the words he said the next day. I’ll never forget them. Rejection stays with you, even if the motivation behind it is justified.

  I was standing at my locker at school, applying lip gloss while looking into the magnetic mirror hanging on the door, when he came up behind me and whispered, “We need to talk.” It wasn’t the words that startled me as much as the way he said them. If anxiety had a sound, it would be in the lilt of the word “talk.” It was choked, anguished. Instantly worried, I spun around to face him, watching as his eyes quickly took in my entire face. He cracked his knuckles one by one, his face going slack like a window slammed shut…a guillotine’s blade dropped toward its target. His breathing came in gasps, his chest rising with each inhale.

  “We can’t kiss again,” he said, his face more serious and fearful than I had ever seen it. Thinking this was still part of a joke, I patted him on the chest and moved in close and smiled. I wanted to kiss him again, I liked the feeling of possession that came with his touch.

  Shocking me, he grasped me by the shoulders and took a solid step back. “I’m serious, Presley. Not ever.”

  I felt the color drain from my face. “Why not?”

  He shoved both hands through his hair and leaned against a nearby locker door before looking at me.

  “It’s all I’ve thought about since last night. I won’t lose you.”

  It was a fear he’d always had, me leaving him. The constant need to know where I was, where I was going, who I was with. The topic had rarely been addressed, though we occasionally talked about it late at night. I’m so glad I have you, he would say. I’m so glad you’re my friend, he would whisper. I al
ways will be, I would reassure him by taking his hand and speaking affirmations while we sat side by side outside. The moments were always lighthearted and fun, at least for me.

  “You’re not going to lose me, Micah. When are you going to believe that?”

  He visibly relaxed and took a few steps in my direction. When he got close enough, he planted his feet in front of me and sighed.

  “I believe you. But no more kissing, okay? Kissing leads to feelings and feelings lead to other stuff and then we could break up and then what? I can’t ever risk a break up with you, Presley. Okay? I need you with me always. I don’t want whatever it is I feel about you to push you away, okay?”

  I smiled the best I could, but inside I was sad. So sad. My Micah, ever the worrier, always convinced that no one would stay around for long. I hated both his parents for instilling that false belief inside him. But it was planted and watered and now carried roots as deep as the old tree still standing in front of my house. Abandonment isn’t about the simple act of leaving. It carries as many scars as physical abuse, maybe even more. I should know.

  We were eighteen, but worry lines of a much older man had settled into his forehead. They broke my heart and scared me at the same time, so much so that I pulled him into a hug and squeezed tight.

  “No more kissing. And I promise I’m not going anywhere, ever.”

  I meant it, those words. I mean them still.

  Even though I can still feel his lips on mine from the last time he kissed me. The worst part about it is that Micah was right. If I can’t have him, how am I supposed to stay with him? Especially when all I want now is for him to kiss me again?

  The one word to best describe my afternoon? Whiplash. Right now I’m suffering from a fairly moderate case. Fighting with your best friend will do it to you, especially when that fight is followed up with a pretty good date. Nick is more fun that I thought he would be. A nice surprise. I feel guilty.

  “That’s a terrible movie,” I say. “I can’t believe you would say it’s your favorite. Now, any respect I had for you just flew out the window.”

  “It won seven Academy Awards. How can you possibly claim it’s a bad movie?”

  “Most Academy Award movies are terrible. Remember Capote? The Shape of Water? Also terrible.” I pick up my water glass and try not to smile.

  “That’s it. We’re clearly not compatible. Thanks for a nice evening, Ms. Waterman.” Nick tosses a balled up napkin on the table and makes a dramatic move to stand. I think he’s pretending. At least I hope he is. I play along.

  “That’s too bad. And here I was planning on taking you back to my place for a make out session. Oh well, I guess I’ll just have to put on my jammies and go to sleep.” I swirl the wine and take another sip. Immediately my mind goes to Micah, but I force it into submission and think only of Nick. Nick and his nice build. Nick and his full lips. Nick and his sense of humor. Nick and his strong magnetism.

  I wonder if Micah has proposed yet.

  I pick up my glass and drain the rest of it, satisfied when a soft numbness takes over my limbs. Maybe another glass will completely paralyze my mind. I lift a finger to signal the bartender.

  “Easy now. Unless you want me to carry you home.”

  I attempt my best laugh, but it comes out like a squeak. I smile flirtatiously in an effort to recover. “I’ve never been drunk a day in my life.”

  He raises an eyebrow. “Not even in college?”

  I grab the glass as soon as it’s delivered and take another sip. “I couldn’t. My roommate didn’t like to keep alcohol in the house.” When your father’s an alcoholic who considers stealing your hard-earned money his second occupation, drinking is way down on the list of after-hours activities. I’ve never seen Micah take as much as a single sip.

  Speaking of, how did we get on the topic of Micah without me even trying?

  “So she was a bit of a prude, huh?”

  She. The obvious assumption. “Something like that.” Is there a protocol against drinking an entire glass of wine in one swallow? I set my glass down and push it away to keep myself from doing just that.

  I’ve just asked Nick about his occupation—he’s an oral surgeon, how cool is that? So much better than a stupid, arrogant newscaster—when the person I’m trying to not think about walks in.

  Micah.

  Mara is on his arm, giggling like she was just handed the last rose on the Bachelorette. I hate that show almost as much as I resent them showing up.

  What did he do, follow me here?

  When he looks right at me and winks, I know that is exactly what he did.

  EIGHTEEN

  “So tell me, Nick. What is it that you do?”

  “Like, my job?”

  Micah brings his water glass to his mouth and smiles over the rim. “That’s generally what it means when someone asks you what you do.” He takes a sip. I imagine the water sliding down the wrong windpipe, him dying by a mere teaspoonful that won’t dislodge itself. Like all my other dreams, this one doesn’t come true. He swallows like the unaccommodating jerk he is.

  “I’m an oral surgeon. Own my own practice downtown. You should come see me sometime.”

  Now I’m the one who almost chokes. If there’s one thing Micah can’t stand, it’s someone insulting his looks. Even indirectly.

  “Oh, I don’t know about that. But Presley might want to consider it. She’s needed to get that bottom tooth fixed for a while.”

  I glare at him, indignant. How dare he share my one insecurity in front of other people. Okay, maybe I have more than one, but this one has been around longer than most. I realize my finger is in my mouth, touching the offending tooth, a second too late. Micah is watching me, a challenge in his eyes.

  I drop my hand. “It’s barely crooked, and you’ve always told me it adds character to my otherwise overly perfect appearance. Why the sudden change?”

  He takes a slow breath. My guess is he would grab me by both wrists and force me to my knees if he could. “Maybe I’m just seeing it in a different light tonight. This bar is giving off a weird glow.”

  “Then maybe you both should go somewhere else.”

  Across of me, Mara pipes up. “That’s what I told Micah when he suggested coming here. I wanted to try SkyLounge on Marietta Street. Have either one of you been there?” She places a hand on Micah’s thigh and leans forward, her ample cleavage on display for all to see. Does she have any self-respect?

  “It’s overrated,” I say without elaborating. Without explaining that Micah stood me up at that place a few weeks ago, and I still haven’t been, and he better not take her before he takes me.

  “I tend to agree with Presley” Nick speaks up. “The last time I ate there, the steak was dry and the service was slow. But back to the subject at hand, I rather like Presley’s little crooked tooth. Perfection is boring.” He taps my chin with his knuckle in a tiny show of possession. I barely know him, but I could kiss him right here in front of everyone for it. I smile, more for Micah’s sake than Nick’s. When I glance across the table to see Micah glaring at me, I feel a little rush of twisted victory.

  He’s staring at me so hard my pulse trips.

  Out of fear, not desire. Definitely not desire.

  Without taking his eyes off me, Micah snakes an arm around Mara’s shoulders and pulls her to him, close enough to bury his face into her neck for a second. That’s when I see it, a flicker in her eyes so quick it would’ve been missed had I not been watching for her reaction.

  Disgust.

  Anger.

  I thought I saw it once before, that very first night at his apartment, but this time I’m sure of it. The feeling in my gut sprouts and blooms, and there’s no way to stop it.

  She can’t stand Micah, and he doesn’t even know it.

  Time to play a little game of my own.

  “Speaking of jobs, how are you liking your new one, Mara? How lucky you must feel to be making money for your uncle and getting to do it by wo
rking underneath Micah.” I know how it sounds. My words aren’t an accident.

  She laughs, pulls back from him a fraction of an inch to look at me. “I wouldn’t say I’m working underneath Micah. That sounds slightly inappropriate.” Picking up a cracker packet, she opens it and slides one out.

  I line up my fork perpendicular to my still-folded napkin. “I just meant since he’s your boss.”

  All the amusement leaves her face. “Micah isn’t my boss.”

  I pick up a roll and wave it dismissively. “Oh, I must have misunderstood when Micah was explaining it to me.” Ripping off a piece and tossing it in my mouth, I chew while they both mull over the words.

  “I don’t think that’s how I described it,” Micah says after a long moment. “In fact, I don’t remember telling you much at all.”

  I toss an exasperated look at Mara. “I can’t argue with that. He’s awful at explaining himself. He did say you’re the boss’s niece, which I find interesting.”

  Mara crosses her legs. I’m not the best at reading people, but I’m almost certain she would like to strangle me with her thighs, and not in a kinky girl-on-girl sex-movie way. “You find it interesting…why?”

  I tilt my head as though something just occurs to me. “Well, you guys started dating fast. Isn’t there a company policy against that? At least I remember Micah saying something about it once. I could be wrong…” I look at my fingernails like I don’t care about her answer.

  “We went out the first night we met, but I wouldn’t call it a date.”

  “I wouldn’t call it a date, either,” Micah says. My my, a bit defensive, aren’t we? I give him a look through my lashes that dares him to keep talking. He reaches for his glass and takes a long drink, then searches the bar. For help, maybe? Good luck.

  “You really should drink something stronger than water,” I say. “Want me to order you a beer?”

  His gaze snaps to me. “I don’t drink anything stronger than water, and you know it.”

  “You don’t?” This comes from Nick, and I give him a sad face.

  “He never has.” Too late I realize that he’s about to put two and two together and start to wonder if Micah was my college roommate. That would open a whole new discussion that I’d like to avoid. This conversation is about exposing who Mara is, not turning the spotlight on me. I’m not ready to face the You Guys Lived Together Or Lived Together? topic. Not now, not ever. “Occasionally he’ll step out on a limb and drink a soda.” I purposely eye Mara and let the comment hold for a second before turning back to Nick. “But typically he’s as much of a prude as my old college roommate. But he should have a beer. It might get him to loosen up a bit.”