The Lies We Tell - 2. Chapter 2

COLE

“Where are you?” I ask Michael over the phone as I survey our stunning new condo, jingling the brand-new keys in my hand. He was supposed to be here with me for this momentous occasion. It is the first place we’re moving into together, after all. A pretty big deal—for me at least. It’s also my first time living with anyone else.

“I got held back at work, I’m on my way now,” he replies, and I can hear his Corvette come to life.

“See you here. Can’t wait for our first night together,” I say, smiling.

“I cannot fucking wait,” he replies, and I can already see the hungry look in his eyes.

“There isn’t a scrap of furniture, but I brought some things for the kitchen and made us dinner.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day,” he says excitedly, like I knew he would. He loves the idea of me cooking for him, but I still have a long way to go before I’m chef material. I hang up the phone and get out the plates I’ve brought from my old place. I open the take-out box containing the pesto pasta I’m claiming to have made and divide it between two plates. I take a small portion of it and put it in the pan as well, just in case. I then hide the box and bag at the bottom of our trash. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

I pull out a candle and light it. I want our first dinner in this place to be special. Michael has worked so hard, he deserves it. We both do.

When he finally gets home, I greet him a gin and tonic. “For the hardest working man,” I say, and he smiles and squeezes my behind playfully. “This place gets better every time I see it,” I say, walking back to the kitchen.

“It’s unreal. How’s the furniture coming along?” He asks, taking in the empty living room situation.

“I’ve got a few pieces coming tomorrow. Trust me, it will be worth the wait,” I say, and give him a kiss on the lips.

“I do trust you. But speaking of trust, did someone mention dinner on the phone?” He asks.

“Ahh, yes. Follow me, sir,” I say playfully and take him by the hand to our balcony, where we have our one and only table so far. After our first dinner at home, we make our way to the bedroom. Like the rest of the place, it has no furniture, apart from the mattress on the floor. We both jump on it, laughing.

“I don’t know if I can do anything tonight, I’m so bloated after that pasta. I must have added too much garlic salt,” I lie.

“I don’t care if you’re bleeding internally, we’re doing it on our first night,” he says, and climbs on top of me. We start kissing, his tongue so familiar in my mouth now. His hands roam all over my body, always wanting to touch and grab more and more. As if he was never satiated. I liked that in the beginning—him being constantly hungry for me. But it can feel burdensome at times now. Like a task that you can never fulfill, because the second you finish, it’s right back to where you started. Still, I’m grateful to be so desired.

Afterwards we lay in a sweaty heap, my thigh over his legs.

“Don’t forget we have the rehearsal dinner coming up this Thursday,” I remind him as he nods off.

“I won’t.” I study his sleepy face. He is absolutely perfect. Too perfect, almost.

In the morning I head out to get us some croissants and coffee from the nearby café before he heads off to work. After I place my order, I pick up the newspaper and flip through the latest news.

“It’s never anything good, is it?” I hear a voice that seems to be directed at me. I turn my head to see a woman.

“What isn’t?” I ask.

“The news. It’s never good news,” she replies, pointing to the newspaper.

“Nobody wants to read about the positive things, I suppose. We all like to dwell on the negative,” I reply, then ask, “How many months?” Her belly protrudes proudly from underneath her trench coat.

“Eight,” she replies, gently rubbing it.

“Can I touch?” I ask, shocking myself. I’ve never understood the fuss about baby bumps, and people’s fascination with touching them. Yet here I was, yearning to get closer to this little life.

“Sure,” she replies after a moment’s hesitation, and moves her hand away, making room for me to place mine. I realize that I’ve put us both in an awkward position by asking. But now that I asked, and now that she said yes, it would be even weirder not to go through with it. What was I thinking, asking to touch a woman I don’t even know?

I slowly and gently put my hand over the bump, and both of us jump a little when the skin beneath my palm moves.

“Was that a…?”

“A kick!” She completes my question. “Yes, he kicked when you touched. He must like you. He doesn’t usually say hello to anyone else,” she replies, and we smile at each other. I slowly remove my hand as the barista calls my name and hands over the two lattes.

“Well, take care,” I say to the woman as I walk out.

“You too,” she replies, her gaze following me out.

When I get back Michael is already on the phone and getting ready to leave. I hand him his croissant and latte and he mouths a “thank you” then gives me a brief kiss before walking out the door.

I start organizing things out of our moving boxes and accept a few pieces of furniture, before I settle in for my Chipotle bowl in the afternoon. I open my laptop to check the news and look through my emails. A promotion from Bed, Bath & Beyond, an email from my friend about his latest musical release that I’m certain nobody is going to listen to, and an email from our rehearsal dinner coordinator about a cancellation. I put my fork down. What cancellation? I skim through the email then pick up my phone.

“Hey Lori, it’s Cole, I think you just sent me a cancellation email by mistake.”

“No, it wasn’t a mistake. We cancelled the rehearsal dinner this morning,” she replies.

“What do you mean?” I ask, not understanding.

“I thought you wanted to cancel it,” she says, confused.

“Why would I want to do that?” I reply.

“Your sister called and told us to cancel it,” she replies. I’m dumbfounded.

“That’s not possible,” I reply.

“She did, you can ask her. She gave us the time, date, and said you were too busy to call.”

“No, Lori, that’s not possible because I don’t have a sister,” I reply. Obviously, Lori has too many clients and has made a giant mistake.

“What…how is that…I don’t understand.”

“Well, I don’t either. But can we un-cancel it now? I’ve already sent everyone the invitation.”

“No, I’m so sorry Cole. The spot was already taken. You know how fast they go. We’ll have to change the date. I will look through the calendar and email you some options right away.” I sigh, trying to keep my composure. The situation is ridiculously frustrating.

“Okay, thanks,” I reply and hang up. My phone rings again and I assume it’s her calling back and apologizing again.

“Yes?” I ask, more impatiently than I mean to. The phone is silent. “Hello?” Nothing. I look at the number, but it’s listed as unknown. I hang up.

I go back to my lunch, trying to calm down. After all, it’s just a rehearsal dinner. It’s not a big deal. We’ll get another date. Mistakes happen. Except when I see the next email, and I realize that there is more than a simple misunderstanding at play here. The email is from the furniture store where I ordered mine and Michael’s new bed frame. Except it isn’t coming, because I had apparently cancelled it, and they are emailing to notify me of my refund. I take a deep breath.

Someone is fucking with me.