Listen for the Lie(38)

Their parents, Keith and Janice, follow them inside. My aunt Karen, the youngest of my mom’s siblings, sulks in after them, the usual sour expression on her face. She has an unfamiliar man in an ill-fitting suit with her.

I don’t know when they all got into town. Mom mysteriously disappeared a few times over the last couple of days, so I assume they’ve been here for a while. No one had any interest in seeing me early, apparently.

They all glance at me and then quickly away. Except for Ashley, who looks me up and down and then squints, like she disapproves.

I look down at my dress. It’s black, which is out of place with the rest of the colorfully dressed guests. It also has a plunging neckline, which would be more exciting on someone with bigger boobs. Still, the waiter circling the room, offering appetizers, seems to appreciate them. I do what I can.

Grandma hustles over to me, her purple sequins hustling with her. The birthday dress is very flapper-like, with a nod to a Vegas showgirl.

She squeezes my arm. “Everything looks lovely.”

“You know Mom did most of it.”

Uncle Keith and Aunt Janice appear behind her and give me loose hugs and tight smiles.

“Lovely to see you, Lucy,” Uncle Keith says, rubbing a hand over his beard.

“I’m surprised you haven’t gotten remarried,” Aunt Janice says with a frown.

“Well, it wasn’t so great the first time.” I laugh. She doesn’t.

“Wow,” Ashley says. Her hair, which was light brown last time I saw her, is dyed a really nice auburn color, and I might have complimented it if she weren’t staring at me like I was an alien.

“Hi, Lucy.” Brian looks up from his phone long enough to glance at my boobs.

“Brian, you’re looking so handsome!” Mom is just telling outright lies now, I guess. She pushes his shaggy brown hair out of his eyes, and he reels back like this is the worst thing to ever happen in his twenty-one years.

The smile on Mom’s face fades to open-mouthed horror as she spots something behind me.

I turn. It’s Ben, holding a present with a giant pink bow, wrapped much too nicely for him to have done it himself. He’s wearing a blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and I notice that Ashley doesn’t disapprove of anything she sees there.

I can’t blame her, honestly.

“Ben!” Grandma exclaims at the same time Mom says, “What are you doing here?”

Ben lifts one hand in a wave. If he’s surprised that Mom didn’t know he was coming, he doesn’t show it.

I can’t help but think that he could have saved the miniepisode for tomorrow. He posted it before the party, when he knew he would see her after it went up.

I am both impressed and a little scared.

“Kathleen, don’t be rude,” Grandma says, waving a hand at Mom. “I invited him.”

“You invited him?” Mom practically screeches, and then looks at me, like I should also be horrified by this.

I smile at her, and then walk to him. I pluck the present from his arms. “Ben. You’re looking smug as usual.”

He lets out a short, startled laugh. “Thanks?”

Mom gapes at me as I deposit the present on the table with the rest. Keith, Janice, and their offspring look confused.

“Everyone, this is Ben Owens,” Grandma says loudly. “He’s the host of that podcast. You know the one.”

Ashley’s mouth falls open. Brian starts furiously texting. Keith and Janice look like they’re still waiting for the punch line.

I steal a glance at Dad. He’s glowering in the corner. Karen rushes over to Mom and whispers something in her ear.

A group of older ladies with matching poufy permed hairdos appear at the door, and Grandma walks over to greet them. Mom joins her, pointedly avoiding looking at Ben.

Everyone else is staring at him, so I stroll over to stand beside him. Usually everyone is staring at me. Us being next to each other makes it easier for them.

We’re both silent for a moment.

I point to the small bar set up on the far wall. “Drink?”

“God, yes.”



* * *



An hour later, I’m sitting in the middle of the table with Grandma on one side and Ben on the other, an arrangement Grandma insisted on. (“It’s my birthday, I get to decide where we sit!” she’d gleefully declared, ignoring Mom’s protests.) I’m on my second glass of wine and the room is pleasantly blurry around the edges.

They squeezed every possible chair they could up to this table, and my arm keeps brushing against Ben’s. He is not blurry. In fact, he is in too sharp a focus, and I do my best not to look at him at all.

I’m suddenly reminded that it’s been at least a month since I had sex, since Nathan and I had been in a dry spell pre–murder revelation. It’s been much longer since I had really great sex (thanks for nothing, Nathan).

The waiter stops behind me and refills my nearly empty wineglass.

Well, that’s not going to help me stop thinking about sex.

I reach for the glass, and then change my mind. Instead, I use two fingers to push it away a few inches.

Ben watches me, and our eyes meet as I sit back in my chair. I quickly look away.

Betsy is across from us—the friend of Mom’s who brought the excellent 285-calorie brownies to tea/wine—and she’s openly staring at Ben. He’s pretending not to notice.