“If he loved you,” she says simply, “he never would’ve fucked you.”
Her words feel like a punch in the chest, but it’s the expression on her face that really guts me. It’s full of confidence, but also pity. For me and my naivete.
“You’re wrong.” My words come out weakly.
She shakes her head, so certain it makes me want to cry. “I’m not. And you know it. You’re better than this, Liv. Convincing yourself he’s someone he’s not. That’s the kind of stuff other girls do. Desperate, needy girls. Not girls like us.”
“I know exactly who Deiss is,” I say firmly. But devastation swirls in my belly. Simone has no idea how accurately she’s described my mother. “And so do you. If he’s so bad, why have you been friends with him for all these years?”
“He isn’t bad,” Simone says. “He just doesn’t care about anything.”
I shake my head, unable to argue.
“It’s not his fault,” Simone says with a sigh. “He can’t value anything because he’s never had to work for anything.”
“And you have?” I exhale the words, shaky and fierce. “Do you have any idea how stupid you sound right now? Your idea of a job is drinking champagne while snapping selfies. Deiss had an actual career before he could even walk. I’m pretty sure work isn’t a measurement you want to use to judge character.”
Simone goes still. For a moment, I’m scared my blow has landed too heavy, but there’s something about the sharpening of her eyes. She doesn’t look hurt. She looks like a snake, sizing up her prey before she strikes.
“A career for babies . . .” Her eyes spark with malevolence.
My stomach clenches at the realization of what I’ve just done. It could’ve just been a throwaway comment if Simone didn’t know him so well. If only Deiss had offered some lies instead of being so belligerently tight-lipped about his past, maybe Simone wouldn’t have leapt at this tiny scrap of detail.
“I didn’t mean an actual career,” I lie desperately.
“Of course you did.” Her eyes are hard. “So, what is it, Liv? What did Deiss do that was so private he could only tell you? It had to have been something where he felt exposed. Something public.”
She studies me.
“It was on the trip, right?” She nods at the way my back stiffens. “That’s when all the little inside jokes started.”
“Please just stop,” I plead. “This isn’t about Deiss. You’re worried about me, remember? How I’m being so desperate and naive and am going to break up the whole group when I get my heart broken?”
“He would’ve teased you with it.” She tilts her head like I haven’t spoken. “He likes it when he manages to knock you off balance. So, the question is, what has he said lately that’s strange? Something childish.”
“Simone,” I say, my voice going sharp. “That’s enough.”
But it’s too late. I see the dawn of realization as it lights up her eyes.
“Funnn-tastic,” she drawls, clearly pleased with herself.
I open my mouth to lie. But Deiss’s face flashes through my mind, his eyes filled with hurt. My stomach turns violently. Spinning on one heel, I reach for the sink, bending over it as I choke. But nothing comes out, even though my entire body is insisting I need to vomit.
Apparently, regret isn’t so easy to expel.
* * *
—
I’m in the bathroom, putting on the final touches of my makeup when I hear the door to the loft open and Deiss calls out my name.
“In here,” I say. Nervously, I fluff my hair. If my appearance is my armor, I’ve gone full metal suit. I don’t know if I’m hoping my contrived beauty will distract Deiss when I confess how I’ve betrayed his secret or if I just want him to remember me at my best when he ends whatever this is. I just know that the moment Simone left, I started working on myself with a determination that suggested I could turn myself into an entirely different person if I simply tried hard enough.
Simone said she wouldn’t tell. It took a lot of begging, but in the end, she promised she’d keep Deiss’s secret for his sake, rather than mine. For one glorious moment, I let myself believe that meant I could keep my mouth shut as well. I know I can’t, though. Not if we’re about to spend most of the day together. There’s omission and then there’s lying. The effort required to talk around something so huge for hours can only be categorized as the latter.