I’ve officially voted my nephew the worst wingman ever. Neither one of us can recognize when our ideas suck, and that’s a deadly combo.
Like an asshole, I text Chloe while she’s at work about postponing our plans because Marko came down with a nasty cold. It’s the oldest trick in the book, but I’m fresh out of ideas. This is the last thing I want to do but I have to. I can’t bear her seeing the real me without any pants or barriers hiding my leg.
No amount of counseling or physical therapy I’ve completed makes the feeling of inadequacy go away. I can’t do it, no matter how much I want to spend time with Chloe.
My stomach sinks as Chloe texts me back.
Chloe the Criminal: Oh no :（ Poor guy. What’s he feeling?
Yeah, Santiago, what is he feeling? One look at Marko jumping across couches yelling something about not touching lava makes my chest tighten.
Me: Sore throat and the sniffles.
And a case of bullshit inherited by yours truly.
Chloe the Criminal: No worries. I hope he gets well soon. Maybe we can go another time when he’s feeling better.
I can’t find it in me to respond.
Marko asks me to take him for a walk by the lake. We spend an hour trying to skip rocks across the water. He claps and does a victory dance when one of his rocks skips across the flat water. It reminds me of Noah and me winning on podiums together, chugging champagne to blasting music.
The memory has my body tensing before I can push it away. I do my best to keep those hidden away but spending time with Marko brings back the oldest ones.
Marko’s voice snaps me out of my daze. “What’s that?”
“What?”
He runs up to a paper bag laying on the ground about twenty feet away.
My mood goes from bad to worse as I walk up to it. I analyze the contents, finding different kid’s medicines and a Tupperware of hot soup. The get-well package lacks a message, but it’s obvious who would bother showing up with one.
Guilt hits me, with my stomach tightening to the point of unease. I tug my phone out of my pants to find a new message.
Chloe the Criminal: Glad to see Marko’s feeling better. Thank God being a lying dick isn’t contagious.
My palms shake as I think up a way to explain myself. To make her understand why I made the decision I did because of my insecurity with myself, not her. I type out my first message, wanting to send something, and buy myself a second to think.
Me: It’s not what you think.
I keep typing. The dots on her side of the message come and go as fast as they appeared in the first place. I don’t have time to send my next response before my phone pings again.
Chloe the Criminal: You’re right because here I was thinking you were someone you clearly aren’t. I should’ve known better the first time you lied about us to your family. Do us both a favor and lose my number.
Me: You don’t understand. Give me a chance to explain.
Chloe the Criminal: Compulsive liars are a hard limit for me. I’ll pass on your offer.
Marko looks at me funny when I groan. All I have done is lie in front of her, around her, with her. Everything we have done together has been a show for someone else. Well, everything but our private conversations and yesterday. That was all us.
Except you’re hiding your true identity, and that’s still a lie.
Me: I’m sorry.
Chloe the Criminal: Sorry. This number is no longer in service. Get a hint like I did and forget I ever existed.
Me: But what if I don’t want to?
I stand by the lake with Marko for another ten minutes, waiting for a reply that never comes. It’s obvious that I fucked up. Period. It doesn’t matter what my reasoning was in the first place.
The worst part about all of this is knowing she’ll never accept me. If this is how she reacted from a small lie, I can’t imagine how she will feel after I tell her I’m actually famous. Or was.
My list of flaws continues to grow while the redeemable parts of myself shrivel into nothing but distant memories.
12
Chloe
“What a dick.” Brooke speaks over the beeping horns of a busy morning in New York. It’s unlike her to call me on her morning walk, but I entertained her since Matteo left the shop already.
“Tell me about it. I can’t believe he would lie about a child being sick. Who even does that?” I swipe the mop across the coffee shop’s floor.
“Someone who’s used to lying to get his way?”
I scrunch my nose. “Ugh. I should have known better.”
“What are you going to do about him then?”