Page 12 of With This Lie

I stare back at her in confusion. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I say.

“Well, the way I see it, one of two things is really happening. You’re either still in love with her and actively working to get back to the happiness you once shared. Or you don’t love her, and you’re actively trying to leave. But, since you’re not doing either of those, and you’re sitting here with me, I say you like things just the way they are.” She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows at me.

Fuck. I can’t say I’ve ever had someone call me out like this. I’m not even sure what to say to her in response at this point. She’s still just sitting there waiting for me to make sense. I can deny it, or I can risk it. Decisions, decisions. “You caught me again,” I say. “The truth is, we’ve grown so far apart. I miss affection. Sometimes I look for it somewhere else. And I’m sure she’s doing the same.”

Dani seems at least a little satisfied with my answer, nodding her head again in my direction. “So is that what this is? You looking elsewhere? Is that why you invited me to join you?” she asks.

I hesitate. Here is the moment. “No, no. Well, I mean, maybe,” I say, fidgeting with the silverware at the edge of my napkin. I look up into her eyes. I can tell she’s contemplating my words. I can tell she’s thinking hard on it. I don’t know what kind of woman she is. And I’m afraid I’ll get what I want, which isn’t what I want. I want her to be better than that. I want to know she’s a good, decent woman.

“I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone,” she says. “And I don’t know why I’m going to do it, but for some reason, I don’t want you to paint me a certain way when there’s more to it than what’s on the surface. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say.

“I only date married men. And it’s not because it’s fun to be bad, or because I like it in some strange way. And it’s not because I’m looking to wreck a home. I do it for security. Because I don’t want love and I don’t want ‘the real thing’ and I don’t want to get hurt. And dating married men makes that easier. Married men never leave their wives, even when you ask them to, and married men aren’t there to catch feelings. They just want to have fun. And that’s all I want. And that’s it,” she says.

I wait for a moment, to see if there’s more but that really is it, and I’m left a little speechless. I comb back over her words in my mind and think about how wounded she must have been in her life to arrive on this path, how painfully someone must have hurt her to be so shut down toward love. But what’s worse, is I understand it on a level she’ll never know about. I understand it in my core. She’s the same as me in terms of self-preservation, which makes me wonder if I should tell her my secret.

“I get it,” I say. And I could choose to tell her the truth about me now, but then I’ll never have a chance to get to know her. She’d shut us down before we ever started because then she’d know I’m not actually married. Or, I could keep pretending to be married. I could keep pretending so I can get to know this strange and beautiful creature that grows even more so with each minute. And the inevitable end? I couldn’t worry about that now. All these things eventually end. I would have to deal with that later.

“You do?” she asks.

“I really do, actually. After my first fiancé left me, I shut down for a long time. I didn’t let anyone in. And then, well, I guess I just healed little by little as time went on,” I say.

“And then you found it?” she asks.

“Yeah, I did,” I say. I snap my rubber band again.

She smiles at me. Her face is almost hopeful. “That sounds nice. I’m glad you found it,” she says.

And I know she’s genuine. Silence falls over us again and our food gets delivered. We each look down at our plates and back up at each other.

“So, now what?” I ask.

“Now, we eat,” she says, picking up her fork.

I nod. Eating is simple. I can eat. I pick up my BLT and take a bite. I watch her drizzle dressing onto her salad and mix it around with her fork. I see her cross her legs at the edge of the table and see a tattoo on her thigh peeking out from her shorts. I want to ask what it is but I don’t want her to know I’m staring at her legs so I decide against it.

“Where does your wife think you are when you’re…occupied?” she asks.

She’s so forward. No one ever asks these things.

“Well, it depends on the time and day. Sometimes I’m working. Sometimes I’m hanging out with friends. Sometimes I’m having alone time,” I reply.

“And she never questions you?” she asks.

“Not usually. Like I said, she doesn’t seem to care,” I say.

Dani nods. “Do you want to come see me later at work?” she asks.

Even with the mouthful of food, I start to nod and try to mumble a “yes” through the chewing.

She laughs and I like the way it sounds.

“What time should I be there?” I ask.

“My shift starts at eight and I get off at midnight. Just a short one tonight to cover for someone else. Maybe if you show up before I get off you can find me behind the bar. Then we could hang out after I get off, if you want?” she asks.

“Definitely,” I say. I’m eager and she knows it.

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