Page 8 of Count My Lies

“She’s sweet,” I tell her. “And she was really brave when she got stung.”

Violet smiles at me. “She’s a good kid. Eager to please. But I’m warning you, she could swing for hours. I’m not sure if you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

I smile back. I like Violet already. And I especially like that she seems to like me. I give Harper another push.

“Do you live around here?” Violet asks.

“Not too far,” I say. “Near Second and Bond.”

“That’s right near us!” she exclaims delightedly, as if I’ve shared some extraordinary news. I beam, happy that I’ve said the right thing. “Well, a few blocks away. We’re in Cobble Hill, off Clinton and Kane. Have you lived here long?”

I nod. “Since high school.”

We live in Carroll Gardens—the neighborhood just south of Cobble Hill—a small pocket in Brooklyn filled with young families and swanky boutiques, close enough to the water that when the wind blows, there’s just the slightest tinge of salt in the air. My mom and I moved here before it was wildly trendy, when the rents were still reasonable, before the restaurants and bars earned Michelin stars, before it cost north of one-point-five million for a two-bedroom, one-bath.

We moved to take care of my aunt, my mom’s older, and only, sister. Her health was, as my aunt put it, in the shitter—kidneys failing and liver not far behind—and she needed someone to take her to her weekly dialysis appointments. It was only a matter of time before she kicked the bucket, she’d say, sighing.

We moved into her spare bedroom, sharing a queen bed and tiny closet between the two of us. My aunt was right: she died less than eighteen months later. We emptied her room a week after the funeral, packing up her clothes, dismantling her hospital-style bed. My mom waited another week, then ordered a bed set from Macy’s and moved into my aunt’s old room, leaving me in the guest room.

Before my aunt died, she added us to the lease as co-tenants, so we pay the same rent each month as she did when she moved in in the late nineties—just under a thousand dollars. The neighbors above us payfour and a half times that much. If we were looking for a place to live today, we’d be lucky if we could get into a studio in Queens.

Cobble Hill, where Violet lives, is an even nicer neighborhood than ours, filled with new money, couples with trust funds, seven-figure salaries. The brownstones are all renovated, façades refurbished, restored to their historical glory. If she and Jay can afford a home there, they’re even wealthier than I thought.

Just then, Harper leaps off the swing, joining Violet and me. She slips her hand into Violet’s. “I’m hungry, Mom. Can I have my M&M’S now?”

Violet nods, glancing at the Apple Watch on her wrist. The band is gold-linked—real gold, no doubt. “Sure, baby. I didn’t realize what time it was. Let’s get going.” She reaches into her pocket and holds out three M&M’S. “Can you say goodbye to Caitlin?”

“It was nice to meet you,” I offer. I try to keep the disappointment from seeping into my voice. I wish they weren’t leaving. I feel like I should hate Violet—poisoned with jealousy of her beautiful face, her rich, handsome husband, her cute-as-a-button daughter—but I don’t. Quite the opposite. She’s as interesting as Jay is. The Daisy to his Gatsby, just as I’d imagined. I shouldn’t be surprised. He isn’t the type of man to be married to a boring woman.

“You, too.” Violet smiles. “I’m so glad we ran into you today.”

She looks like she’s about to turn to leave. “Actually,” I say quickly, hopefully, “I was planning on grabbing some frozen yogurt—do you guys wanna come?” Lena might kill me, but I can’t just let them walk away.

Violet scrunches up her nose. “We’d love to, but I have to run to the market—our fridge is practically empty.”

I nod as if it’s no big deal, a smile on my face, pretending to beunaffected by her answer. Then Violet cocks her head, as if considering something. “But…” She hesitates briefly, then continues, “Would you want to come over for dinner tonight instead? As a proper thank-you for helping Harper the other day.”

My disappointment blooms into excitement, its leaves unfurling. She wants me to come over. I don’t know what to say, suddenly speechless.

She smiles. “It’ll be totally casual,” she says. “I’ll make something easy. I mean, if you’re free?”

I nod, delighted. “I’d love to,” I say, finding my voice. “Can I bring anything?”

Violet shakes her head. “No, please, just yourself.” She glances again at her wrist. “It’s two thirty now—how does six sound? Jay gets home from work around then, and that gives me enough time to stop by the market.”

At the mention of Jay, the tiny butterflies in my stomach extend their wings, their flapping intensifying. I think of the copy ofAnd Then There Were Nonein my bag; I could give it to him in person. “Six is great,” I say, smiling broadly. I usually don’t leave the spa until closer to six thirty, but I’ll make up an excuse to duck out early. I worry if I ask to come later, she’ll rescind the invitation. Kids are early eaters.Another time, she might say, and I can’t risk that.

“Perfect.” Violet grins back. “What’s your number? I’ll text you our address.”

I leave the park as happy as I did when I met Jay.

5

I race back to the spa, giddy, arrive out of breath. I’m late; I’ve been gone for an hour, well over my allotted thirty-minute break. Lena won’t be pleased. She despises tardiness.

I pause at the front door, wiping sweat from my brow. Through the glass, I can see Chloe at the reception desk, sipping a to-go coffee. When she notices me, she motions for me to come in. I inhale deeply, trying to slow my breathing, then step inside.

I’m distracted, scanning the spa for Lena, when Chloe stops me. “You have a deluxe pedicure waiting,” she says. “She was booked with Natasha, but Natasha had to squeeze in a walk-in, and she’s not done yet.” I catch the annoyance in her voice. I should have been here to cover the walk-in, she means; I am the wrench in the schedule.

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