Page 14 of Count My Lies

Violet beams at me, and I feel a rush of pleasure. “Thank you! I really appreciate that. Like I said, it’s been so hard to find good child care. By the time I get back from dropping Harper off at school, I feel like I have to turn right back around and get her. I can’t remember the last time I even vacuumed.” She looks around the living room, seemingly embarrassed.

“Well, I’d be happy to,” I say, pleased with myself, with my plan. “Not that you can tell your house needs vacuuming. It looks beautiful. Have you lived here long?”

“Not really. We moved here about a year ago, for Jay’s work.” Violet shakes her head. “I can’t believe it’s been that long already. I still haven’t met very many people yet. Which is why I’m so glad you agreed to come over for dinner tonight.” She smiles at me, and I smile back.

“Where’d you move from?” I ask. I already know from Jay’s LinkedIn profile, but I want to hear it from her.

“San Francisco. We moved there after graduation so I could go to law school. My family lives in the Bay Area and my dad offered me a job at his firm when I passed the bar. We were there for almost ten years. It was hard to leave. We had a really good community out there. If it wasn’t such a promising opportunity for Jay, I don’t think we would have moved. Not that it isn’t nice here,” she adds. “It’s just different. Have you been?”

“Once,” I say, nodding. I haven’t, but I looked it up as I got ready for tonight, taking a Google Maps tour through the city, then looking up the top places to visit, the top attractions and best restaurants. “I stayed in Nob Hill off Polk Street.”

Violet lights up. “I love that area! We lived right around therewhen we first moved to the city.” She smiles wistfully, remembering. “What about you? Have you lived in this neighborhood long?”

“Since forever. My mom and I moved here when I was in high school. To take care of her sister. She died not long after we moved, but we ended up staying. And we’ve been here ever since.” I shrug.

“And your dad?”

I hesitate, surprised at the question. No one has asked about him for a long time. Usually if I don’t bring him up, people take that as a cue, though I don’t mind that Violet hasn’t. I consider making something up about him, but I decide against it. There’s something about the way she’s leaning in, her body angled toward mine, that makes me want to tell the truth, like she’s interested in me for me.

“I’ve never met him,” I say, honestly. “He bailed right after my mom told him she was pregnant with me. It was a summer romance. My mom was waitressing in Daytona Beach, and he was there for a few weeks visiting a friend from college.”

Violet’s eyebrows rise. “And they never spoke again?”

“Not as far as I know. She said it was for the best, though. She knew she was going to have me, and she didn’t need him trying to talk her out of it. She said once, after I was born, she called the number he’d given her, but it was out of service.” I tell it to Violet the way my mom told it to me, like it would have made no difference at all whether he had picked up or not. “I didn’t care,” she always told me, squeezing my hand. “I knew I could do it on my own.” But I’ve never stopped wondering what would have happened if he had.

“Wow,” says Violet, sitting back against the pillows.

“The only thing I know about him is he was from Philly. Well, a suburb, just outside. She told me she doesn’t even remember his last name.”

“Philly?” she repeats. There’s a funny look on her face.

“Yeah.” I smile. “She still has a Phillies jersey of his. He gave it to her the first night they met, on the beach, when the sun went down. Have you been?” I ask.

She starts to nod, then—“Vi?” Jay’s voice floats down from upstairs. “Harper’s ready for her kiss,” he yells.

The strange expression disappears so quickly that I wonder if I imagined it. “Be right up!” she calls back. “Sorry,” she says to me. “That’s the deal. If Jay does bath and stories, I do the good-night kiss and the tuck-in.”

I glance at my phone. It’s almost eight thirty. “It’s okay. I should get going anyway,” I say. I don’t want to leave, not yet, but I don’t want to overstay my welcome, either. I have to play my cards right tonight.

“You don’t have to,” Violet says. “It’ll only take a minute.”

“No,” I shake my head, setting my empty teacup on the coffee table. “Really, I probably need to check on my mom.”

“Okay,fine.” She smiles and we both stand up. “Thanks so much for coming over tonight,” she says. “And for your babysitting offer. Really, I appreciate it.”

“Anytime,” I say, following her to the foyer.Just once, I think,that’s all I need.

She walks me out onto the stoop. Then she gives me a small wave and gently eases the door shut, disappearing back inside. Through the glass, I can see her walking up the stairs. I watch until I can’t see her anymore.

I turn, feeling giddy, like I’m floating. I pause when I reach the sidewalk, looking back up at the brownstone. The windows are lit, the house softly glowing behind the drawn curtains. It’s hard tobelieve that I’d just been inside, part of their evening, that maybe soon, I’ll be part of their lives.

When I get home, my mom is asleep in her armchair, as I knew she would be, lightly snoring. I take the remote from her lap and turn down the volume on the TV, then pull the knit blanket on her legs up to her chest and switch off the light on the side table next to her chair.

Quietly, I make my way to the bathroom my mom and I share, easing the door shut behind me. After I’ve taken out my contacts, brushed my teeth, and put on some old sweats, I climb into bed and close my eyes. But I can’t sleep. I lie there, replaying the evening, thinking about Violet and Jay and Harper. Their beautiful home, its warmness, the smell of it. The way I’d felt at the kitchen table, like I’d belonged. The way Violet laughed at my jokes, how she leaned closer when she asked me a question. There was something about her—about them, all of them—that felt electric, special. It made me feel special, too.

I turn over under the tangle of my sheets, too hot, the darkness like a thick blanket. My dresser casts a looming shadow on the opposite wall. I wonder what they’re doing right now, in their bedroom, under their covers. What does Jay wear to bed? What does Violet? Do they sleep with their limbs entwined, pressed against each other, or sprawled, fingers and toes brushing throughout the night? Had he pulled her to him when she got in, his mouth on hers, hungry, urgent?

Then I imagine it was me getting in that bed, not Violet. Falling asleep next Jay, his body warm and heavy, his breathing deep, arm slung across my chest. The idea of it, of him, of his skin against mine, makes me feel hot all over, fever flushed. I throw the covers off of me, flip my pillow to the cool side.No, Sloane.

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