Page 91 of Yes No Maybe

I find our dinners and the ring at the table but no Dean. I spot him outside through the picture windows in an animated phone call. I sit, refill my wine, and text Mira.

Can you pick me up?I send her my location.

Be there in twenty.

Napkin in lap and fork in hand, I dive into my pasta dish like tortellini might soften the hardness now lodged in my gut. I’m angry and hurt, but more than anything, anxious for this to be over. I want to go home.

More than that, I want to go home to Jack.

My plate is half-empty when Dean returns. He rushes in on a wave of excitement.

“You’ll never guess what’s happened,” he says, oblivious to my angry face and speed-eating. “My agent got a call from casting on Jack’s movie. I’m going to play an inspiring guidance counselor inCape Moon! Can you believe it? I’m getting my big break after all!”

His news breaks me, shattering my inner hardness into a million sharp pieces. My would-be fiancé is a liar, and Jack’s a controlling manipulator—why did I ever trust either of them?

“Jack’s behind this,” I say with calm indifference.

“He probably feels bad about being a jerk the other night. I have to take it—this could be it for me.”

“What about school? Your students?”What about me?I almost tack on at the end.

He shrugs carelessly. “Eh, I’ll take a leave of absence. Or quit. It’s too good to pass up.”

But I’m not.I stare dumbfounded that his promise not to let anything come between us again fails to register. Nor does the underhandedness of it—that Jack’s used his connections to bait Dean into breaking it.

Dean leans in as if seeing me for the first time. “What’s wrong, hon? Too much wine?”

“Not enough. The picture hanging in your office—heavyset, high school Dean—that isn’t you. It’s Ryan.”

Surprise hits him first, followed by a mild chuckle. “Technically… yes. So?” His head cocks in a strange amusement, like I’m a child overreacting to something I don’t understand. “Are you upset? It’s not a big deal.”

“Lying to your students? Lying to me? That’s not a big deal? How?”

He takes a breath, still smirking. “It’s a prop. I use it to inspire my students. You won’t believe how many pounds have been lost thanks to that story. And it gives the kids confidence,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.

“But it’s a lie.”

“What? Youneverlie to your students?”

“I don’t invent personal struggles Ineverwent through!”

“I do it to help them, Rowan.”

“Then, why lie to me? Did you wantmeto shed a few pounds?”

“God, no! It’s like being immersed in a role—I didn’t want to break character and put you in an awkward position if your students mentioned it.”

“Oh, so you lied tometo savemefrom lying to them?”

“Um, yes. Why are you upset? It’s one little lie for their benefit. I would’ve told you eventually.” He forks his fish as if the argument is over.

Butthatwas why I loved Dean. It was the foundational story of our friendship, the load-bearing wall of our relationship. Removing it makes what’s left of us crumble into dust and tears.

“I believed you’d gone through something truly difficult. Your weight loss story drew me closer to you—and you let me believe it because that’s what you wanted.”

“Are you listening to yourself? You’re pissed because I wasn’t a fatty in high school?”

“You manipulated me.”

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