Page 34 of The Swiping Game
13
TARA
Tawny isn’t eventwo steps into the apartment when I grab the shopping bags out of her hands. “You better have at least two bottles in there for me, or I’m kicking you out.”
“What kind of sister do you think I am? I bought three. And ice cream. I felt like it was a good idea to be overly prepared.”
“You’re the best,” I say, grabbing one of the bottles and popping it open before I head back to the couch, aka the spot I’ve been in since I left the office this afternoon, pretending to have a migraine.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Tawny says as she takes a seat on her ugly chair. “You didn’t say much when you messaged me. But from what I gathered, James is a liar, we now hate him, and we’re going to drink tonight to erase all memory of him.”
“You got it,” I say, tipping the bottle toward her in mock cheers. Mind you, she figured all that out with just a text message I wrote in the midst of crying in my car that said “James. Liar. Wine.”
“What did he lie about?” Tawny asks.
I let out a short laugh. “How about everything?”
“Really? While I love you, and you are the best friend and sister I could ever ask for, I doubt it was everything. Start from the beginning. Leave nothing out.”
I take another gulp of wine and tell her everything. She knew everything up until this morning. She even knew about our phone call the other night, but that’s only because I woke up the next morning smiling like a lunatic, and she saw right through me.
Then I tell her about the messages yesterday and everything that transpired after. Even in my retelling, I still can’t comprehend how I got here. I know the internet can be a scary place, and not everyone is who they say they are, but the fact that I knew the person and he still pulled this over me? I think that’s what I’m most pissed off about.
“So James is Dean,” Tawny repeats.
“Yup.”
“And he lied to you the whole time about it?”
“Also yup,” I say, reaching over to open the second bottle. “He had plenty of times to say ‘Hey, Tara, it’s me!’ But he never did. He let me go on for a week thinking he was someone else. And! And! The bastard was nice to me this week, which of course all makes sense now. He brought me coffee. And donuts. And didn’t make jokes. Or pick on me. The fucking bastard was nice. I didn’t know why, but I’m guessing it was because somewhere in his tiny conscience, he felt bad about being a Captain Liarpants.”
“What else did he lie about?” Tawny asks, and I really want to ask her if she’s been listening.
“I told you. He lied about his identity. What more do I need to say?”
She takes a deep breath and puts her wineglass down on our coffee table. “When you were getting to know him, do you think he lied about any of that?”
I shrug, having a sneaking suspicion of where she’s going with this. “He said he didn’t.”
“Okay. So let’s take out the name and the fact that you do know him in real life. Let’s just discuss the person you’ve been talking to for the week. The person who’s made you smile more than I have ever seen you smile—and that includes during the good Brad years. Let’s believe him when he says that was all the truth. Do you still likethatguy?”
My gut reaction is to say something along the lines of “hell no,” but that’s because all I can think about is that it was Dean sending me all of that stuff, knowing he was playing me. But if I take out the person and just think about the words and the things we shared, I’d be a liar if I said that I didn’t still like the guy. We have shared interests. Conversation is easy. He makes me feel comfortable talking about every random thing I want to.
And when I spoke to him the other night? I immediately felt like I was being held and protected. Somehow his voice made me feel like nothing could happen to me.
“I do,” I admit. “I do. He made me feel again. For a while, I honestly thought Brad broke that part of me. And then James—Dean, I mean—thenhecame along, and it’s like he had what I thought was lost. And want to know the sad part?”
“What’s that?”
“After only a week, he became that person I wanted to tell everything to. I want to tell him right now that I’m having a shitty day, and somehow, I know that he would make it better. Why couldn’t he have just been honest with me?”
That’s the only question I have left after today. Why didn’t he tell me? Between the yelling and the kiss that I can still feel on my lips, that is the only thing I’m still wondering.
And I need to know. I need to know right now.
“Where’s my phone?” I ask, jumping off the couch.
“I think I saw it in the kitchen, why?”
