Page 23 of The Lies I've Told
“Ah, I would have guessed someplace a bit further,” he replied, grabbing another pastry from the plate in the center of the table.
“Not for a long time,” I answered.
“And what brought you to New York? Family?”
I shook my head, maybe a little too swiftly. “No,” I answered. “Just work. I’m an artist.”
“Oh, what kind? Maybe I’ve heard of you.”
This was always fun. Whenever I mentioned what I did for a living, suddenly, everyone was an art expert.
“Sculpture. I’m a stone carver, mostly granite and marble, but I’ve done other stuff along the way as well.”
“Wow, that’s impressive. I have to say, I’m not much of an aficionado when it comes to sculptures, but I do find it interesting. How does one fall into that line of work?”
I swallowed hard. “Dumb luck, I guess.”
A memory flashed quickly in my mind.
“Let me teach you, Aiden,”a voice echoed in my ears, one I hadn’t heard in years.
Even after all this time, I could still remember the exact tone and cadence, as if it’d only been hours since I heard it.
Rather than years.
We continued to make small talk through the remainder of our meal, but I purposely turned the attention off myself and back on him, asking him about his hometown and career. As with most people, he didn’t mind talking about himself and did so for quite some time until his wife stole him away to get ready for their sailing lesson.
By the time the kitchen emptied, I felt exhausted.
Emotionally spent.
Rising from the table, I put myself to work, cleaning up. I knew it wasn’t necessary—I was, after all, a paying guest—but my hands felt too idle.
“Thank you,” a small voice said behind me.
I turned to see Millie enter the kitchen. She was dressed in a casual dress and sandals, and it made for a stark contrast to the woman I’d met the night before. She’d been all business—tailored skirt and mile-high heels. This version of Millie seemed much more laid-back.
Even though the woman wearing it seemed to be anything but.
“Where’d you learn to cook?” she asked.
I gave a noncommittal shrug. “Everyone can cook eggs.”
“But not everyone can crack them like that,” she countered.
“Cooking show,” I answered. “Was trying to impress a girl with my baking skills.”
There was a long pause as she stared down at the floor, and I felt like a fool for speaking.
“I didn’t mean to be gone for so long,” she finally said. “But I can take over now. I’m sure you have things you need to do.”
“Things?”
“Yes,” she replied, walking toward the table to fetch a few empty plates. “Don’t you need to get to work?”
I shook my head in confusion until she clarified, “On the memorial?”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded, finally understanding.
