No, Caleb isn’t greedy after all.
Ididn’t spendthe night. I couldn’t. God knows sleep wouldn’t come to me no matter how many times we made love—fucked, which is more accurate a term for last night’s endeavors. Caleb was angry, betrayed, annoyed as hell with me, and his every carnal action proved it. He’s supposed to be my defender, but, last night, he became my prosecutor. Maybe it’s time I stopped lying to Caleb, but first I think it’s time to stop lying to myself.
There is a mental shift that occurs when you’re panicked, when you’re dreading,loathing,the idea of being caught at your own game—and so publicly at that. I land a cold, hard look at myself in the mirror. Then there is the awe-inspiring, frightening alarm that comes with having to face your demons and discovering your darkest nightmare has always been you. If I’m going to stop lying to people, I’ll be sure that I’m the first one I cross off that list, but, for now, I have a polygraph to pass.
I head down stairs with a drunken wobble. I feel drugged, stupid, and sick. That’s where no sleep and a bottle of gin gets you. After I traipsed back home this early morning at the obnoxious hour of 3:00 a.m. I couldn’t sleep. Instead, I made myself a student of the impractical. I studied all of the information the Internet could provide regarding ways to pass a polygraph. My study in the art was brief but fastidious. I took notes. I memorized entire passages. I recited pages of resources that might make or break my passing result. Make sure your breathing is steady, control your heart rate, for God’s sake do not perspire—and it’s a good thing I don’t. It’s nearly impossible for me to break a sweat on a run around the lake in the middle of July so that part should be easy.
I can just envision Keith’s smiling face, that arrogant snort he gives when he’s proven to be right. How he must love the fact he aced the exam of a lifetime. But, today it’s my turn up at bat, and I’m bright-eyed (lie) and bushytailed (more like bushed out. Not to mention my hair simply will not cooperate), ready and rearing to go (mostly true). Plus, I have Caleb on my side, Caleb who will have my back through anything. Those weren’t his exact words but close enough.
I inspect myself in the mirror for a last look. I’m dressed to the nines, Chanel pantsuit, Prada heels, and matching handbag. This is the religion my mother passed down, we worship at the altar of couture, the designers are the demigods we serve. I give one last lackluster glance at myself. All of my sorority sisters, all of my friends from as far back as I can remember, have always echoed one sick sentiment. They all wished they could be me. Little did they know I would have traded places with any one of them. The only person on the planet who didn’t want to be me was in fact trapped inside this body.
A flurry of voices sail from the entry as I make my way down.
Fresh juice, three eggs, and two pieces of bacon—turkey bacon, no nitrates of course—I’ve meticulously planned out my breakfast. The polygraph cheat sheets (an irony in and of themselves) recommend a solid start to the day, lots and lots of protein, something that will stick to your ribs. My appetite is the last thing I need distracting me. I need to breathe even and calm, lower my blood pressure by focusing inwardly on my quiet place—the lake at midnight with the stars spraying above. This will all go as planned. Nothing is going to rattle my cage.
I hit the last step and set down my purse. The voices have briefly halted their mad chatter, and I take one look at the bodies clogging up the foyer and gasp. My blood pressure spikes, my skin moistens with perspiration, and the last thing I’m able to do is catch my breath.
Kamryn stares back at me with that face I haven’t seen in years, and yet I see every day in the mirror. We’re the spitting image of one another. And my father—the man who despises my existence, blinks at me as if trying to figure out if I were indeed who he thought.
“Baby.” He takes a step forward, with his newly silver hair, his eyes still steel gray and ruthless. But something—something about his demeanor, his sagged shoulders, the heavy drawl in his choice moniker of affection, it strikes a chord with me as genuine. As good as I am at wielding my lies, I’m lousy at detecting them.
The thought that my father might forgive me suctions the soul right back into my body. It feels good like this with him in the room. It feels necessary. But I know what his forgiveness would mean for my mother, and I refuse to have any of it. The battle lines were drawn years ago. I may have chosen my mother’s side, but he was the one who started the war. We were a loving family. We were a model of perfection until he took a dump all over us and flushed, once and for all.
I am not having it.
“They want to talk to you.” My mother hugs herself and shivers. “I think maybe this is a good idea.”
“Kam, Daddy.” A dry laugh thumps through my chest. I haven’t said those names out loud in years, but I’ve wanted to.
There, I had my fun.
I walk briskly past them.
“Kennedy.” My mother hurries to my side just as I pull out the frying pan. “Did you hear what I said? They drove all the way up here. They have things they want to say to you—to us. I think we should hear them out.”
I slam the pan down over the stove. If I were a wise woman, I would still be next door fucking Caleb’s brains out.
“What are you talking about?” I try to keep from shouting. “Who the hell cares what they have to say! It’s me and you forever, remember? What happened to all that no-matter-what-I’ve-got-your-back-bullshit?”
“It wasn’t bullshit.” She pulls me in by the wrist, her chest heaving, her eyes bugging out—a classic sign of raised blood pressure, and now neither of us will pass a fucking polygraph today.
“Excuse me”—I take back my arm—“but one of us has to eat a protein rich breakfast. I have a polygraph in two hours. So you see”—I seethe over at my father and Kam who have meandered in behind us—“I have a big day ahead of me. I’m not really looking to add anymore drama to it.”
“Keith hasn’t filed any paperwork yet.” My father says it stern, looking over his brows as if this were a business meeting. “I took on his case to stall it. I didn’t do this to hurt you. I did it to protect you.”
I smirk at the concept. My mother once told me that my father was the Prince of Lies. How he loved to deceive her. He went out of his way to fool her into believing they would have forever. My father was a cheat who never intended on getting caught. He was not sloppy like Keith. My mother had to hire outside sources to host a complete surveillance on the scallywag. (Her words not mine). It was cake from there. As determined as he was to keep his double-life hidden, he couldn’t keep his paws off his mistress, a then twenty-one year old named Sarah James. I’ve stalked sweet little Sarah on Facebook to learn she was “going through a rough patch” at the time my parents’ divorce was underway. Soon thereafter, she was “in a relationship!” with a basketball player from Duke. She was a simple slut, and my father traded in my mother and me for that contemptible whore. It was an unforgivable sin in my mother’s eyes, and, since hers is the only lens I can see the world through, it became one for me as well.
“Kenny, let me cook for you.” Kamryn comes forward, arms outstretched like a zombie, and I audibly snarl at her.
“Don’t you ever call me that again. I hated that pet name then, and I hate it now. My name isKennedy,and you don’t know me at all, so why don’t you both get the fuck out!”
“We’re not going anywhere,” my father insists. “We need to talk, and it’s about damn time we do it as a family.”
“As a family?” A fire rips through my throat as the words burn from me. “What the hell do you know about family?” Tears come unexpected, hot and plentiful. I hate this. I hate that he’s making me feel anything. “Sheis my family!” I point hard to my mother as the copperware echoes my voice like a tuning fork. “You forgot our family when you started fucking twenty-year-olds!”
“Kennedy!” My mother barks. “Enough. We’re going to bury the past. Enough,enoughalready!” Her hands ride up to her ears as if she can’t stand the sound of her own voice. I know I can’t.
“Bury the past?” A breath hitches in my throat as I step toward her. A tangible anger spills from my pores. “Idiedfor you!” I scream into her so loud, I can taste the blood in my throat. “I laid down and became who you wanted me to be, andthisis the thanks I get?”
