“Ah, I see.” I can sense by her tone that she knows exactly what I mean by the extra time. Unease settles on her face, pulling her lips and eyebrows down slightly. “Regardless, you’re a man of many talents.”
“Thank you.” I attempt a wink at her, but she’s back to focusing on the mirror, her fingers tracing a line around her lips. She’s lost in thought again, and I desperately want to know what she’s thinking.
Sarah comes out in the purple dress, and Kate perks up, her feet tapping with excitement. I stand corrected. It’s not as bad as the puke-green one. But it’s not great either. It looks like something a mother would wear to a wedding. The lace sleeves poke out in the corners, making her look much wider than she really is.
“Well?” Sarah asks, holding her breath.
Kate goes to throw a thumbs up then resists, looking to me for confirmation. Of course this entire situation has turned into me being the deciding vote. Somebody kill me now. I shake my head once, hoping that’s finality enough for this decision. But with Kate, I should stop assuming she will do what I expect, especially when she turns to face me, trying her hardest to speak to me telepathically, based on her creepy eyebrow movement.
“Just say it,” Sarah groans, watching us through the mirror.
“I think it’s ugly,” I say.
Kate throws her head in her hands and groans my name. “Malcolm!”
I have to clench the arms of my chair to keep from jumping toward her. The sound of her muffled voice groaning my name sends a deep sensation throughout my body, coursing through my veins like its own blood supply.
“You have to be nice,” she reprimands me through a forced smile.
“No, no. This is what I need. Thank you, Coach!” She steps off the tiny pedestal, the Barney tail of a dress rustling as she walks back to her dressing room.
“I am being nice,” I say when Sarah is out of sight. “Honesty is nice. No one likes a liar.”
“Are you calling me a liar?”
A chuckle builds in my chest as Kate’s cheeks burn with fury. “Of course not. I’m just saying honesty is the best policy.” I shrug and fill my tiny glass with more cider.
“Yeah…it is.” Kate disappears into her thoughts again, staring blankly at the glass in my hand. I wish I could know what’s going on in that head of hers, but she doesn’t want that with me. And it’s probably better if I just ignore it, even if it fills my stomach with acid. The potential for an ulcer is high the more I dwell on anything Kate-related.
She pulls her phone out, giggling at the screen. Knowing my luck, it’s another online dater delivering some pathetic one-liner. I down the cider and fill my glass again like it’s alcohol, but really, it’s straight sugar.
“Are you honest with me?”
I choke on the cider at her question then clear my throat twice to get words out. “What?”
“Are you always honest with me?” she asks sternly, raising an eyebrow in suspicion. I’m no genius, but I know Kate Stanley, and I know when she has a motive. Her face goes rigid as she focuses on the inevitable result she’s waiting for, shoulders tense and jaw ticking. I catalog each body part’s movements, confirming my own suspicions.
I scratch my head and reposition my hat before resting my hands on my chest. “No. I’m not.”
The gasp that leaves her body is enough to fill a thousand balloons. I smirk at her and give a light shrug. Of course I’m not always honest with her. When she asks if I like her movie choicewhen it’s about lovesick vampires, or if I want to help with a classroom project instead of going home on time, or even when she asks if I’d rather go with her to that new vegan restaurant downtown than eat the steak I have marinating at home, I’m not honest. She asks, thinking it’s the activity that will sway me, but really, it’s just the chance for more time with her. Technically, it’s lying, but I’d rather make the choice that I know makes her happy than indulge myself. Why miss out on watching her smile slowly grow into a cheek-stinging grin from sheer joy when I can easily just cook the steak another time?
“So, you’re a liar, then?” She crosses her arms with no intention of letting the topic go.
“No, I’m not. I’m just saying that I’m not always honest.”
She gives a humph in response to this, throwing her shoulders back into the chair—eyebrows pinched in the center, jaw clenching, feet bouncing up and down rapidly—a tiny tantrum fighting to break through. I’ve seen a few of them. The worst one was when someone ate the last everything bagel the morning after she finished her carb fast. The poor girl was miserable for two weeks, eating nothing but salad and tofu. I thought she might waste away at any moment. So, when she was told Margaret brought fresh bagels, she half sprinted down the hall in heels to get to them. Devastation and horror ripped across her face as she tore through the bags to find there was only plain wheat bagels left.
“Are you always honest with me?” I ask her.
“Yes!”
“Really?” I rest my chin in my hand and eye her, well aware that’s not true. No one is completely honest, no matter how hard they try to be. There are just things in life that are better left unsaid. If the truth isn’t beneficial or edifying, it’s unnecessary to share it. Simple as that. “So, last month, when I asked if youwanted to go with me to an outdoor expo, and you said, and I quote, ‘That sounds so fun. I’d love to,’ you were being honest?”
She gapes at me, her right thumb twitching as it rests on her arm. Pink moves across her cheeks, and her eyes slowly move into a squint at the realization that she’s been checkmated.
She stays silent, so I ask, “Why are you asking, anyway?”
Kate doesn’t answer as she looks straight ahead, crossing her arms deeper across her chest. Sarah comes out in a black dress that is more subtle than the rest, and I feel proud of the direction she’s going—until she pulls out hot-pink leopard-print gloves to pair with it. Kate sits up straighter, eagerness moving up her spine as she gives Sarah a soft clap.
