Maura laughs, well, more accurately, cackles. "Okay, yeah, sure. Liz, you don't have to make things up. There's no judgment here. Just admit it, maybe you'll find the love of your life this weekend … like that barista over there."
The entire table is quiet and watching now. Discomfort mixed with anticipation. Like witnessing a car crash in slow motion.
Rochelle shakes her head. "Honey, if you were seeing someone, you would have mentioned it."
With a dramatic flip of her hair, Maura goes for the kill. "Okay, let's say you're telling the truth. Who is this mystery boyfriend? Does he exist, or is he from one of those romance novels you're always reading?"
Yeah, fuck no.
I take it back—not cacti— rottweilers!
That's it. This is worse than I thought.
I don't care if Liz wants me to stay quiet.
I'm not watching this anymore.
I set the tray down on a nearby empty table. Straighten my shoulders. Start walking toward them. Each step brings me closer to Liz, to her family, to something I can't take back.
I came here to support her through Maura's wedding hell, but Liz needs a shield, and I'm the only one who's ever protected her from these people.
Fuck it.
By 'these people' I do mean those closest and supposedly dearest to her. Family. So close they think social norms and barriers don't apply. Well, they do, and should, so I'm ...
... All in.
I step behind Liz's chair, a hand on the back, the other on her shoulder.
She jerks—startled—then melts under my palm. She knows my touch without looking.
All eyes are on us now. Maura's mouth opens slightly, surprise replacing her smugness.
I look directly at her. "Liz isn't lying. I'm the boyfriend."
Liz turns and stares at me like I just sprouted wings. Her mouth opens, but I squeeze her shoulder. Three quick pulses.
It's our "signal" to just trust the other person and go along.
Something we've been doing for eight years—when she had to rescue me from a bad date, when I needed an excuse why my project was late, when she was nursing a hangover and couldn't make it to class.
Liz can't lie … when she's alone—awful at it, transparent as glass. You can smell her lie from a mile away.
But with me?
We're bulletproof. We once spent an hour adding ridiculous details to an elaborate story, and I just know she'll come through right this very second.
Her hand covers mine, and she turns back to the table. When she speaks, her voice is steady. "I was going to tell you this weekend. We wanted to keep it between us for a while."
"You're dating Dean?" Maura's eyes narrow. "Since when?"
"Three months."
Liz smacks my hand lightly and tsks. "Almost four."
I look down at her. "Yeah, okay, but who's counting?"
There she is. The real Liz. The sweetest, most insanely beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. In my defense, none of this is planned. The initial goal was to rescue her from embarrassment, but now, I basically just go where our lie takes us. Our ebbs and flows can be exhilarating.
