Looking back, there’d been clues she wasn’t who she claimed to be. All those little details, from her eye color to her mistakes about the past. She’d adjusted whenever I’d corrected her, but I’d run on a lot of assumptions, wanting to buy what she was selling.
But I refused to take the blame for falling victim to her scam. She’d intentionally misled me, and for what? If all she wanted was a one-night stand, she could have just asked.
By the time I got home, I needed answers, so I sat on the edge of my bed, steeled my nerves, and texted her.It’s Evan. Can I call you?
Not really expecting a reply after all this time, I carried a box of donations out to my car, but I hadn’t even made it back to the bedroom door when my phone buzzed.
Elizabeth.I’m free right now.
I stared at the phone, debating whether I should dial, rehearsing what I might say. The call rang twice before it connected.
“Evan?” Her accent sounded different now that I was listening for it. Maybe that was my imagination. Would I ever separate her from Lizzy?
“Yeah. Hey, Elizabeth. Thanks for taking my call.”
“What’s up?” Her tone wasn’t angry, more curious. I guess I’d be wondering what was up if she’d called me out of the blue after two weeks of silence.
“Well, I guess the first thing is that I wanted to give you a heads up that I took a job in town, so you might be seeing me around some.” I gripped my phone, trying to sound casual. “At least on TV.”
“Okay.” She said it like a question, like she knew there was going to be more to this call than a courtesy. “Is that the opportunity you mentioned?”
I didn’t know why it surprised me she remembered. I couldn’t make sense of someone caring enough about me to listen while feeding me lies. “Yeah. I was interviewing at one of the local stations.”
“Oh, that’s great. Congrats.”
“Thanks. I figured it would be weird if you turned on the TV and—“
“When do you start?” she said over me, like this call was as uncomfortable for her as it was for me.
“Next week. I’m supposed to be on air a week from Monday.”
“Oh, cool.”
That just hung there. Two weeks ago, thinking she was someone I knew, someone who knewme, I’d imagined a different phone call, one where we shared our excitement over a future together. Now, I just didn’t know what to do with the reality of her. And it broke my heart.
I stared at a pinhole in the wall where a picture from a trip I’d taken to Spain had hung before I started taking everything down. The movers would be here tomorrow to load my scant worldly possessions into a portable storage unit to deposit somewhere in Charlottesville until I found a rental.
Everything was in upheaval.
Deep breath. I said, “You know the night we met?” just as she said, “I actually just started working—”
“Sorry,” I said. “Go on.”
“No, you.” Her shaky exhale came through the phone. “What did you want to ask?” Her voice had gone up, like she was stressed by the question.
“This is embarrassing to ask but”—another heavy sigh—“did you ever intend to tell me you weren’t my former school friend?”
“What?” She huffed a laugh, then barked, “I did.”
Was she serious? “I was there, and you absolutely did not.”
“I absolutely did.” We sat in silence for a moment, since my only retort to her gaslighting was to keep echoing the same assertion. She broke it with attitude. “Wait, are you telling me that whole time, you thought I was someone else? I swore you knew. The tuba? Really?”
Oh, my God. “For the record, my friend Lizzy played the tuba.” I thought about that again. “Or maybe it was the French horn.” I replayed that bit of conversation in my head. So many details had to be reprocessed in light of this new perspective. “So you don’t play in an orchestra?”
“I don’t play any instrument. Unless you count the air guitar.”
“What the fuck? Why did you say all that? And don’t tell me you were nervous. This goes way beyond anxiety.”
