16
Deception
The essence of lying is in deception, not in words.- John Ruskin
WHEN WE THINK ABOUT deception, we often think of it in terms of relationships. Deception is infidelity. Deception is lying. Telling your husband that you’ve been out clubbing with your friends, when you were really making love to another man — that’s deception in its simplest form.
But deception is so much more than that. We are all guilty of it… each and every one of us. We commit small acts of deception every day. When a colleague asks how we are, and we tell them we’re well, despite the fact that we’re depressed. Of course, none of us want others to know our lives are not always fabulous. When we post photos of ourselves on Instagram or Facebook, flattering angles, cropped just the right ways, filtered. Those photos are deceitful, giving the illusion that we are more attractive, younger, and slimmer than we really are. We are all illusionists, magicians.
Deception is also giving someone the belief that they mean more to us than they really do, that they will get something from us that they won’t. Deception is giving people expectations and not living up to them. Deception is pretending to be someone you’re not.
Little white lies, half-truths, exaggerations and omissions — they’re all part of deception. They all serve to get what we set out to achieve, be it the affections of someone, a job promotion, money or material possessions.
Was I deceitful to Oscar? Have I been stringing him along? I know I have. But it’s been with the best of intentions. He just means so much to me, and I don’t want to lose him. I’ve always made it clear that we are just friends-with-benefits, nothing more. But I’ve also given too much of myself to him, I’ve loved him too much. My actions betray my words. No wonder the man is confused.
How can I make it up to him? The last thing I want is for Oscar to hate me.
* * *
Oscarand I are still both sleeping when Corrie barges into our room. “Réveillons, les amis, c’est une nouvelle journée à Paris!” she cheers in very horrible French.
I moan into my pillow. “Wow, those high school French classes really paid off,” I grumble. “What time is it?”
She settles her tiny rear on the bed — she doesn’t seem to mind that we’re both naked. “It’s seven, sleepyhead.”
I turn to her, my face hidden under wild strands of unruly morning bed hair. “How did you even get in here?”
“The door was ajar.”
“Oh, and that was an invitation, was it?”
She’s chomping on a green apple. “So, listen. Don’t be mad at me, but I did something…”
I jerk up. “What? What did you do now?”
“It’s nothing much… I know how you and your mom are not speaking at the moment, and that she also hates me, so of course, I thought that we should all do something together and get it over with. I was just talking to her, and I had to use every ounce of charm I have, but I finally convinced her to come with us.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, suspecting shopping in my future — both Corrie and my mom love shopping. Me, not so much. I shop at thrift stores, and I’m outraged by the prices anywhere else. Especially Paris. I don’t even want to see the price tags in Paris, no matter how pretty they are.
“A walking tour,” she says, excited. “We need to be at Luxembourg Gardens at nine, so you better get up and eat breakfast.”
I look over at Oscar, who’s still sound asleep. “Can Oscar come?”
Corrie shoots me a little scowl. “Sure, I’m sure it won’t be a problem. I heard you guys last night, by the way. I guess Matt didn’t do it for you. You had to run to Oscar again.”
Oh, Matt did it for me, all right. I just don’t want to go there. “Get out of my room,” I scoff. “We’ll be out soon.”
“After a little morning nookie?” she teases on her way out.
I throw a pillow at her head.
* * *
When my momarrives at our place, she’s still not speaking to me. She’s super friendly with Oscar though, full of hugs.
We walk to the fifth arrondissement and take in the views; the local merchants and artists, the Seine, the architecture. Corrie entertains my mother with stories of Paris — she’s been here quite a few times and knows all the best places to shop. They agree to go shopping.
Oh goodie, they’re friends again now, I think, wishing it were that easy for me. Oscar snaps photos like the tourist he is. When I make fun of him, he says it’s for his mom and sister. And it probably is — he’s such a sweetie.
