Lily White Lies

Lily White Lies – Kathy Reinhart

Copyright 2011

Smashwords Edition

O
ne

...His strong jaw and chiseled features were as eye appealing as his well-formed body, which was evident, even under his white oxford shirt...

I wasn’t in the mood when he slid his hand up my nightie but I was even less in the mood to argue.  I could convince myself to tolerate the ten minutes of faking interest and pleasure.  It was the two or three minutes afterward, several minutes of what seemed an eternity that I found almost intolerable, as I waited for him to roll off me. 

Those few minutes evoked an emotion I couldn’t understand, much less label.  Wavering between disgust and surrender, it was the most pervasive feeling of despair.  It reminded me of late Uncle Maury and the mole on his left cheek.  Looking back, I don’t think the mole bothered me as much as the one, wiry, black hair that protruded from its spongy core.  The urge to rip it out mixed with the urge to throw up—knowing I could do neither.  Each time he’d say, ‘Come here and give your uncle a kiss’, I would close my eyes in defeat and obediently do as I’d been asked, my stomach turning in time with the heartbeat that pounded in my throat. 

Now, I lay underneath two-hundred-pounds of sweaty flesh, struggling with those same feelings, the ones I had closed my eyes to hide twenty years ago.  The spoken, ‘I love you,’ that I once used to conclude our lovemaking was now replaced with the unspoken, ‘Get off me!’

“Damn baby, that was good.”  His words came with exertion.

Not the least bit interested whether his remark was an observation or a compliment, I replied, “How about letting me up.”

As if he didn’t realize he was still lying on top of me, he mumbled something I didn’t catch and rolled toward his left, pinning my hair between his arm and the mattress.

Wincing, I grabbed it to keep it from pulling tighter as he slid further away from me.  He made a half notion to look in my direction. 

“Sorry baby, I didn’t mean to pull your hair. Maybe you should think about getting it cut.  I mean... it would be a lot easier to take care of.”  He added, “It’d probably be kind of cute on you, too.”

“No!”  Mentally drained as I was, I could only offer a one-word challenge.

“Hey, it was just a thought.”

Smooth as silk, a deep shade of brown bordering on black, a color my grandmother called molasses, I always saw my hair as my one and only pretty feature.  Without it, I probably would have drowned in my own insecurities as a teenager, when everyone else seemed to be more popular than I was and have more dates than I did.

My legs felt like tree trunks as I swung them over the side of the bed.

“Would you bring me a glass of water on your way back?”

A nod was all I could muster. 

We weren’t married yet, but somehow we had already fallen into married life re-runs.  After work, it was dinner and clean up, sitcoms for me, paperwork for him and then bed.  Except for the occasional social engagement on a weekend, our routine never varied. 

Lately, even sex had become routine—something he expected every night.  It didn’t seem fair. The pre-wedding jitters that made me nervous, made him horny.  I planned all the arrangements while he did what he would normally do.  Then, at the end of the day, when I felt fatigued and stressed, he wanted to play.  If the weeks leading up to the wedding were going to be like this, he wouldn’t have the need for a honeymoon and I wouldn’t have the energy.

I took more time than usual to brush my teeth.  Somehow, in the middle of this daily act, I could find the peace lacking from my everyday routine.  In these few moments, my thoughts belonged to me.  My time belonged to me.  The demands on my life didn’t exist within the tiled walls of a room that had become my sanctuary.  I had never before realized how calming the simple act of brushing my teeth could be. 

With a glass of water in my hand, I sat on the edge of the bed and gave Brian a nudge. “Here’s your water.”

I waited for a response—as I did every night—then exhaled one, long breathe and placed the glass on the nightstand, muttering, “Goodnight to you, too,” as I slid between the sheets.

It seemed as if only seconds had passed but I knew better. I ignored the blaring alarm and the thud of feet hitting heavily on the floor.  My eyes fluttered open when the toilet seat cracked against the tank.  But, when the off-key singing rolled out of the bathroom with the steam, I got out of bed to keep from screaming.  I poked my head through the open bathroom door.

“You’re not going to the office today… are you?”

“What’s that, babe?”

Clearing my throat to carry my voice above the beating water, I yelled, “I asked if you were going to work today.  It’s Saturday.”

The shower stopped and he reached for a towel as he stepped out of the stall.  The light behind him defined his sizeable form as he stood in the doorway.  For the first time since I’d known him, I noticed—really noticed—just how big he was.  Not ‘big boned’ as
he
liked to call it, but large—as in eats too much.  Funny, I never noticed that before, I thought, as I turned away from him. 

I had almost forgotten my question when he finally decided to answer it.

“No, a couple of the guys wanted to go golfing today.  I thought I’d enjoy what I had left of single life.” 

Why didn’t his answer surprise me?  Of course, he was going golfing, fishing, or boating!  I fluffed the pillows vigorously, as I finished making the bed. 

As an afterthought, he added, “What are your plans?” 

My plans for the day had been the main topic of conversation during dinner last night.  Either he wasn’t listening or his memory was receding with his hairline.  I knew which.

“Cory, Charlotte and I... shopping for my gown... cake... flowers?  Sound familiar?”  I paused, for effect more than for an answer.  “Never mind.”

“Well, you and the girls enjoy yourselves.  Oh, and don’t forget about dinner at the Cosgrove’s tonight!”

“What dinner?”

I caught the look of mock surprise on his face. 

“Oh, didn’t I mention it?”  He turned toward the closet and I recognized his aimless stare as the beginning of a con job. 

“Jim and his wife are throwing a dinner party for some new client.  He wants the junior partners to be there—I think he said eightish.”  He offered a patronizing shrug.  “Sorry baby... can’t get out of this one.”  I watched silently, as he picked up his shoes and disappeared through the doorway.  Arguing was pointless—he was a lawyer, arguing was what he did best. 

The timing of my day with the girls couldn’t have been better.  I had been feeling edgy lately and knew that if anyone could put me in a better frame of mind; it would be Cory and Charlotte.  We had grown up within fifty miles of each other, but attended different high schools and didn’t meet until we enrolled at the same college.  In spite of the vast differences in our personalities, we had become fast friends. 

Charlotte Birch—circumspect to a fault.  Guided by hardheaded practicality, she had worked her way through college, kept her nose clean and made all the right choices until it fell apart in her senior year.  One month into her last year, she learned she was pregnant.  In customary Charlotte fashion, she gave her options way too much thought before ending her three year relationship with her boyfriend, Kevin, with the words, ‘I’ve made one mistake, I’m not about to make two’.  After considerable protest, he agreed to her decision and settled for liberal visitation with their son and occasional liberties with Charlotte.   

Cory SaSalle—now there’s the fun-loving free spirit.  Full of verve and vitality, she sees the world through a romantic eye and brightens every room she graces.  Her natural blonde hair and enormous, silicone-free breasts demand attention, but her spirited personality ensures a lasting impression.  She loves two kinds of men—foreign and domestic.  And they love her.  Women seem to hate her for the same reasons men love her, but she doesn’t seem to notice.  She’s been riding on a smile and her father’s credit cards for the last decade and in all the time I’ve known her, I’ve only known one thing to bother her—aging.  Aging petrifies her.  She swears she’ll hold on to twenty-nine for as long as her wrinkle-free complexion allows, letting plastic pick up where natural elasticity leaves off.  Charlotte and I know she means it.

Then there’s me, the last of the three musketeers.  I’m Meg Embry.  I fall somewhere between the two of them, not sure if
who
I
am
and
who
I
want
to
be
are the same person.  I’m a doting granddaughter, a submissive fiancée, a struggling business owner and a dreamer—mostly a dreamer.  I have a closet full of dreams but at this point in my life, all of the hangers are empty.  I’m hoping that my upcoming marriage will finally fill a few of them. 

Coming from a less-than-typical family, my personality holds all sorts of possibilities.  I could end up like my easy-going but felonious grandfather, my eccentric, vodka-drinking grandmother, or maybe even my moonstruck aunt.  Depending on the time and situation, I see each of them in myself, and that scares the hell out of me.  Throughout Pennsylvania, the Embry’s garnered the reputation of being left field of ordinary many generations ago.  Although they came by the label honestly, I see escaping it as a challenge, my quest to end the notion with my generation.  In my family, lunacy seems to be a congenital assumption while normalcy is considered a genetic blemish.  My best hope is that the parents I lost as a child were reasonably sane and that they passed a fragment of that on to me.

Yes, a day with the girls could only make me feel better.  If Cory couldn’t make me laugh, I knew Charlotte would let me cry.  Either way, it was well-timed medicine.

~ ~ ~

The girls and I had been regulars at Sal Latino’s for the better part of ten years—often referring to it as ‘our’ café.  People maneuvered blocks out of their way to find the wrought iron tables of the outdoor eatery an enjoyable escape from the smoke-filled restaurants scattered throughout Upper Darby.  Unusually busy for a brisk May morning, the bustle seemed to end at an invisible line separating the city sidewalk from the patio of the quaint café.

I took a seat and began thumbing through a copy of
Brides
magazine, quickly becoming lost in my thoughts.

“Good morning.  Can I interest you in something to drink?”

Startled by the sudden interruption, I glanced up at the man who waited for my reply.  He seemed to loom over me as he stood at my table awaiting my response, but I couldn’t force a complete sentence out of my mouth.

“Uh—yes—drink…” 

Letting out a sound that was more than a sigh but short of a laugh, I managed to say something relatively coherent.  “Water… please.”  His strong jaw and chiseled features were as eye appealing as his well-formed body, which was evident, even under his white oxford shirt.

I felt my cheeks flush as he playfully replied, “Uh—yes—water—coming right up.”

If he had even the slightest gift of sixth sense among his other, more obvious attributes, he would have felt my eyes boring holes into his back as he retrieved my water. 

While he was away, I worked to compose myself and decided to be more sophisticated when he returned.  After all, he wasn’t the first good-looking man I’d ever seen and I wasn’t a star struck schoolgirl. 

I was an adult. 

An adult who was engaged to be married.  Certainly, I could handle myself with dignity in the presence of a gorgeous man.  I discreetly covered my eyes and stole a quick glance at him through parted fingers as he headed my way, a bottle of water and a glass of ice on his tray.

As he approached my table I cringed, the words I had rehearsed in my head were crumbling into unintelligible syllables.

“Here you go—water as ordered.”

Instead of being upset that words had escaped me, I should have been happy that I managed to nod and smile at the same time, without any sign of drool.  I was still nodding as he smiled and turned away.  I was staring at the table, still in the middle of an internal scolding when the girls arrived.  I stood and gave them each a hug, putting my embarrassment aside for the time being.

“We’re sorry, Meg.  We would have been here earlier, but…”  Cory stopped and glanced toward Charlotte.  When she continued, her eyes beamed with excitement.  “We had, like, the most fab idea for your party and had to make a stop on the way here.”

I began my protest.  “We agreed!  No male strippers…”

Charlotte cut in.  “Who said anything about strippers?  Not that anyone besides you would mind...”

“Our best friend only gets married once—if she’s lucky—so we decided to do it up right.”  Cory gave Charlotte a conspiratorial smile before boasting, “This will be one for the bachelorette party hall of fame!”

I felt an internal shudder creep along my spine.  I knew they meant well, but I also knew what they were capable of, especially with Cory in charge.  When it came to having fun, she was the queen of her court.