the lies excerpt 1

            “I’m sorry, we’re out of that,” the clerk said dismissively to me, her heavily lidded eyes not meeting mine. Automatically, I thought, “lie!” and was startled by the intensity of the feeling. I shook my head a little bit and followed the truck stop diner looking lady down the candy aisle.
            “Wait, please could you check the back? This corner store is the only place that carries that brand and scent of lotion.” The woman grunted but made her way to the back room. The lotion was Tinsley honey oat, and it was all that her mother used to use. It had been 5 years since her mother had died in a car accident. She wasn’t sick or old. Just unlucky. Ever since then, I had stopped by this corner store (not exactly accurate- it was completely out of my way) once every 2 weeks to buy more of it. My mother’s house was down the block from here, a spacious brick townhouse on West Rose. She had settled there after the divorce, because she couldn’t bring herself to stay in my childhood home in the suburbs, not after she found my father being unfaithful there.
            The store clerk sauntered back up to me and dropped the smooth beige bottle in my hand, and I breathed the relief out.
            “You gotta pay for that,” she said.
            “Thank you, yes of course.” I grabbed the 4 dollar bills that always covered it, told her to keep the change, and stepped out into the crisp Fall air. I squeezed some of the lotion out onto my hand and rubbed it in, smelling the scent mingle in with the smell of leaves burning somewhere in the distance. I got into my Jeep and made my way without even thinking towards my mom’s old house. I always seemed to end up taking that route home when I came to get the lotion. I was really pleased with how the new owners kept it up. One time, only a few months after her death, I ended up on the doorstep crying and they let me come in and just sit. They had put out some cheery yellow flowers in the hanging planter out front. I smiled to myself. Yellow was my mom’s favorite color.
            My phone rang from the passenger seat. I picked it up without checking the name.
            “Hello love, how are you?” my best friend Greg’s voice came through. He knew that I came to the corner store every other Sunday and called me every time. He had stopped offering to go with me after about a year of me saying, “no, I’m fine. I’ll just stop by there myself.”
            “I’m fine. I’m just on my way home now.” I replied.
            “Ah, well, good. I was just about to go to Jose’s if you want to meet me there?” he asked. My eyes narrowed. He was not just on his way to Jose’s. I gasped at how strongly I felt that, just like the feeling when the clerk said they didn’t have the lotion. I shook my head, hard.
            “Uh, yeah. That sounds great. I could go for a margarita right now…” I said, hearing the distraction in my voice.
            “Okay, great. I’ll see you there.”
            I arrived at Jose’s, a Mexican place in the city a few blocks from my apartment that was festively decorated with sombreros and twinkle lights in the shape of chili peppers. The margaritas were famously strong and the food was authentic. The smell of grilled peppers and steak met my nose, and my mouth watered. I realized I hadn’t eaten all day as I swung into a parking place right in front. Greg had a place out front in the patio at one of the black iron tables. I fumbled with the locking mechanism on the gate as Greg yelled, “Scale it!” I rolled my eyes as the door popped open and I made my way to the table.
            “You’re crazy,” I said and smiled at his boyish grin.
            “You better put those dimples away. The ladies at that table are eyeing ya. Jennifer wouldn’t appreciate it huh?” I asked of his girlfriend who he had been dating for 3 months and still wouldn’t introduce me to.
            “Ah Jen. Yeah actually…we broke up. Today.” He said without meeting my eyes. Again, I couldn’t stop the thought, “liar! He’s lying!” I mentally shook my head. What was up with today? I was so paranoid.
            “What?? Why? I didn’t even get to meet this one.” Greg went through countless women and only introduced them to me if they passed the six month mark. Lately, none of them could seem to make it. For dumb reasons. “One ear is bigger than the other. She’s vegan. My mom would love her.”
            “I know, I know. She’s just…she was getting too attached.” He still wasn’t really meeting my eyes, and I spurted out before thinking, “Lie!” I clapped my hand to my mouth and felt my eyes get big. I didn’t even mean to say that. Like, I didn’t say that. Someone else must’ve. Greg dark brown eyes got wide too, and he just stared at me for a few seconds. Then he burst out laughing, his deep, wolfish laugh.
            “Okay, okay you’re right. I can’t tell you the real reason though, because you’ll just scoff. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Maria. But none of them are right.” I felt my brow furrow. There was just something about what he was saying. It was him, and it was his regular voice. But today, it just didn’t seem genuine. The waiter then came up to the table, shaking me out of my suspicious reverie.
            “Hola Maria!” He bellowed. We were regulars. I was going to turn into a burrito.
            “Hey, Marco. Tips good tonight?” I asked, and he beamed.
            “Si, si, tonight yes. It’s Sunday. Good night. Monday, tomorrow, not so much.”
            “I’m telling you, you just have to bring back trivia night on Mondays. It’ll get the college crowd here.” I knew because I would always be at Jose’s on Monday night for trivia night when I went to the university. It was packed. A couple years ago, Jose decided he hated college kids and took away trivia night and 2 dollar well hell on Thursday and Friday nights.
            “They get too drunk, these hoodlums. They need to be studying! One more puking on my floor, and I’m going to put an age limit on who can come in!” he had declared.
            “Si senorita, I know. I don’t make the big decisions though. You want your regular?” he asked. He didn’t need his order pad out, because Greg and I pretty much always got the same thing.
            “Yeah, pitcher of margaritas and queso to start, please,” I said with a smile. Marco retreated back inside. When I looked back at Greg, he was giving me a thoughtful look. I stayed silent and looked right back at him.
            “So, how was today?” he asked. He always did. I sighed.
            “It was…good. It was fine, Greg. The clerk said they were out of the lotion, but I asked her to look in the back. And the Yardleys put out some yellow flowers on the porch.” I smiled halfway. He knew the anniversary of my mother’s death was in a few days. I choked back the emotion he knew I was feeling. I was used to doing that.
            “Tell me about the breakup.”
           
            After dinner was eaten and the pitcher of margaritas started making my face slightly warm, I decided to walk home. It was only about a 3 minute walk from Jose’s. Greg of course insisted on walking me. He lived in some apartments across the street from mine. He was depositing me to the front door of my building when I remembered something.
            “Oh! Please don’t forget to go get my dry cleaning tomorrow!” Greg was a writer and worked at home, and he’d agreed to pick up my bridesmaids dress I had worn a couple weekends ago. I wouldn’t be home from work in time and they kept calling me telling me it was ready.
            “Of course I won’t. I won’t forget, or my name isn’t Greg Harris,” he said and grinned.
            And suddenly,
            “It’s not!” I said in a burst, just like I had at dinner. But the realization hit me like it was something that I’d always known. I knew it 100%. His name wasn’t Greg. He gave me a very strange look.
            “Okay? Maybe you had a bit more of the pitcher than I did,” he chuckled uneasily. But it was that chuckle that sealed it in. Yes, I was being extremely paranoid today, but I knew this man and he always gave that exact uneasy chuckle when he was telling a half truth or a whole lie. 

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