Count My Lies

Chapter 14

14

It’s an overcast Friday morning, and Violet’s invited me over for a coffee after she drops Harper off at school. Harper has a playdate this afternoon, so my day is wide open. When I leave my apartment, the sky is a deep gray. It’s chilly—chillier than it’s been in weeks, the final remnants of spring before summer cracks open, heat and humidity infiltrating every nook and cranny of the city. I pull my sweatshirt hood over my head and tighten the strings under my chin. I pick up the pace, hoping I’ll warm up.

On the way, I decide to detour by a coffee shop that I know Violet loves. I order us both brown sugar lattes with oat milk, her favorite drink. Now it’s mine, too.

I feel myself starting to get nervous as I climb their steps, coffees in hand, wondering if today, Jay will be here. It’s something I think about every time I’m in their home, whether he’ll stop by for lunch or take the afternoon off, come home early. But he never does. He’s always working, always at the office.

Occasionally, Violet will tell me that he says hello or sends his best and I’ll feel a rush. An electrical current coursing through me. Do they talk about me? I wonder. Does she tell him about our conversations?

I don’t know why I care. Actually, that’s not true. Not even partly. I care because I like him. Even though I haven’t seen him since that first dinner, I haven’t stopped thinking about him. But it’s just a crush. A stupid, silly crush. He’s my best friend’s husband. It’s not like it would go anywhere.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I press the doorbell with my elbow. I hop from foot to foot to stay warm. I press the doorbell again, twice. Come on, Violet.

But when the door swings open, it’s not Violet that appears. This time, it is Jay. He looks as surprised to see me as I am to see him. He’s half-dressed, in a pair of pressed khakis, no shirt. He has a small towel in his hand, his hair damp, freshly washed. I can smell his shampoo.

“Caitlin?” he says, his eyebrows knitting together, head cocked to the side.

I stare back, momentarily struck dumb. Even though I’ve been hoping to run into him, I hadn’t imagined that I actually would. I blink a few times, wondering if I’m hallucinating. When he doesn’t disappear, I decide that I’m not.

“Hi,” I say finally. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” he answers. He smiles, giving me a once-over, his surprise turning to amusement.

I glance down at my outfit. Jeans ripped at the knee, my oversized hoodie pulled tightly around my face like the little kid from ET. High fashion. Haute couture. I wish I could loosen the strings, but, you know, the fucking coffee. I feel my face flush. At least I did my eyebrows, thank god.

“What can I do for you?” Jay asks.

“Nothing,” I say. “I mean, I’m here for Violet. Is she home? We had plans to have coffee.” I hold up the two cups in my hands as evidence. “She didn’t mention I was stopping by?”

He shakes his head again. “She’s still dropping Harper off at school. I was in the shower when she left. She should be back any minute, though.” He glances at his watch. “It usually doesn’t take her this long.”

I shift again from one foot to the other. “It’s okay. I can wait outside—”

“No, no,” he says. “Come in. I was just finishing breakfast,” Jay says, flashing a grin at me. He opens the door wide and motions me inside.

I step through the threshold, into their entryway, then follow him into the kitchen. “Want anything?” he asks over his shoulder. “Toast? Eggs?”

“I’m fine.” I shake my head. “I’m not usually a breakfast person.” Although, I might be, if I got up early enough to make myself anything. “The coffee is plenty.”

On the counter, there’s a plate with a half-eaten piece of rye toast and a mug of coffee, still steaming. I perch on a bar stool, setting both cardboard cups down in front of me.

The heat is on in the house, so I shrug out of my hoodie, although the boxy T-shirt I have underneath isn’t much better in terms of flattering. I desperately wish I’d spent an extra five minutes getting ready this morning.

I set my purse on the bar stool next to me, and when I hear it clunk, I remember what’s inside. “Oh!” I say, reaching into it and pulling out the copy of And Then There Were None . “Here.” I hand the book to Jay, who takes it from me, looking at it in surprise. “You said you might want to read it,” I add. “When we met at the park.”

I’ve been carrying it around for almost two months now. I’d planned on giving it to him the night that Violet invited me over for dinner, but he went upstairs to put Harper to bed before I’d had the chance. I keep telling myself to give it to Violet to give to him, but I haven’t. I’ve wanted to do it myself. It feels like something special between us, just for the two of us.

Jay studies the cover, nodding slowly. For a minute, I think he might not remember our conversation, and I start to feel sick, hands getting clammy. But then he looks at me, a smile spreading across his face, his gold-flecked eyes bright. “Thanks,” he says. “Really, thanks. I can’t wait to read it.”

I smile back. The knot in my stomach unwinds, my limbs loosening with pleasure.

We’re still smiling at each other when my phone buzzes. I pick it up off the counter. It’s a text from Violet. Sorry, got stuck at school, heading home now!

I feel a brief flash of disappointment. I don’t want her to come back yet. I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment to materialize, to see Jay again. When Violet walks in, everything will change. The electricity I feel will dissipate. He’ll leave for work, and it’ll be just Violet and me again. Then I’m flooded with shame. What’s wrong with me? Violet is my friend. And Jay is hers, not mine. He never was, never will be. I shake the disloyal thoughts from my head. Be better, Sloane , I think.

Quickly, I type back. No worries! Jay let me in. See you soon!

“It’s Violet. She says she’s on her way home,” I say, looking back up at Jay.

He nods and tosses the towel he used to dry his hair on the counter, then picks up his coffee. “So, how’s my patron saint?” he asks, smiling at me. “I haven’t seen you since dinner. I’m not sure how I’ve kept myself safe without you.”

I blush. “I’m good,” I say. “Busy.”

“So saving lives one bee sting at a time? No time for needy dads?”

I smirk. “That’s right. I race from park to park, ice pack and tweezers in hand. Batgirl’s second cousin: Beewoman.”

He laughs. “Our own local superhero.” Then, smile fading, he says, “You and Violet have been spending a lot of time together.” I’m not sure if he’s asking a question or stating the obvious, given that I’m on their payroll. Violet pays me each week in cash, crisp bills inside sealed white envelopes. I wonder if he’s the one to make the withdrawals, or if she is. “And Harper says you make the best snacks.”

I smile. “She’s a sweetheart.”

“She really likes you,” Jay says. “And so does Violet.”

It thrills me to hear him say that. “I like them, too. Violet’s been a good friend to me.” My best friend. I don’t say it to Jay, but it’s true.

There’s a silence as he considers this, then—“Has she said anything to you about us?” he asks. The shift in tone is abrupt. He doesn’t look at me. Instead, he opens the dishwasher and begins to unload some silverware. I think maybe I’ve misheard him.

“You mean you and her?” I ask, frowning.

Jay straightens, shuts the dishwasher, and nods. “Yeah, has she said anything?” he repeats.

I’m still not sure what he’s getting at. “Like what?”

He studies me, his eyes searching mine. Then he gives a shrug, a shake of his head, a sheepish smile. “Nothing. Forget it.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

He nods, but there’s something about the way his mouth is set that makes me not so sure. For a moment, the kitchen is silent. I feel uneasy, a little disoriented. What is he talking about? Is there something Violet is keeping from me?

I chew on my lip, staring at him. He doesn’t look back at me. Instead, he glances at the clock on the microwave, the blue neon numbers glowing. I’m about to ask if he’s sure everything is okay, but he speaks before I do.

“I should finish getting ready for work,” he says.

But I don’t want him to go, not yet. I like talking to him. I wish I didn’t, but I do. “How’s it going?” I blurt out. It’s all I can think of. “Work, I mean.”

“Good.” Jay shrugs. “But I’m expected to be clothed.” He grins at me. “I’m not sure it’s appropriate for the founder to show up half-dressed.”

“That seems so old-fashioned,” I joke back. “What is this, the 1950s?”

“So you don’t think anyone would mind if I went in like this?” he asks, looking down at himself, then back up at me.

“I wouldn’t,” I say, then blush, face reddening. Jesus, did I just say that out loud? “I’m just kidding. I mean, yes, a shirt is probably a good idea.” I can’t get the words out fast enough. He’s going to think I’m deranged. Frankly, I think I’m deranged.

Jay’s grin widens, clearly amused.

Then, thank god, I’m saved by the figurative bell. The front door opens and shuts loudly. Violet’s home.

“I’m so sorry, Cait!” she calls out. “One of the other moms cornered me. She wouldn’t—”

She walks into the kitchen, midsentence, then stops short, seeing Jay. “Oh,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

I feel embarrassed suddenly, sitting here with her shirtless husband, my crush written all over my face in thick, black Sharpie. I can feel the heat rise again in my face.

“I’m just leaving,” Jay says. Still holding his coffee mug, he takes his plate from the counter and puts it into the sink.

“Like that?” Violet asks. She raises an eyebrow, then winks at me. Jay makes a face at her, something between a smirk and a grimace, before starting toward the living room.

“Wait, before you go, Jay…” Violet calls after him. He turns, pausing beneath the high arch of the doorframe. “I was going to invite Caitlin on the boat on Sunday. You have it on your calendar, right?”

Without waiting for his answer, she turns to me. “We always take a boat out for my birthday,” she says. “I wanted to see if you wanted to come, too.” Then, to Jay, “Caitlin’s birthday is two days before mine. I thought it would be fun to celebrate together.” She looks from Jay back to me, smiling. “I meant to ask you earlier, but it snuck up on me this year. Want to join us?”

I feel a rush. I think of the calendar on the wall in my room, both our birthdays circled in marker. I’ve been waiting for this invitation as the days neared, waiting, wishing, hoping. “Yes!” I say. “I’d love to. That sounds so fun. Just the four of us?”

Violet nods. “Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I say. I beam. It’s more than okay. It’s great, just as I’d imagined.

“Did you make a reservation?” Jay asks. His voice sounds oddly strained.

She nods. “Last week. Why, do you have to work? I already told Harper that—”

“No, it’s fine,” he interrupts. “That’s fine with me.”

“Great!” Violet says, grinning at me. “We’re booked at ten.”

Jay nods. “Okay.” Then, “I really have to run. I have a meeting at nine thirty.” He picks up And Then There Were None from the counter and holds it up. “Thanks again, Caitlin. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” I say, feeling my cheeks warm again. I don’t look at Violet. I hope she doesn’t mind that I brought it for him.

“Bye!” she calls after him as he walks out of the room. Then she turns to me, smiling. “I’m so glad you can come on the boat.”

I feel warm inside, pleased she remembered my birthday, even more pleased that she wants to celebrate hers with me. “Me too.” I smile back. “Really, thanks for the invite.”

“Well, thanks for the coffee!” Violet says, motioning to the two lattes on the counter. “My favorite.”

We take our cups to the couch. As we settle in, Jay comes back down the stairs—fully clothed now—leather satchel slung over his shoulder, an umbrella in hand. He smiles, waves goodbye, and I blush for the hundredth time. A few minutes later, the rain starts, and Violet and I watch as it comes down in front of the bay window. When the coffees are done, Violet takes some photo books off the bookshelf and shows me pictures from their wedding. I love looking at the shots of her and Jay, dressed like royalty, glowing.

I study her profile as she stares down at the glossy pages of the book, pointing to different images, telling me about the guests at their wedding, about how the best man made a toast that made Jay’s mother blush. Something about Jay’s grooming habits before dates. I try to focus, but my mind keeps wandering.

What had Jay meant when he asked me if Violet had said anything about the two of them? Was their marriage in trouble? Did it have anything to do with the phone call that I’d seen through the window a few weeks ago? Had she been talking to him? I’d managed to forget about it— the anger on Violet’s face, her expression as she threw her phone against the couch—deciding it must have been nothing; she’s seemed fine. If something was going on between her and Jay, she would have told me, right?

Violet’s confided in me about any number of things these last few weeks, about how she’s worried no one will hire her in New York, especially since she has to take the bar again and doesn’t know if she’ll pass, about how she feels out of place among the other moms at Harper’s school, how she thinks she might be coddling Harper. I can’t believe she wouldn’t have mentioned something so big as marital problems. She trusts me; I know she does.

Finally, when Violet shuts the book, I clear my throat, take a deep breath. “Is everything okay?” I ask tentatively.

Violet frowns. “What do you mean?”

I shake my head. “I mean, with you. Just, you know, checking in.” I don’t want to tell her what Jay said. I don’t want her to think we were talking about her behind her back. And I don’t want him to think he can’t trust me.

She smiles. Her face is sunny, eyes bright. “Yeah, I’m great, thanks. Want more coffee? I can make a pot.”

I nod. Maybe they’d had a fight recently but had since made up. Maybe he wanted to know just how close we were, if she talked to me about their sex life. Looking at her now, at the open-book expression on her face, I’m sure: if something was wrong, she would tell me. “I’d love another cup,” I say.

When it’s time for me to leave, Violet walks me out. “See you Sunday? I’ll text you the address,” she says. She’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Sunday, for our birthday boat ride.

I nod, feeling that rush again, and smile. “See you Sunday,” I say. Happy birthday to me.