Chapter 6 The Lies
THE LIES
BECKY
Iwas driving down the road, fuming, and listening to some Lincoln Park while my phone was on airplane mode.
He didn't need to reach me. I did need out of that house and away from that supposed conversation, if you could call it that.
I was shaking with adrenaline and something sharper.
Something I didn't want to think about yet.
In the distance, I saw a storm rolling in fast, and with it came the formerly wonderful memory of when Carter and I first met.
Was it really that long ago? Sometimes it felt like it was only yesterday.
The image of him dripping wet onto the concrete floor of his garage while petting my dog is one I could always bring to mind.
I blinked and saw headlights heading straight for me. I swerved quickly back into my lane. Jesus, I really am an idiot. Realizing I was a safety hazard, I turned into the nearest parking lot, took off airplane mode, and pulled up a number for comfort and clarity.
"Hey, baby girl, what's going on?"
"Hey, Dad," I choked out, before I broke down sobbing.
?????
My conversation with my dad went well, after I was done being a sniveling mess.
I hate crying. It seems like such a useless action because I can never do anything else even remotely productive while crying.
For example, I sat in my car, in a random parking lot during a rainstorm, for over an hour.
All I accomplished was bringing down my average miles per gallon on my car by running my air-conditioning in an idling vehicle.
I also managed to get red, swollen eyes and a runny nose.
It wasn’t until I got off the phone with my dad, immediately putting it back into airplane mode, that my tears dried up and I began to actually get my shit together.
I had to go about this situation methodically, logically, or else I’d let suspicion and emotion dictate one of the most important decisions of my life.
That’s just not who I am. I originally planned to spend the day prepping for one of my favorite traditions Carter and I established a few years ago; our binge-and-veg-a-thon with our favorite, fantastical, cinematic masterpiece playing in the background.
The tradition began because of a conversation at a bar.
My new coworkers introduced the place to me after a particularly grueling teacher initiation meeting at the end of my first summer here.
My new middle school team accepted me into their fold with open arms and an open bar tab.
I did my wild years in college, so I didn’t turn up, but I did enjoy a margarita on them while playing pool.
That’s where I saw Carter for the third time.
He slipped easily into conversation with the rest of the teachers, and we eventually came together, chatting about everything under the sun.
He made me laugh until I cried. Despite the laughter, Carter noticed I was down, and when I explained why, he told me it sounded like I needed a spa day or something.
I responded that a marathon about somewhere magical, cheese, ice cream, and chocolate were more my style, he apparently took it to heart.
The following weekend, the weekend before school started, he invited me over for dinner and movies. Before I could comment about my desired relationship status, he cut in and simply asked me to trust him. I did, and he delivered with my favorite new tradition.
I reminded him last week that this was the weekend for our shenanigans, but for some reason, I think he forgot.
Because, you know, other priorities. The following week was the start of teacher flexdays and teacher workdays.
Something about the final weekend before teacher responsibilities became priorities has always made me a weird excited-yet-melancholy.
This year, though…he hadn’t said a word to me about it. Because he had plans for dinner with another woman that superseded any traditions he used to have with me.
That thought brought me back to the present. The current situation we were in was crap, and I hated to sit and do nothing. So, I made a plan right there in an empty rain soaked parking lot with dried streaks of tears on my face.
?????
First thing on my mental agenda for the day was to pre-approve the inevitable guilt I was going to have if all of this ended up being completely innocent or out of his hands.
I decided sleuthing for the truth was going to be an “ask for forgiveness” situation if that were the case.
Besides, he did do things wrong even with the information I already had available to me.
He was having dinner with a woman who was not family or his fiancé.
He was traveling with a woman who was not family or his fiancé.
He had not talked to me about this woman who was not family or his fiancé.
He had hidden at least one message from me in his texts with a woman who was not family or his fiancé.
If it walks like an emotional affair and quacks like an emotional affair, then it is an emotional affair. If not more…
Logic told me the extent of this affair would dictate the direction and potency of my response.
If finding evidence was going to be time-consuming, then I would take my time. However, I wasn’t going to let my life revolve around him and his betrayal.
?????
I was beginning to feel conspicuous in my PJs in the middle of an empty lot.
My eyes caught on the clock. It was well past the time Carter left, and traffic was starting to pick up on the main roads.
I took a quick look at myself in the rearview mirror, and satisfied that my inner turmoil wasn’t blatantly transparent to a passerby, I put my car into drive, and pulled out onto the street to head home.
The house was quiet. The dogs were napping in the waking sunlight—Daisy’s tail thumped lazily, her eyes blinking slowly at me in the way that satisfied dogs do.
The emptiness in the morning used to be something I enjoyed because of the nature of my job, but that was balanced with my evenings, full of the playful laughter of Carter and I living our lives together.
My heart hurting, I went to the cupboard under the sink, gathered all of the necessary supplies, put in some earbuds, and cleaned on autopilot, trying to freeze out all thoughts beyond the physical. I also kept an eye out for anything out of the ordinary…just in case.
Music I listened to at high school dances was blaring through my headphones as I finished vacuuming the stairwell. I considered all the things I had accomplished and was amazed by my singleminded approach to cleaning that day, when I remembered my phone was on silent and on airplane mode.
“Oh, shit.” The moment I turned off airplane mode, an influx of messages and a couple voicemails popped up. Quick panic suffused me. I did not want to talk to Carter.
Once the notifications stopped, I realized most were from my coworkers and had to do with an event in town I had forgotten about.
None were from Carter.
I swallowed down my contradictory disappointment, ignoring the hot, bitter taste as it burned down my throat, and started looking into the messages from my coworkers. I listened to my voicemail first.
Hey, it’s Vicky. I wanted to check in and see if you’re still helping out today! You’re currently signed up for the first time slot from four-thirty to five. I just wanted to see if you minded coming a bit earlier to help us set the booth up? Call me! Talk to you later!
The time was 3:30, leaving me enough time to hop in and take a quick shower.
Heading to the bathroom, I looked over the messages to see they were more of the same.
Our students had a booth up for fundraising our DC trip at the Friday Night Music Extravaganza our town had on the third Friday of every month over the summer.
Our town is adorable.
The second voicemail was from Mom, and from what I could see based off a quick scan of the transcript, Dad had called her about this morning. I didn’t even want to pretend to think about it any longer, so I ignored it for now.
I hadn’t told Dad much because I hated the idea of burning that bridge for Carter. Telling my dad would have set explosives off on that bridge. My dad does not mess around when it comes to his kids. Had it moved from him to my brothers? Forget about it.
Without thinking too much about why, I searched through my messages again.
Nothing. I clicked onto my individual socials, while I waited for the shower to heat up to see if there was anything there.
None. There was still the same smattering of messages and reminders about the evening, one from my dad checking in and one of my brothers being annoying.
Reality settled like a heavy weight in my gut at the realization… he didn’t even try.
?????
The laughter of children and chattering of adults filled the air, a lively backdrop to my current moment of relaxation.
After plenty of running around and struggling with tent legs and random ropes, we were set up and officially chilling in our seats behind the table, letting our students, Adam, Ned, and Sophia, take the lead.
I was incredibly proud of those kids and their hard work. I personally knew that Ned was painfully shy. However, with the bubbly Sophia and hilarious Adam, he really came out of his shell. I knew the combination would be perfect.
To raise our money for DC, we were simply doing a 50/50 raffle.
Well, they were. I was mostly reading a book or chatting with Vicky and a couple parents, all of us in matching school tees and blue jeans.
The kids requested it to make us follow the aesthetic.
So middle school. Also, so cute they cared that much.
“Ms. Duchamp, I have to go potty.” Sophia piped up, distracting me from relaxing. I raised my brow at her, giving her my silent, okay, and?
She walked up marginally closer to me and whisper-hissed, “No, like I need to go potty.”