Chapter 25
lovelillibet Don’t let dark thoughts scare you away from trying something new. So many people told me that baking a soufflé was hard, and I made the mistake of letting their negativity take up space in my head. Well, guess what? My first try came out perfectly. Light as a cloud, with a heart of molten perfection.
The only thing I regret is letting doubters hold me back.
Love, Lillibet
Image: A wire basket of eggs, the shells ranging in shade from pale brown to celadon.
#breakyourshell #digforgold #selftrust #reachforthesky
At some point Libby must have drifted off. As much as she wanted to stay awake, savoring every second of this time together, the last few days had taken a toll.
But she’d learned things last night, coloring in whole new sections of her picture of Jefferson. Giving her most of the towel while he stretched out on his side at the very edge. The soft kiss he’d pressed against her forehead as she was falling asleep. Pulling her closer when she shivered, his arm draped over her like a blanket.
And that moment when she’d opened her eyes and found him looking back at her, their faces inches apart. They were near enough to count each other’s eyelashes. Everything faded away except Jefferson, as if they were drifting in the silence of deep space.
Libby didn’t usually go in for goopy sayings about eyes being a window into the soul (that was more Lillibet’s speed), but she found herself hoping it was true, because that would mean he could see right down into the depths of her real self, without the need for any of the words she was too afraid to speak.
“Just in time,” he said, brushing her hair away from her face.
Belatedly she realized the sky must be lightening if she could see him this well. Glancing away from his face, she clocked the first hints of morning overhead, a gradual undarkening that presaged the big display of color and light.
Libby sat up, a little stiff but not caring in the slightest. She leaned against Jefferson, and he put his arm around her shoulders. Together they soaked it in. And while Libby knew she was happy, she also felt like crying. Just a little—from the beauty, and the improbability of finding someone like Jefferson, and needing to release a backlog of emotional pressure.
She had a good fifteen minutes of peace and tranquility before the first lash of panic.
“She’s fine,” Jefferson assured Libby, when she looked around for the goat. “Having a morning snack.”
Libby’s stomach rumbled. The crayon-box sunrise was starting to disappear. Soon it would give way to the blue of a regular summer day, with all its practical concerns. She stood and stretched, shaking out the towel while Jefferson untied the rope. Get the goat home, clean herself up, and—no. Coffee, then shower. God, donuts would be so good right now. Could she borrow a car to drive to Ted’s?
As they made their way back to the house, Libby let herself imagine an alternate reality where Jefferson was her steady, committed boyfriend (because what other kind of boyfriend would he be?) and the two of them were about to cruise to the bakery together. A lazy morning, with nothing on the agenda but hanging out.
“Libby!” Keoki’s voice snapped her out of the daydream. His eyes landed on the goat Jefferson was leading along the path. “Where were you?”
“On the beach.” It was true-ish, if you collapsed the timeline. “We—took him for a walk. I mean her. The goat.”
Keoki crossed his arms. “Did she eat anything weird?”
“Define weird.” She thought of her bathing suit. Had it really eaten the strap or just given it a good nibble?
“I’ll take her from here,” he told Jefferson, who handed him the rope. “Rush order for chèvre.” Which hopefully wouldn’t taste like Spandex.
Jefferson nodded as if that made perfect sense. Chev-ruh must be showing up on charcuterie boards in the wilds of Wyoming. “See you back at the house,” he said to Libby.
She watched him walk away. It was stupid to feel sad, like the sand was running out of the hourglass. Libby scratched her scalp. Speaking of sand.
“This is a really important supplier.” Keoki kept his voice low in case Jefferson was still in hearing range. “I can’t mess up my relationship with them. Reputation is everything in this business.”
“Sorry.”
He shrugged off her apology with the usual Keoki no-big-thing attitude, but she could tell it was an effort. This was a much bigger mistake than Libby accidentally eating an important ingredient he’d foolishly left at their place.
“How was the appointment?” she asked, as Keoki tugged the goat into motion. Libby felt another lash of guilt at how close she’d come to forgetting his big day. In a normal week, Cici’s twenty-week ultrasound would have been the number one topic of conversation.
“She’s a girl.” He beamed at Libby over his shoulder. “Big kicker. I’m thinking soccer.”
The goat stopped to nibble on a patch of grass. Three seconds later, she was pulling on her lead, bleating something that sounded like, I’m finished with my snack, asswipes. Get a move on.
“I gotta go, Libs. You can do this. Believe in yourself, okay?”
“Are you quoting Love, Lillibet?”
“It’s a mug Cici has. With the Loch Ness monster.” He patted her on the shoulder. “Good luck.”
Keoki veered toward the front of the house, where Libby could just make out the diesel rumble of the truck waiting to take the goats back to the farm. Her feet carried her slowly toward the backyard. Jefferson was waiting on the terrace.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Libby managed a smile, drawing on the part of her that was purely happy to see him, despite everything. “It feels like we’re coming back down to earth. From, you know.”
“Planet Last Night,” Jefferson filled in. He was looking at her like he wanted to smile, or even laugh.
“Bedhead?” Libby patted her hair. “Or should I say beachhead?”
He ran a finger along her hairline, drawing it across her temple and then behind her ear. Even after he stopped, the trail of warmth continued, all the way down to her toes.
“Did you fix it?” she asked when she found her voice.
“I just wanted to touch you.” His knuckles brushed the side of her neck. “Before we go inside, there’s something you should know.”
“Your name isn’t really Jefferson?”
He paused like she’d strung up a trip wire. “Uh, no. That is my name.”
“Of course,” she said quickly, before he could question why the first place her mind went was false identity. “Go ahead. I shouldn’t have interrupted you.”
“That’s okay.” He swallowed. “I like you. A lot. And I’d like to keep seeing you, when all this is over. I don’t know how or where, but if there’s a way, I’m willing to try. If that’s something you want.”
“I do want,” Libby said, before her conscience could scream, I’m not worthy. “All of it. With you.”
He was so honest and brave. Jefferson deserved someone who didn’t suck. I’m going to confess everything, she decided. Today. And then come clean to Hildy, bringing the Lillibet hoax to a merciful close. Like an exorcism.
She slid an arm around the back of his neck, drawing herself against him. Libby didn’t usually throw herself at people. Too many of the guys she’d known were wishy-washy, one foot out the door. Lean on someone like that, and you’d both eat dirt. With Jefferson, she trusted him to be there, solid and real, meeting her halfway. Not just because he was an upstanding person, but because he wanted her there, in his arms, as much as she wanted to be wrapped around him.
I like you, too, she told him with her lips. A scary lot.
His hands traveled down her sides, squeezing the curve of her waist before sliding back over her shoulders to pull her closer. Every time she kissed Jefferson was like discovering a new flavor. Oh, I like this one, too. One quick kiss was building into something more when he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.
“Next time we spend the night together, let’s go someplace less sandy.”
It was a rain check that felt like a promise: This will happen. All Libby had to do was eliminate the obstacles standing between them. Which happened to be slightly different than the ones Jefferson knew about, but that was all part of the process.
She breathed deeply, letting the cool morning air fill her lungs. There was something hopeful about this time of day, like you were literally seeing the world through rose-colored glasses. Maybe that was Libby’s problem: she’d always slept through the optimistic hours. Right now, with Jefferson at her side, it was just barely possible to believe it would all work out.
“I guess we shouldn’t go in together.” Libby didn’t have Jean’s gift for strategy, but instinct told her she wouldn’t be able to act normal around Jefferson so soon after having his tongue in her mouth.
“We could say we were doing yoga.”
“What about my butt?”
“Seems perfect to me.” He pulled her against him, hands cupping her cheeks (the lower ones). “On closer inspection.”
“You know, I didn’t actually have a sprained ass.” Because that was definitely the right place to start her confession. Really ripping off the bandage.
Jefferson nodded, unsurprised. “I figured it was the morning thing. Wanting to sleep in. Especially on Me-mas.”
She hoped the oh shit didn’t show on her face. Mother freaking Me-mas. “Right. That’s today. I was supposed to start the day me-ditating. Next to the Me Tree. Aka Big Naked Me.” She bit her lip.
“I prefer you in 3D.”
“Even though you can’t use my nipple as a night-light?”
“Not high on the list of qualities I look for in a woman.”
“Imagine in the wilderness, though. If you’re camping. It could be handy.”
“Libby,” he said with mock-sternness. “Are you stalling?”
“Puh. Me? No. I can’t wait to get in there. Get this party started.” It would have been more convincing had her voice not dwindled to a sigh by the end.
“Why don’t you tell them you want to spend the day in bed?” Color flooded his face. “Reading, I mean. Or sleeping. Alone. I thought the whole idea of Me-mas was getting to do whatever you want.”
“I feel like I owe Hildy a Me-mas to remember.”
“That’s nice of you.” His thumb brushed her cheekbone, lightly touching her bottom lip before he lowered his arm. For someone so reserved with his facial expressions, Jefferson was surprisingly free with physical affection. He kissed the spot he’d marked with his thumb before taking a step back. “I’ll go in through the kitchen. See you on the other side.”
Libby watched him lope across the grass. One way or another, the moment of truth had arrived.
* * *
The mirrored finish on the doors reflected the deepening blue of a clear, sunny day. Libby decided to take it as a positive omen. Carefully sliding open the massive wall of glass, she stepped inside, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the dimness.
“Oh.” The occupants of the not-empty-after-all living room stared back at her, champagne flutes in hand. “Me-mosa time already?” Libby tried to sound cheerful, but it was hard to hear herself over the roaring chorus of nonononononononono in her brain.
Hildy. Her uncle. Mr. L. And Jean, shaking her head in a silent, I wouldn’t bother.
“What was the meaning of that?” Uncle Richard demanded, pointing at the glass.
Libby glanced behind her, confirming that, yes, from inside, the terrace might as well have been a stage, brightly lit and visible to all. Maybe they hadn’t been sitting here long. If they arrived after the butt grab, Libby might be able to salvage the situation.
“We were … doing yoga?” She glanced at her audience to see how that had gone over.
“That didn’t look like any yoga I’ve ever seen,” Uncle Richard huffed. “And I’ve seen plenty in my day!”
“It’s probably a Me-mas thing.” Hildy sounded only slightly less desperate than Libby. “She gets a freebie.”
If anything, her uncle’s outrage grew. “With your fiancé?”
“Hello? We’re not really engaged.” Hildy snapped her fingers at Uncle Richard as if that would jog his memory.
He waved this off, champagne sloshing dangerously in his glass. “A technicality. It doesn’t excuse this disgraceful behavior.”
Hildy took a swig of champagne. It looked like she was fortifying herself for what came next. “Jefferson isn’t my boyfriend.”
“He broke up with you?” Uncle Richard set down his glass so hard Libby was surprised the stem didn’t snap. “My poor Hildy! You must be devastated. Not even speaking of how upset our advertisers will be. This is quite a blow—for everyone.”
“I’m sure we’ll cry ourselves to sleep,” Hildy muttered. “News flash! This is all—well, mostly—part of my plan. Besides, not everyone in this family is into weirdly huge age gaps. Ahem.”
“My marriage is not on trial,” her uncle sniffed. “Furthermore, there is no such thing as a ‘freebie.’ In my experience, they’re terribly expensive.”
Jefferson entered the room, taking stock of the situation in a rapid-fire slideshow: Libby still standing by the door, tense and unhappy; the transparent-from-inside glass; the worst possible audience gathered to watch.
Uncle Richard gestured angrily at him. “What do you have to say for yourself, young man?”
“We ran into each other on the beach,” he said, after a blink of hesitation. “Watching the sunrise.”
“It’s okay, Jefferson.” Libby didn’t want him to lie for her, on top of everything that had already gone wrong. There was a glug and a splash from Jean’s direction as she refilled her glass. “It’s true that I was kissing Jefferson. As you all apparently saw. And the reason is that … I like him.”
There was an extended silence, like they were waiting for Libby to go on. But that was really it. The headline and the story. One bullet point.
“That’s rather brazen, in front of your husband!” With a look of sympathy, Uncle Richard turned to Mr. L, who plucked at the cuffs of his dress shirt, basking in the attention.
“I’m not actually married,” Libby told Hildy’s uncle.
“Yet!” Mr. L sprang into action as if he’d been awaiting his cue. Hurrying across the room he knelt in front of Libby. From his pocket, he produced a small velvet box.
Surely not, Libby thought, heart sinking past her ankles. Even Mr. L had to realize this was not the moment.
“Rock me like a hurricane,” Hildy gasped, when he cracked open the lid.
“Blimey,” Jean chimed in, forgetting she was no longer Irish.
Libby had never seen a diamond that size in real life. You could gouge someone’s eye out in hand-to-hand combat. Which was a totally normal thing to think when a person was about to propose.
“My darling Lillibet, will you do me the honor of accepting my hand in marriage?” Mr. L raised the back of his hand, wrist bent.
Does he want me to kiss it? Is the ring for him? Libby was lost, thoughts iced over by the most intense secondhand embarrassment she’d ever experienced.
“Aren’t they already married?” Uncle Richard stage-whispered.
Libby shook her head. “No.” On all counts.
“You’re not?” At the note of confusion in Jefferson’s voice, she forced herself to look at him.
“He wanted to marry me for a green card—like I said.” Sort of. “But I wasn’t going to actually do it.”
“I beg your pardon?” Mr. L stood up. “Then why did you sign this?” He pulled the prenup from an inside pocket, brandishing it like a smoking gun.
“I wanted a little more time.” A taste of what might have been, even though Libby knew it wouldn’t last. They probably thought she was talking about money, and all the luxe lifestyle trappings it could buy, but what Libby really envied was the sense of possibility. That was what she’d tried (pathetically, naively, catastrophically) to borrow from Lillibet: the illusion of being a person who could have it all—a great job and a greater guy. It was like blowing your tiny reserves of cash on a night out instead of saving for the future. When you were never going to get everything you wanted, might as well grab what you could before it disappeared.
“For what?” Uncle Richard demanded. “Is this one of those bling rings?”
Hildy threw her head back. “How many times do I have to tell you the whole world is not conspiring to steal your stuff?
“We—I didn’t want to ruin everything,” Libby said, hating how weak she sounded.
“When did you sign that?” Jefferson asked.
“A day or two ago,” Libby replied, unsure why that detail mattered.
“After I got here?”
She nodded, and saw the flash of hurt in his eyes before he looked away.
“I still don’t understand who was fooling who,” Hildy’s uncle muttered, clearly fed up with all of them.
“Maybe we should talk about this over breakfast?” Libby suggested. “And more champagne.” Gallons of it.
“Why, so you can poison us?” Uncle Richard scoffed, before turning to his niece. “I don’t trust this person you’ve taken up with, Hildy. She’s married, she’s not married, she’s getting married, she isn’t—the story keeps changing. It shows a lack of commitment.”
“You’re one to talk,” his niece retorted, not quite under her breath.
“He’s right.” Libby felt like she’d been playing an endless game of hide-and-seek, the kind where you get so tired of waiting for the ax to fall, you stand up and give yourself away. Here I am. You can tag me now.
“I have been lying. About some things. A lot of things,” Libby amended. “This is not my house, for example. Since that is not my husband.”
Mr. L struck a pose, hand under his chin.
“Wait, hold up.” Hildy made a stop sign with her palm. “The house part,” she clarified, when Mr. L started to interject. “Not him.”
“It was part of the act. Pretending to be Lillibet.”
“Oh my god.” Hildy’s hand flew to her mouth. “Is she dead?
“What?” Libby glanced at Jean, who shrugged.
“Did you kill her and steal her identity?” Hildy pressed.
“Nooooo.” Libby drew out the word, hoping Jean would jump in with a preposterous explanation that would still be more plausible than the truth. Barring that, she’d settle for a sinkhole opening under the house.
No such luck.
“That would be hard to do,” Libby said quietly. “Considering she doesn’t exist.” Jefferson looked at her sharply. “I’m just Libby. That’s all I ever was. There’s no such person as Lillibet.”
“She’s talking about curation,” Hildy said with a confidence Libby didn’t deserve. “Standard operating procedure for social media. We all craft our online persona.”
“Yeah.” Libby scratched her head, watching a few grains of sand sift onto the floor. “It was a little more than that.”
“We invented her,” Jean snapped. “Lillibet. She’s like the tooth fairy, but more, you know.” She stuck a finger down her throat, gagging theatrically.
“You were right about the cooking,” Libby told Hildy. “That’s all Keoki. I suck in the kitchen. And I don’t arrange stuff prettily—Jean’s the artistic one—or take care of my skin or have a perfect life.”
It should have been a relief to confess, but the truth was not setting Libby free. She felt humiliated and pathetic and had a powerful urge to disappear, but she forced herself to stay and watch her audience’s shock and confusion tip into horror.
“You really don’t live that life?” Hildy gestured at the palatial living room.
Libby shook her head. “I wait tables for a living.”
“So no tinctures? Or body oils? Restorative exfoliation? Do you even do yoga?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Charlatans. They’re everywhere,” Uncle Richard huffed. “People in our position are always targets. They tell you what you want to hear. I love baseball! This corned beef is delicious! What a full head of hair you have! And then you find out it was all a game. They were playing you from the beginning.”
“Black widows,” Mr. L said.
“Nobody’s getting murdered,” Libby protested, but no one paid any attention.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jefferson asked. “Last night.”
“I just wanted a chance to be with you. One night together.”
“Is that all it was to you? One night?”
“No!” Panicked, she scrambled for a way to make him understand. “I was … living my truth.”
Everyone stared as if Libby had farted. It figured that the first time she tried to say something Lillibet-like and mean it, the words landed like a lead balloon.
“I mean, on the inside,” she stammered. “Where the real me is. It’s like those Russian dolls—”
Jefferson didn’t storm out or slam the door. He walked quietly, shoulders hunched like he was shielding himself from the next blow.
A distant part of Libby’s brain wasn’t surprised that Jefferson was going off alone to lick his wounds, instead of throwing a tantrum, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that once he was out of her sight, she’d never see him again. What was she going to say if she ran after him: I’m a liar, please love me anyway?
“I was always me to you.” Libby mumbled the words at his departing back, but by then it was too late. Her timing was as bad as her moral compass.
“What about me?” Hildy’s voice was plaintive, sounding even younger than she actually was. “Were you ever going to tell me?”
“Yes. I swear. I was waiting for the right moment.”
Hildy shook her head, unconvinced. “You and JJ were my role models. I thought you were more mature than this!”
“I’m not that much older than you—”
“You’re supposed to be an old soul,” Hildy shouted, before drooping. “But I guess none of that was real.”
“You see, Hildy? This is what I’m always telling you. Keeping a cool head is essential in business. It takes razor-sharp instincts to swim with the big dogs.” Uncle Richard made a slicing motion with his soft white hand. “This is why you need to go back to school and live in a nice, safe, protected environment until you’re ready to make your way in the world.”
“Have you been on a college campus in the last three decades?” She clutched her head with both hands. “I can’t believe this is happening. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid.”
Just when Libby thought she couldn’t feel any worse. “None of this is Hildy’s fault. She’s incredibly smart and motivated and full of ideas. Any company would be lucky to have her.”
Uncle Richard lowered his glasses to give Libby a look of deep disdain. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t believe anything you have to say.”
“Seriously—whatever your name is.” Hildy didn’t lift her head. “Don’t do me any favors. The last thing I need is more help from you.”
Keoki strolled into the room, his smile wilting. “Hey … everybody. I thought Me-mas was a happy day?”
“Me-mas is canceled,” Hildy said. “Along with everything else.” Jean offered her the champagne.
“I believe that is my property.” Mr. L grabbed the bottle away from Jean, handing it to Hildy himself. “There’s nothing here that belongs to you three. Except that.” He pointed at the portrait, like they were doing a courtroom scene and Libby’s nudie picture was on trial.
He might not be getting a green card out of the bargain, but at least they could give him this, Libby reflected. A moment to chew the scenery to his heart’s content.
“I expect you to remove it from the premises, along with yourselves, in the next ten minutes.” Mr. L paused to give them his most threatening look. Libby rated it about a four. “Otherwise, I will have to consider my legal options. I could sue for breach of contract.”
Uncle Richard nodded his support. “A man is only as good as his lawyers.”
“Good luck suing us for not doing something illegal.” Jean sauntered to the ladder and started to climb. “And if you don’t appreciate my art, you don’t deserve it.”
After unfastening the butterfly clips that held the painting in place, she carefully rolled it before descending. “Put that in your pipes and smoke it.”
When Jean jerked her head at the door, Libby and Keoki fell in behind her. Neither of them could top that exit line.
Libby risked a final backward glance. She was clinging to the desperate hope that Jefferson might appear, but there was no sign of him.
The room, and the house, and her life, echoed with his absence.