Page 278 of The Lies We Play

I stretched that part. Important sounds organized. Important sounds like a document in a folder. This is not important. This is a fracture asking to become a sentence.

I have rehearsed this. I wrote three versions of the opening in a notebook and crossed all three out. I practiced in front of the mirror like a woman preparing to defend a thesis titled: How to Leave a Good Man Without Making Yourself the Villain, Though Regrettably You May Be One Anyway.

None of it works now.

Bella twitches.

I set the teaspoon down.

There is no time like the present, which is a horrible expression invented by people who have never had to detonate their own life before lunch.

“Something has come up,” I say.

Moises stills.

I press my lips together, gather what little courage I can find, and try again.

“From before I moved here. From—from the part of my life I prefer not to discuss.”

He doesn't move. His face changes in the careful way a man prepares to receive a hit and does the receiving before impact.

“Okay,” he says.

“I have to go back to the States.”

“When?”

I lift one shoulder. “Soon.”

Moises nods a couple of times.

He doesn't ask why.

For ten seconds, I am grateful with such force that it almost makes me cruel. Because he is generous. Because he knows where not to step. Because I have given him a map of closed doors for three years, and he has honored every single one.

Then he says, “Liv, is someone hurt?”

The kitchen goes very quiet around that question.

I stare at him and try to decide what I can give him. Enough, but not everything. Truth, but not the whole knife.

For ten years, I have lied to myself and to other people. I play with lies that make everyone around me feel better. I play with lies that let me sleep. I play with lies that make the morning manageable.

This should be easy.

After three years, he deserves more than easy.

“Yes,” I say.

The word scrapes on the way out.

“Someone has been hurt for a long time. He is going to be all right. I think. I hope. But it is not something I can stay here and handle from across an ocean. I have to be there. I have to be there for a while, and I don't know how long.”

“He?” The word is barely a question.

He hears the truth before I give it a shape.

I don't look away.