The Lie, Natalie Wrye [ebook reader play store txt] 📗

hear Hannah’s voice harried—excited over the phone.

“Well… I guess he'll decide soon,” Sabrina answers. “I’ll let you know…”

My sister hangs up.

Turning to me, her wide eyes a liquid cocoa color—disappointed and wet, I know I’m not going to like the next words out of her mouth.

And just like a little sibling, she doesn’t disappoint.

Bri sighs. “You know, that absolutely felt like shit. Lying to Hannah like that. Pretending everything is fine.”

She's as serious as a priest on Easter Sunday.

And my hands twist over the steering wheel harder. “Dammit, Bri, come on…”

“I don't know why you're doing this.” She opens her eyes like flying saucers, looking at me as if she's seeing me for the first time.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don't even know where to start,” she says, staring at me. “I mean, you lied to me too.”

“I didn't lie. I just never said anything. I didn't want to ruin the weekend.”

“Honey, you lied.” She looks away from me. I look out the window. The rain is coming down faster now, spotting the windshield in rapid pulses.

“Let's go,” I tell her.

“What?” Sabrina looks at me, confused.

“Let's go home. We can tell Hannah now. She's in a good mood.”

“Andrew, stop playing with me. It’s not at all funny.”

I look at her, eyes drilling, my voice low. “I’m serious. It's going to be bad if we tell her now. Let's go home. I'll cancel the tux. We'll take her out to lunch or tea or whatever.”

Sabrina glances at me, her chocolate colored eyes as large as full moons.

She says the worst thing at the worst time.

Score for sibling bullshit—bullshit that survives even seven long years apart.

I never had a chance.

“You know…” She says.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” She asks.

“I'm going to cancel the tux. I'll take her outside. I'll tell her the truth. I don't know how…”

“Andrew, you don't need to cancel the tux,” Bri interrupts.

“Why not?”

“I'm sure she'll understand.”

“No, she won't. She'll be really upset.”

“Will she?”

“Yeah. She'll be upset because I lied to her.”

“So?”

“So, we can't tell her the truth now when she’s in a good mood and we also can’t tell her when she's upset?” I ask.

"I don't know. This will upset her.”

“This will upset her,” I say again, wondering if Sabrina sees my point. Because she’s sure acting like she doesn’t as she spins to me, her glossy dark hair falling across her cheek, emphasizing its shape—a shape so much like mine.

In even the most subtle ways, our sibling connection shows when I least expect it.

Except for now.

Because my sister is being the world’s biggest pain in the ass.

“Maybe you should tell her,” she stresses. “I mean, how would you feel if you were her?”

“I wouldn't want to be lied to.”

“So, you should tell her the truth.”

I stare at her, my jaw hanging open.

“Right?”

“Wrong,” I say.

“Oh, Andrew,” she scoffs, pulling back in her seat. “I know why this is so hard for you. Why it’s so tough.”

“What?" I ask, wondering myself.

“It’s because you love her.”

“Who? Hannah, of course I do.”

“No. Nancy. You love her. You're in love with her.”

“No, I'm not. I'm just…”

“What? You mean to tell me you’re not in love with the woman you’ve been chasing all weekend? The woman you’ve been looking at like the sun rises and sets on the shape of her ass?” She laughs. “And it makes total sense. The way you look at her. The way you smile. Don't think I didn't notice that the two of you snuck out of the rehearsal dinner last night. I mean, there were a thousand other people there, but I think I'd notice when my brother and his fiancée just decided not to show up. You're in love with her. So crazy about her that you can't see straight. Look at you… My God.” She grins, a happy expression that lights up her whole face. “You’re completely smitten.”

“No, I'm not. I'm just… I don't know. I mean, I don't love her. I mean, I do care about her, but… I just don't love her. Fuck. I’m repeating myself. I just said that.”

“You love her,” Sabrina presses.

“No, I don’t. I don’t. I don't love her. I mean, I do love her, I guess…in a purely, kinda, sorta, semi, weird kind of way. But I…” I trip over the words. “I just don't love her.”

“You love her. You wouldn’t be talking like Dustin Hoffman in the Rain Man, if you didn’t. I can recognize the signs.”

I snort, peering over at her. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

I straighten in my seat, looking at the displays ahead—the ones flashing in front of my eyes on the dashboard, warning of danger.

“Well, I wish you could recognize or read the signs on something more important, Bri. Something like your car, maybe? Because the tire pressure on this vehicle is low. Like, absurdly low.”

“Oh, don't do that. Don’t,” she warns, her voice emitting as a sharp whine. “Don't deflect.” Sabrina leans over. “And what tire pressure? I don’t see a thing. I think you’re making it all up.”

I point at the indicator. “The tire pressure.”

“The tire pressure?”

“Yes, the tire pressure. The tire pressure is low.” I explain.

“Where is the tire pressure?” she asks.

“Here. Right here. The indicator. The tire pressure is low.”

“I don't see any tire pressure.”

“I'm telling you, it's low.” I say feeling frustrated.

“Where!?” Sabrina demands.

“It's incredibly low.” I say again.

“When's the last time you checked it?" she asks.

“Just now. I checked it just now.” Jesus, my sister is just not listening.

“No, you didn't.”

“I did.”

“I don't think you did.” She says irritated.

“Shit. Fucking hell…” I say, nearly ignoring the sudden jolt, the muffled sound nearly eaten up by our arguing and the slush of the road.

I look out my side mirrors.

“What is it?” Sabrina says. “What's wrong now?”

“The tire just popped.”

“It didn't pop. It didn't pop.” She says sounding confused.

“Yes, it popped. I can feel the change in the car.”

“What change?”

“The change in the way the car drives.”

“How does the car drive now?”

“It feels… strange. Like it's about to fall over.”

“No, it doesn't. The car