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6. JUST ONE LITTLE LIE
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2025-05-05 15:36:13CHAPTER SIX
JUST ONE LITTLE LIE
Just how long can you pretend before you cave in and every emotion is displayed for everybody to see? Well, I wouldn’t know the answer to that. I can’t tell whether I’ve been putting a front for too long that I’ve gotten accustomed to acting like I’m living my best life even when I’m at a point of losing my shit. Take this exact moment for example. I’m smiling ear to ear, pretending to blush every time Mark compliments me. He is going an extra mile today. He probably read every single seduction book in his bookshelf.
“I keep telling them I want grandkids but they just never listen to me,” Mrs. Washington says.
Kids. Fuck1 I’d wanted that. But with my Mark. Not this man sitting beside me, acting like the most loyal human being you’ll ever meet. Now, I was not sure anymore. Heck. I had no fucking idea what exactly I wanted anymore.
“They are just kids Barbara. Give them a rest,” Mr. Washington, usually the very quiet, stoic man he is, chimes in, focusing on the food decorating his plate.
“No, I have to agree with Barbara. We are not getting any younger. Wouldn’t it be nice to have some grandkids running around us?” My mum takes the opportunity to say her piece. Dad only shrugs.
The two women go down a rabbit hole of the potential grandkids while the men barely said a word. This was always the norm every time my parents flew to the city for the dinners. The women will gossip about babies and high teas while the men would sit down and appear supportive.
Thankfully, the dinner comes to an end and I’m more than happy to take my mask off. I’m standing outside with Mark quietly besides me while our parents chat off. One would think they have been long time best friends. And why the hell are the valets take so long today? My gaze falls in the direction the twenty-something year olds have disappeared in the past minute or so. As though they could sense my frustration, the cars appear.
“Well, I guess is this goodnight. Can you two drop in town every once in a while? We miss you,” Mum coos, taking my hands into hers. For a second, I wonder if she can see right through my façade. Is it possible that she could see that the smile I’ve worn all night is nothing but a lie I wanted desperately to believe? That I thought if I told myself enough times, I was okay, I would actually feel, okay?
“I’ll try to get him out of work. You know how he is,” I force a smile, intertwining my fingers with my husband’s. Did she feel the butterflies dancing in the tummy when he touched the way I did? Did they hold hands too? The thought is sickening enough it makes my stomach twist.
“Don’t worry, for my wife, I’ll do anything,” Mark chime sin, squeezing my fingers and there is that damn smile that used to be a fascination of mine from when I was barely able to understand wha6t the hell a crush is.
“Oh, I know,” she smiles, “Let me say goodbye to her,”
I disentangle my fingers from Mark’s and for just a split second, I catch worry transcend the depth of his eyes. It’s quite a satisfying reaction. Of course, he gives a damn what my mother thinks of him. We walk a few steps away.
“Keep smiling as if we are talking about something so happy,” she whispers, her own lips shifting into a delicate smile that would fool anyone.
“What?” I’m quite confused if we are being honest.
“Something is going on and you are going to tell me what it is,” she lowers her voice, “He did not lay his hand on you, did he?”
“Mum. No,”
“What? Most abusive men always appear the most charming in public,” she shrugs, “So what did he do?”
“Nothing. I’m just tired. Its been a long day,” I point out.
“You promise?” she says eventually. I know she doesn’t believe me. Heck, I have no idea why I lied. But its almost a sigh of relief that she noticed something was off despite the façade I put up.
“I promise,”
“Alright,” she nods before pulling me into a hug. I’m tempted to just let go of the tears I’ve been holding within me and it takes ounces of energy not to do so.
We bid our parents goodbye as they get into their respective cars before we got into ours.
“What was that about?”
“Hmmm?” I raise an eyebrow, pausing midway through strapping my seatbelt.
“The hug,” Mark reiterates, “You didn’t tell her, did you?”
Its almost comical how worried he is. He hurt me and now he gets to act like he would be ruined if I tell the truth.
“What if I did? Would that change what happened?”
He falls silent and I’m almost grateful for it. The car rolls into motion, our chauffer taking the route home. We pass by several clubs and I’m quite tempted to just walk into of them to drown my sorrows with a bottle of some expensive whiskey.
“I’m so sorry, Gina,” his quiet voice suddenly floats in the car, “ I know that no matter how many times I say it, it will never be enough. I just want you to know how much I regret it,”
“You are right. It’ll never be enough,” That is my only reply before I close my eyes, hoping he’ll take it as a hint to leave me alone. Thankfully, he does.
The silence isn’t enough to drown my thoughts.
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