Page 74 of The Design of Goodbye
“I lie sometimes,” he clarified. “But only to certain people. And only when I really need to. I’ve never lied to you.”
“Why don’t you lie?”
He lowered his gaze to his plate. “Someone promised me something once and—” He swallowed thickly, like the words were stuck in his throat.
I gave him some time before softly asking, “They lied?”
He nodded. Then, voice strangely tight, he finished with, “I would’ve preferred the honesty. I figure most people probably feel the same.”
“I wish I could be honest like you.”
“You could try.”
I couldn’t see myself being honest about everything with everyone, but...“I could try being honest with you first?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “That’s a good start.”
“But what if...”I trailed off, a little worried he’d get mad at what I was about to confess. “What if I’ve already lied to you?”
He wasn’t upset. “You could tell me the truth now.” He was eating the edges of his cinnamon rolls first, saving the middles for last. Like me. “If you want.”
Could I really tell him my deepest secret? More importantly, did I want to?
“I do.” I trusted him. Iwantedhim to know. “But it’s too hard to say out loud.”
“Then, write it down.”
I grabbed a small moleskin notebook from my desk drawer. I’d gotten it in my stocking a few Christmases ago but never had a use for it. Until now.
“This can be our truth book,” I said. It was comforting that such a small thing would carry the weight of our secrets.
“I don’t know...”
I was surprised at his skepticism, but if he wasn’t ready to open up, that was okay. “I’ll go first.”
When I was done writing, I handed him our truth book and studied his face as he read.
My mom isn’t in Paris. I don’t know where she is.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “Have you heard from her?”
I dipped my fork in some frosting and licked it off before shaking my head. “Nope.”
“Do you have any idea where she might be?”
“Maybe New York. She’s always dreamed of living there.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“Denial. At first,” I admitted. “But then I realized if my mom left me, something had to be wrong withme. I didn’t want anyone else to realize that. I worry if I tell them the truth, they’ll leave me, too.”
“Nothing’s wrong with you. Something’s wrong with your mom.”
Relief filled me at his words. I’d been terrified he’d leave me, too. “You really think so?”
“I know so,” he said. “I wish you’d see how amazing you are.”
This boy always made me feel so good—special, even.
