Page 28 - TruthAboutLyingFinal

The Truth About Lying
“I said I would be.”
“You’ve said a lot of things, Henry.” “Fair point.”
She stepped aside.
The apartment was small and warm. Books everywhere. Plants on every surface. A cat wound itself around his legs as if inspecting him for moral weakness.
“That’s Dostoevsky,” Claire said. “He’s an asshole, but he’s honest about it.”
Henry set the wine on the counter.
“I didn’t know you had a cat.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know. That’s what happens when you don’t talk to someone for two years.”
They stood in the kitchen with the silence between them.
“Claire, I...”
“Dinner first,” she said. “Confessions after. I made pasta. You still eat pasta, right? Or did you go full corporate and start surviving on supplements and guilt?”
He almost smiled.
“I still eat pasta.”
They ate at a small table by the window.
For ten minutes, they talked about safe things. Weather. The cat. A movie Claire had seen. A leak in the hallway ceiling. Nothing that could bleed.
Then Claire set down her fork.
“Okay,” she said. “Why did you really quit?” Henry took a breath.
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