Chapter 5 Another lie

Dear Diary,

I decided to leave.

The party had barely started. The DJ had just switched from the boring dinner music to actual dance music. People were finally standing up. The bride was still glowing like a new phone. And I was sneaking out the side door like a thief.

If I had stayed one more second, I know myself. I would have cried, or screamed, or told someone the truth, and the truth is currently a live bomb in my chest.

I was almost out. I could see the night air through the glass doors. I could see the parking lot. I could see my car. My beautiful, quiet, air-conditioned car that does not judge me.

Then I remembered this building.

This hall where Martha's wedding is happening — this was my mother's idea. She picked it. She walked me through it six months ago when Martha got engaged and said, "Gloria, this is the place. When it is your turn, we will use it too. It is perfect for you."

My own mother said I would use this building on my own wedding day.

Diary, let me tell you something from the bottom of my heart: over my dead body would I ever use this hall Martha used for her wedding. Ever. If I ever get married. Which at this rate will be after this scandal I just created destroys me completely.

I will not get married where my younger cousin already danced. I will not walk the same aisle. I will not take pictures in front of the same flowers. I am too petty for that and I am proud of it. I want my own building. My own flowers. My own aisle that nobody has sweated on before.

I was having this entire mental argument with my mother in my head while speed-walking to my car in heels that were now actively trying to kill me, when I heard it.

"Gloria?"

I froze.

Two of my mother's friends. Matching outfits, matching ability to spot gossip from three miles away.

"Why are you going home alone?" one said, already holding my arm. "Where is Benson?"

My brain went blank.

"He had to... he had a call. Work call. Very important business," I said.

The second one smiled like she did not believe a single word. "We saw him near the pool. But there were so many people around him. We could not even greet him."

I nodded too fast. "Yes, he is very... popular. People love him."

"Then introduce us before you leave," the first one said. "Just a quick hello. We are your mother's friends."

Diary, they said it so innocently. Like it was a small thing. Like I was not about to introduce them to a man who does not know my deepest secret.

"I would love to," I said, "but he is really busy right now. Let's do dinner. I will arrange dinner. A proper dinner. At my house. With wine."

They did not move. They tightened their grip.

"Gloria, just two minutes. We are already here."

I was looking for an exit that did not exist when my actual mother appeared.

My mother. Sarah. In her emerald wine dress that she had been saving for this day since January.

She walked straight to us, looked at my clutch, looked at my face, and said, "Gloria, are you going home already? What's wrong?"

"I have a small headache," I whispered. It was the best lie I could find.

She touched my forehead like I was five years old, then leaned in and whispered so only I could hear, with the biggest smile on her face.

"Mister Benson loves you so much. He just told some people that aside from Sophia, you are the best thing that has ever happened to him."

My heart stopped.

Sophia.

Who is Sophia?

I almost said it out loud. Who is Sophia? The word was already on my tongue. But my brain grabbed it and shoved it back down.

Because if I am really dating Ken Benson, if he is really my boyfriend who loves me so much, I should know who Sophia is. I should know if Sophia is his mother, his sister, his daughter, his cousin, his dog.

So I swallowed it. I smiled. I did my best supportive girlfriend smile.

"Right, right," I said, nodding like I knew exactly who Sophia was. "Yes. Sophia is... yes."

I have never nodded so stupidly in my life.

Then one of mother's friends could not wait anymore. She turned to my mother and said, "Sarah, please just introduce us."

And mother, said, "Of course. What are friends for?"

She took my hand.

She interlocked her fingers with mine like I was a child she was taking to school.

And she started dragging me.

Straight back inside.

Straight toward the pool.

Straight to wherever she thought Kenneth was.

Diary, my heart started playing music I have never heard before. Not a normal heartbeat. This was drums, piano, violin, siren, all at once.

I was being dragged to introduce my fake billionaire boyfriend to my mother and her friends, and I still do not know whom he was.

I am going to die in this hall that I will never use for my own wedding.

You need to picture this properly.

I am being dragged.

My mother has one hand. Her friend has the other. We are moving through a wedding that has suddenly become too bright, too loud, too full of people who know my full name and my age. My heels are clicking against the floor like they are trying to file a complaint. My beaded dress is still trying to strangle me. My smile is frozen on my face like I glued it there.

In my head I am praying a very honest prayer: Lord, if you love me, let the ground open now. Just a small opening. Just enough to swallow only me.

That is when my phone rang.

It vibrated in my clutch so hard I almost dropped it. My mother stopped walking. Her friends stopped walking. Everyone looked at my bag like it was a bomb.

Unknown number.

I never pick unknown numbers. Never. That is how you get scammers and bad news. But at that moment, any interruption was a miracle.

I opened the clutch, pulled out the phone, and put it to my ear.

"Hello?"

And then the voice from the other side said,

"Hi, senorita."

Diary, I froze.

I knew that voice. Calm. Low. Slightly annoyed. Slightly amused. The voice that asked me if I go around kissing everyone I see. The voice that walked away from me twenty minutes ago.

It was him.

Kenneth Benson.

He was calling me.

For one second I did not know what to do. Then my brain did what my brain does best — it turned a problem into a performance.

I looked at my mother, and with my free hand I started acting. I put on my best soft girlfriend face. I mouthed the words, very clearly, It's him. It's Ken.

My mother's eyes widened. Her friends grabbed each other's arms. My mother did a little gasp like she had just seen an angel.

On the phone, he was still talking. He said, "I already handled it at the pool. I told them we are together. I covered for you. Consider your pride protected."

He said it so casually, like he was returning a borrowed pen. Not like he just saved my entire reputation in front of my mother's entire generation.

I nodded like he could see me. "Yes, yes," I said into the phone, trying to sound sweet and intimate, like we do this every day. "Thank you, babe."

He ignored the babe.

"Good that you are aware," he said. "Now you need to clear up this misunderstanding before it gets out of hand. This is not going to happen again."

His voice was firm. Final. Like a principal giving a last warning.

I wanted to say, I know, I know, I will explain, I am sorry. But I was still acting for my audience. So I smiled. I made my eyes soft. I tilted my head like I was listening to the most romantic thing in the world, while he was actually scolding me.

Then he hung up. Click. No goodbye.

I lowered the phone slowly and looked at my mother with the saddest, most in-love face I could manage.

"He wants us to go," I whispered. "He said he wants to take me somewhere private. He said I can introduce you people properly another time."

Diary, I have never lied so beautifully in my life.

My mother's face melted.

"Yes, yes, go, go, go," she said, pushing me gently like I was a newlywed. "Don't keep him waiting. Go."

Her friends were nodding like two bobbleheads. "Go, Gloria, go."

That was how I escaped.

I did not walk. I almost ran to the parking lot. I got into my car, locked the door, turned on the AC to the highest level, and just sat there for a full minute, staring at the steering wheel.

I was safe.

For now.

But then the real problem landed in my chest.

He told me to clear up the misunderstanding. To tell everyone the truth before it spreads.

And what did I do? I used his call to add another lie. I told my mother he was taking me somewhere private. I made our fake relationship look even more real.

I drove straight home, with my tight

dress, my melting makeup, my lip gloss still missing from when his lips wiped it and one question on repeat in my head:

How am I supposed to fix a lie when I keep decorating it.