The Lies Among Us by Durst Sarah Beth

Author:Durst, Sarah Beth
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lake Union Publishing
Published: 2024-04-01T00:00:00+00:00

At dawn, I wake, which is miraculous in and of itself. Sunlight streams through the skylights in the vaulted roof, and I hear people puttering in the kitchen—the telltale rattle of dishes and the vacuum-sucking sound of a refrigerator door being opened. A slosh of liquid. Milk? Orange juice? Or maybe this is the kind of family that jumps straight to a mimosa or Bloody Mary. All I know about them so far is that they have a Michelangelo sketch in their living room, and they lie about keeping their white sofas pristine.

Sitting up, I pat at my hair, trying to flatten a clump of frizz that’s plastered into an angle. There’s a cat on the hearth, and I freeze as I realize it’s staring straight at me. “Can you see me?”

It flicks its tail and stalks off.

“Never can tell with cats,” Sylvie says.

I feel a rush of relief. I purposely didn’t look over at her sofa before. I didn’t want to see it empty because she’d faded or because she’d left. Either was possible.

“Want to see if they have anything for breakfast?” Sylvie asks. “Occasionally you can score homemade pancakes in a place like this.” She levers herself off the sofa. Her hair looks perfect, and her eyes are bright and alert. I’m fairly certain I have crusted drool on my cheek.

I’m also fairly certain of something else:

“Sylvie, I can’t live like you do.”

Bouncing into the kitchen, she doesn’t look back at me. “You’ve barely given it a try. It’s not always as exciting as last night. Sometimes it’s downright boring—you’d love that.”

The family is in the kitchen. A teenage girl with ripped jeans and a crop top is perched on a stool. She’s typing on her phone as she shovels cereal into her mouth. The father is scowling at the dishwasher as if it’s offended him, and the mother sits in the bay window with her laptop. Outside, the beach and ocean sparkle in the sunlight. A few beachgoers stroll along the shore. Gulls circle, and a tern plummets from above. It splashes into the waves and then emerges, empty beaked.

Sylvie sticks her hand into the fridge and flails around. She ignores the father who paces back and forth in front of the dishwasher. “I think it’s the latch,” the man says, gesturing at the dishwasher. “I’ll order a replacement part—”

“You’ll call a repairman,” the woman says without looking up.

“Nah, I know what I’m doing,” the man lies. “I can fix it myself.” For a brief instant, I see the shadow of tools in his hands and a toolbox beside him, but then they vanish in smoke.

Sylvie scowls at the fridge, hands on her hips. “Seriously? Not even a yogurt?” The father walks through her, and she doesn’t flinch. She’s done this a thousand times.

“My kitchen counter used to be filled with pastries,” I offer. Croissants. Muffins. Cupcakes. So many cupcakes. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat a cupcake without thinking of Mother. “Do you need to eat?” Just because I don’t doesn’t mean she’s the same.

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