Beloved Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 3)

I gasp. “You didn’t walk past Tiffany’s and see the necklace in the store window?”

He snorts. “No. My meeting was in Century City. Not Beverly Hills.”

I laugh uproariously, and so does he.

“I’m so relieved,” I admit. “When you said you didn’t think complete honesty was realistic, I thought you were going to drop a bombshell on me.”

“Nah. I’ve got no more bombshells to drop, sweetheart. I’m done with those.”

“So am I.” I kiss him again, feeling like my soul is soaring around the small dressing room. “So, it’s a deal. No more lies, from either of us. Ever again. Unless it’s about the price tag of a gift or, you know, like about a surprise party or something like that. But that’s it.”

Reed pauses underneath me, and I know he’s thinking, Shit.

“What now?” I say. I pull out of our embrace and look at him sternly. “Whatever it is, spit it out, dude. Let’s get it all out in the open.”

Reed flaps his lips together. “It pertains to a gift, so I feel like it could very well be exempt.”

“Except you know that’s not true, or else you wouldn’t look guilty as sin right now.”

He grunts.

“Tell me.” I pinch his face between my finger and thumb, making his lips part. “The truth shall set you free. Speak.”

Reed exhales and I release his face.

“The ‘rental car’ I got you for the summer?”

I gasp. “No. Reed.”

He winks. “Happy birthday, baby. It’s all yours.”

Chapter 22

Reed

“Feel free to go to a diner or something,” I say to my usual New York driver, Tony, as he parks the sedan in front of my mother’s facility. “I’ll text you when we’re about fifteen minutes out.”

“You got it, Mr. Rivers.”

I look at Georgina sitting next to me in the back seat. Never in a million years did I think I’d bring a girlfriend to meet my mother. How did Georgina convince me to do this?

“This is going to be great,” she says, reading my mind. “You’ve briefed me for three days, love. I know what to expect.”

She’s right. Over the past three days, as Georgina and I have painted Manhattan red, visiting all the usual tourist spots, watching Broadway shows, and eating at fabulous restaurants, she’s slowly, but surely, peeled every layer of my onion, all the way down to the nub. Down to my deepest core. To my darkest secrets and sources of shame and embarrassment and pain and insecurity. And to my surprise, with each new layer uncovered, I’ve found myself feeling more comfortable and in love with Georgina. Not less. And, slowly, I’ve felt that lifelong elephant, who lives on my chest, getting up and wandering off into parts unknown.

“Did you tell your mother I was coming today?” Georgina asks.

“No. I didn’t want to answer any questions in advance. So, don’t take it personally when she stares at you, mouth agape, like you’re an alien from Mars.” I look at the front door of the facility, without moving.

“It’s going to be great,” she says, patting me reassuringly.

I exhale and open the car door. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Inside the lobby, the orderly behind the front desk, Oscar, looks shocked as we approach. And I’m not surprised. In all my years of coming here, I’ve never once shown up with a plus-one.

I introduce Georgina, calling her my girlfriend, which feels amazing, and then set about leafing through the logbook, as usual, to confirm my mother’s paid “best friend” has been doing her job. When I’m satisfied she has, I slide the logbook to Georgina for her signature, and ask Oscar where I might find my mother.

Oscar glances at the wall clock. “With such nice weather, I’d try the garden first.”

And off we go.

Once inside the garden, Georgina and I immediately spot my mother from afar, sitting before an easel in a far corner, looking engrossed and attentive.

“She’s so beautiful,” Georgina whispers. “She looks every bit as lovely as in that framed photo on your desk.”

I shrug. “Mom always looks the most beautiful when she paints. It’s like a time machine for her. It’s when she’s not painting that she’s lost.”

We begin crossing the lawn, and when we’re close enough for Mom to notice our approaching movement, she does a classic double-take—followed by her face lighting up in a way I’ve never seen before. Squealing, Mom puts down her paint brush and rushes toward us. But, to my surprise, she doesn’t hug me. She hugs Georgina, like she’s known her forever.

“You’re finally here!” she says. “I’m so glad you came!”

Oh, Jesus. Well, this is new. My mother has a lot of issues, including some cognitive dysfunction, but she’s never before mistaken a stranger for someone she knows. Does she think Georgina is one of her long-deceased sisters, come back from the dead?

“Mom, no. This is my girlfriend, Georgina Ricci. You’ve never met her. She came with me from LA.”