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Falsehoods

I’m gonna tell a lie, Lisa says. I saw your dad at Gino’s Pizza. On hump day.

Wait, was he with Rachel? I ask. They’d been seeing each other on and off since Mom had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and told him to develop some “outside female relationships and stay off my back.”

So, he did.

Your dad had a purple tie on. And his beard was overgrown, but trimmed. Like that conservative Santa Claus in Boston. Wait, I interrupt her. Is this still part of the lie? No response. You know, that guy they had posters up everywhere with the phone number that seemed too long, but they worked. And we were like: when did phone numbers extend? And then we called Verizon and asked if they gave long numbers? And they thought we were being sexual?

No. Noooo. Not that guy. Just, your dad has white facial hair and trims it.

Lisa is laughing now. She’s shaking her head and squeezing her thighs together. The way she cups her crotch is amusing to me, although if she could hear me call it her crotch she’d probably tell me how it’s inappropriate to use mismatched words.

I love Lisa. Lisa loves me.

He wasn’t with Rachel. There was no Rachel. She continues on, neither confirming or denying which part is the lie. If there was a Rachel in the pizza place, no one knew. She was incognito. She was in the game room after she’d locked one of the bathroom stalls while she crawled out underneath.

And this is why I love Lisa. She keeps going. It’s weird and good and abnormal and no one notices unless they need something from her and no one needs anything from her. She’s jobless. Motherless. Sisterless. All the lesses. Nonetheless, she is my best friend.

So, yeah. Your dad? He didn’t see me. And I waited for a while. Like a long while. And the servers? There were at least six.

He was at a work thing? I ask. Because his job is still a mystery even at twenty-nine.

But the weird thing? He just sat at the head of the table with a total of fourteen pizzas, smiling as if he was a pizza king. But no one was with him. It was your dad and fourteen pizzas.

Did more people come? Was he stood up?

I’m not sure. Six servers arrived and each one needed his approval like a puppy. And those pizzas covered the entire table and the salad bar girl offered extra forks: he declined. But the best part was a six-year-old girl came from the pinball machine screaming: they took my pennies! And this is the funny part, your dad kneeled down so he was level with her and just said, “Now, now. Lying isn’t good for you, not like pizza. Those machines use quarters.” Then, he reached behind her ear and pulled out a nickel. Genius.

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Mandy Nadyne Clark is a writer in Oregon with an MFA in Creative Writing from Pacific Lutheran University. Her work appears in Whitefish Review, 100 Word Story, Third Point Press, Drunk Monkeys, and others. Mandy was convinced she would grow up to be Stephen King — not like — actually him. Didn’t happen. Now, she simply loves pizza and rain in no particular order.

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