Love in his Lie

Wine

"He's a stalker!" proclaimed Mindy as she poured herself another mug full of box wine.

"He's not a stalker if I told him everything willingly, right?" I nibbled the edge of a chocolate chip cookie that Mindy had whipped up before I got back from Justin's childhood home. Despite what I told Wes, Mindy actually had picked up some skills after years of working with me, and her cookies could put plenty of store-bought brands to shame.

"Honestly, I don't know what defines a stalker," she replied with a shrug. "But something is up. He's clearly obsessed with you. I mean, why does his family know so much about you?"

"Well, I spent the entire ride back reviewing everything his folks brought up. Some of it was weird stuff, but all of it was stuff I've likely mentioned to Justin at some point."

"Yeah, but who remembers you had a guinea pig named Señor Nibble Smith in middle school?" She paused for dramatic effect before answering her own question. "A stalker."

"I think it's a rather impressive name," I said with a slight pout as I recalled my cherished pet. "It might have just stuck with him and maybe at some point they were discussing pet names and he thought he'd share a silly anecdote about an acquaintance's pet guinea pig..."

"Stop excusing his bad behavior," said Mindy, nearly spitting out her wine amid her fervent command. "That's a big red flag of an abusive relationship."

"Woah, woah, woah. Hold on now."

"Seriously Dani. I may have laughed my ass off when you told me you somehow became Justin's fiancee overnight, but that doesn't change the fact that he determined you were engaged without your permission. That's just fucked up."

"But... he seems so normal." I leaned back into the sofa, resting my heels against our coffee table as I stared into my blurry reflection on our television screen. "He never seemed like he was prying for information whenever we chatted. He never stayed an absurd amount of time or hung around the counter while others ordered. We have plenty of regulars who act just as friendly as he does."

"They always seem normal. That's why they're tricky."

"And when did you become an expert?"

"True crime stories," she said with a shrug as she snatched a cookie from the plate. "They do a horrible job of curing insomnia, so I end up watching a lot of them."

"That does not make you an expert," I said with a huff. I turned from my foggy double on the TV and instead took my eyes to our window, which faced the building next door. Unfortunately, only a scrawny alleyway separated us, so our view was just a wall of brick.

"Dani," she said, reaching out for my shoulder and turning me to face her, "he thinks you're engaged."

"I know." I buried my face in my hands, cookie crumbs collecting in my disheveled hair.

"You can't explain that one away." Her hand slipped from my shoulder and gave my back a little rub. "You have to accept your crush is a psycho."

"Not helping," I growled.

"You need to face reality."

"No," I said, straightening up and shooing her hand away. "I'm missing something. I know he isn't a bad guy. His family is too nice."

"You know what the neighbors always say in the news interviews, 'he was always such a good boy... He came from such a nice family...'"

"Shut up," I snapped. I bit down hard and tore a chunk of my cookie away with my teeth, stabbing the remains into the air. "Let me think."

"All right, but I think maybe it's time you lay off the wine."

"Wine..." I said, grabbing my head, feeling the telltale throb of an oncoming hangover.

I never had been good with liquor. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that I liked to savor my food, while I always relished my drink. I had been working on the same cookie for the past hour, while also drinking three mugs full of white wine. I tried to recall if wine had also been my downfall that night at the bar or if it was a mixed drink that had me passed out on the sofa...

"Wait!" My exclamation sent me to my feet, an action I almost immediately regretted. Sensing the rising tide of wine on an empty belly, Mindy grabbed a glass of water from the table and handed it over. After a few slow sips, I regained myself and recalled the point that had sent me upright. "Wait, I think I remember something from that night."

"What? You mean the night at the bar? Please don't tell me he actually proposed to you and then, in your drunken stupor, accepted?"

"I-I would have remembered someone getting down on their knee and there isn't a ring, but..." I looked at my bare finger, trying to piece together the foggy remnants of that night.

"You guys met there by accident, or maybe he stalked you and knew you were alone..."

"Stop it already, Mindy." I shooed her away before taking my hands to my temples, my fingers working slow, tight circles against my skin. "I'm trying to think, and I don't need your cynicism clouding my already shoddy memory."

"Optimists can only see reality as cynicism."

"You and I both know I'm not an optimist. Now be quiet, I'm thinking. Maybe if I can remember what I had to drink... I think... I think I had had a martini, but then he came over and offered to buy us both glasses of wine. He... He sat down next to me and started to..." I stopped, the wave of nausea renewing its fiery burn up my throat. I sprinted for the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet in time. Mindy eventually sauntered over with a towel and another glass of water.

"Feeling better?" she asked with a twisted smile.

"No," I groaned. "I think I may very well be engaged."