From Truth To Lies

The moment my mother cleared her throat over Sunday lunch, I knew I was in trouble.

She had that look the one she used before announcing she'd enrolled me in "just a few" extracurricular piano lessons at age nine that turned into competitive recitals until I was seventeen. The same look she had the week she "accidentally" set me up on a date with the neighbor's cousin.

"Darling," she began, and my stomach sank, "your father and I were thinking..."

Here it comes.

"...you're twenty-eight, you're doing so well at that little tech company of yours"

"Mom, it's a top-five national firm."

"Yes, yes, but what's success without someone to share it with?"

Across the table, my brother smirked. He'd brought his girlfriend, who was currently charming my grandmother with stories about how they met in a bookstore. I stabbed a piece of chicken like it had personally offended me.

"I'm... busy," I said.

"You're lonely," Mom countered.

"I'm fine."

"You need a man."

And that's when it happened the moment that will live in my personal Hall of Fame for Terrible Decisions.

"I have one," I blurted.

Silence. The clink of cutlery stopped. Four pairs of eyes locked on me.

"You... what?" Mom asked.

I nodded, somehow committing to the lie before my brain had caught up.

"A boyfriend. He's uh wonderful. Great job. Very... supportive."

Grandma leaned forward. "Does he have teeth?"