Habitual

Maggie Sepeda

He starts every conversation like this, with a lie. But he doesn’t know that I have been lying, too. I want to tell him, expose both our secrets. But I don’t. Instead, I sit and listen, trying not to focus on the flickering neon light on the far wall behind his head. This bar is dark and sticky, but it’s Richard’s favorite, so here we are. I look at him, appreciating his black t-shirt and Levi’s. He is a handsome man. I try to listen to him tell me about his day. He’s unappreciated, works harder than anyone he knows, and is so much more skilled than they give him credit for. He’s right. He has worked at Blue Lotus Tattoo for the past five years, but six months ago, the ownership changed, and he is unhappy there now. He vents to me, so I know what’s going on, but otherwise doesn’t bring his work stress home. In so many ways, he is the perfect partner. I nod along, giving him the right amount of mm-hmm’s and yeah’s. 

“Jen, where are you?” he says.

“I’m sorry. I’m just a little distracted right now,” I say, waiting to see if he will ask me why.

He doesn’t, and continues talking. Even if he did ask, would I finally tell him the truth? That I know about Kayla? And I’ve known about her for five months? Or that I have my own Kayla, a man named Thomas? 

I finish my gimlet and order another. My mind stays unfocused, wandering back to Thomas. I met him a year ago when he transferred to the school I work at. He is a science teacher, the opposite of my position teaching literature and English. I like that about him. We started seeing each other a month ago after some drinks with a couple of our coworkers. There have only been a few kisses so far, but I think that will change soon. He is captivating, the type of person everyone wants to be around. I arrive at school 15 minutes earlier now just so I can walk to the building with him. I don’t remember the last time I felt that sort of excitement with Richard. I doubt he does either. 

The bartender takes Richard’s empty glass from in front of him, and I’m brought back to the bar. I imagine the devastation telling him would cause, a tornado in my own right. Our lives and everything we’ve planned for our future would disintegrate. But still, I know I should. I open my mouth and try to say the words, but like every other time I’ve tried to tell him, nothing comes out. It’s as if someone puts their hands around my throat. So, our conversation continues, with me still pretending to listen. 

I was hurt when I first found out about Kayla. She is four years younger than me at 28, but seems younger. She’s a nice girl, though. She likes experimental electronic music, and has more tattoos than Richard. I’ve only met her twice, but I’ve read enough of their texts to feel like I know her a little bit. She smokes a lot of weed, too. She works at Blue Lotus. My school had a half day and I didn’t mention it to Richard. I drove to the tattoo shop to drop off his lunch, and saw his hand on her lower back before he leaned in to say something in her ear. She giggled. I wanted to confront him right there, but I didn’t. When I realized he hadn’t seen me, I drove out of the parking lot and went home. 

“Are you ready to head home?” Richard asks, and I realize my drink is finished. 

He puts his hand on my lower back. I flinch. It feels wrong to accept his affection, but I ache for it. His touch is comforting. Everything about Richard is comforting and steady. Thomas sure isn’t steady. We walk outside, and cold air hits me. We walk quickly to the Tacoma and, despite the cold, he opens my door. Seven years in, and he still does it. We slide into our seats, and Richard looks at me, his eyes seeking connection with mine. I try to avoid it, but he says my name, and I look. 

“Is everything okay? You’ve been so quiet tonight.” He sounds concerned, and I can almost forget everything for a moment.

“Yeah, I just had a long day, and I’m tired. Everything is okay, I promise.” Another lie. 

“I know you did. Thanks for coming out with me, though. I needed to vent. I love you.” After everything, I still think that this is a truth.

Richard gives me a sympathetic smile and starts the truck. The heater is going, and the vetiver-scented car freshener he has been buying for the 10 years I’ve known him fills the car. It’s soothing: this truck, these smells, Richard’s hand on my knee. He plugs his phone in, and Waylon Jennings comes through the speakers. I close my eyes. The urge to tell Richard I know about his lies and to tell him mine melts from my mind. I trust Richard’s driving and get that warm, cozy feeling when you doze on the couch while reading a book. I hear Richard singing along. He’s got a sweet voice. 

“Hey Jen, I was thinking about what trip we should take next fall, and I’m thinking Japan. Go see the ginkgo trees turn.” He knows Japan is on my bucket list.

 “Um, yes, please! I would cry if I saw that.” 

How can we turn this life away? We pull into the driveway, and I see our little house with its red brick walls and black door, and the old oak tree that turns deep red in the fall. We will put Christmas decorations up soon, and cut down a tree. It’s my favorite holiday, so Richard always makes our house the brightest in the neighborhood. He hops out and opens my door, noticing my sleepiness and takes my hand, helping me step down from the truck. We walk into the house holding hands. All urge to tell secrets has left. 

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Kelly Kirkby currently resides and creates her art in the vibrant city of Phoenix, AZ. Kelly’s artistic journey has been enriched by a unique blend of experiences and training, shaping her into the artist she is today. Kelly is currently pursuing an Associates of Fine Arts Degree at Phoenix College, with an anticipated graduation date in Spring 2024.