Introduction

“Yes,” he admits.

“Well, why the fuck did you tell her that?” she demands.

His hand is finding some sort of comfort, doing a clumsy dance with a wet bottle of Budweiser. He doesn’t know what else to say. He looks down, smiles at his Budweiser, shrugs.

“She probably sensed something in your voice,” she continues. “Girls aren’t stupid.”

“I felt like I was lying to her.”

“You don’t always have to be completely honest.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

She looks at him.

He returns her look. “I’m asking you – seriously,” he pleads.

Imagine her aggressive, jagged motions hollering frustration. Her hands suddenly taking off like pigeons and exploding into the blue-lit air above their small, glass table.

Quickly now, and her words are circling around him: “You’re killing yourself with this bullshit. Why should you have to tell her everything? You don’t have to think of it as lying. Come up with a way to deal with it. Call it something you can handle. I don’t know –

“Call it – ”

She pauses. He waits.

Trying to untangle himself, now, he waits.

And then, finally – finally – she ties the strings with one red word:
“Discretion.”