The Stranger by Kyra Davis Page B

that.”
    It’s an odd response. You don’t have to pay attention to see beauty any more than you have to think about air to breathe.
    “Have you ever been tempted?” I press.
    “No.” The word comes out quick and so hard, it’s almost bruising.
    The truth never comes to anyone that quickly. People usually consider the truth before speaking it. We think about how to best phrase it and roll it out slowly in hopes of weaving a good story. Lies come easier.
    No. It’s a lie he didn’t need to tell. We’re all tempted now and then, right? The only reason to lie is if you gave in to that temptation. I should know. I feel an odd twinge in my gut, quiet jealousy that has no right to be there.
    “Maybe just once,” I say, testing the edges of the conversation, trying to find my way in. “Maybe you, just for a moment, noticed the way a woman’s hair hung around her shoulders, noticed how a coworker occasionally licks her upper lip, maybe just once you thought about what it would be like to touch her hair or taste—”
    “I said no.” The lie is firmer this time. Not so much a bullet as a boarder fence. I can almost feel its unyielding surface as I try to press up against it.
    “I’d forgive you,” I say. My jealousy is growing but I like the way it feels, I like what it says about my feelings for Dave. “I want you . . . I want us to be human,” I continue. “I don’t want us to think of one another as statues anymore.”
    He looks up from the dessert, making eye contact for the first time since I veered us toward this precarious topic. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “I’m talking about silks,” I say. I place my hand on the table, inch it forward, but he makes no move to take it. “I’m talking about the little flaws in a ruby that make it unique. I know you’re not perfect. You know I’m not perfect. I was just hoping that we could stop pretending that we are.”
    “I know you’re not perfect.”
    It’s meant to be a slap in the face, his acknowledgment of my imperfection without any acknowledgment of his own. But I don’t feel the sting of his words. They touch me differently. I see the unintended compliment. And I see the evasion.
    “I’d forgive you,” I say again. “Even if it was more than a temptation. Even if it was a mistake.”
    “I don’t make those kinds of mistakes.” And then he softens. He finally reaches for my hand and gives it a quick squeeze before releasing it. “Maybe there have been times when I’ve been a little tempted. But I’d never act on those impulses. I’m better than that, Kasie. You know that, right?”
    I flush. This time no insult is intended, but I feel his superiority. He’s better than that . . . which means he’s better than me.
    “I’m buying you a ring,” he continues when I take too long to answer. “I’m tying my life to yours. There are no temptations worth recalling, I promise.”
    I run my finger around the rim of my cappuccino cup. It’s a pure white, like the tablecloth, like the roses Dave bought me. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” I begin. And I know I’m going to do it. I’m going to say the words, bring my sins into this brightly lit room where we can both see them clearly.
    “We’re tying our lives together,” he repeats, but now there’s a pleading laced into the phrase. “We don’t have to dwell on imperfect moments. OK, maybe our past was a ruby.” I look into his brown eyes. I see his silent request. “But that was the past. We don’t have to talk about . . . what were they . . . silks? Our future won’t have those. Our future can have the clarity of a perfect diamond.”
    The future never has any clarity. At best it’s like that mare his mother just paid a fortune for—it’s colored like a patchy gray sky. But as usual Dave isn’t talking about the way things are. He’s talking about the way he wants to see them.
    And isn’t that what we all do? We