This is a lie I picked up from my dad. No matter how clean our house was, he always apologized for the mess when we had guests. He cleaned every single day. “If you stay on top of it, it will never get out of hand,” he said. Advice, I should add, that also applies to the disaster that has become my entire freaking life.

“This is a mess?” He looks around the room, his eyes scanning my perfectly placed throw pillows and lined up remotes. “Seriously?”

“I haven’t . . .” I look around for something to critique. “Dusted. I haven’t dusted.”

“Yeah, the dust in here is crazy. You should get on that.” His sarcasm is well noted and not appreciated.

“Jerk.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, but my heart’s not really in it.

Awkward silence drifts between us. I know why he’s here. He knows why he’s here, but neither of us seem able to address the giant drunk elephant in the room.

But since I’m the cause of it, I decide to pull up my big-girl undies and face it.

“Listen—” I say at the exact moment that Quinton says, “About last night.”

“No.” I ball my hands into fists, my dull nails still managing to bite into the sweaty skin of my palms. “Let me, this is all my fault. I don’t know what came over me last night.” Lie number one. “I was drunk and not thinking clearly.” Half lie. “I just haven’t talked about my dad in a long time . . . Well, I’ve never really talked about him.” That’s actually the truth! Besides in therapy, I never mention him. “And I think between the emotions and the tequila I just blacked out a little bit. I honestly do not think of you like that at all.” Massive fucking lie. “If anything, you drive me a little nuts. I have no idea what happened, but trust me, it will never happen again.”

As soon as he leaves, I need to find the rosary Mrs. Rafter gave me and do some kind of praying because after all of that lying? I’m going to hell for sure.

“Okay, yeah.” His shoulders slump down, the relief he must be feeling that he no longer needs to worry for his safety leaves his body. The small step he takes back, though, lets me know he’s still not positive I’ll be able to keep my hands to myself. “I just wanted to make sure things would be good between us. You weren’t answering your phone and I didn’t want you to quit over a misunderstanding.”

“You called? I didn’t even notice any missed calls.”

I am so going to hell.

And by the look on Quinton’s face, he knows I am too. An actress I am not.