Brooklyn:

Like I said, I am trying to be able to decipher when I am telling myself a convoluted, full out lie. And to not let the lie create a life of it’s own. Because that of course, is what the lie wants to do. 

But sometimes the lie is just so delicious that I allow it to run, for entertainment, for a while. 

If only the lie was not a lie, but the real truth.

If only.

Isn’t there a saying that life is not a bed of roses? Or something like that.

* * * 

Leo:

My stepfather Ryan is a total jerk. And I don’t hesitate to let him know. He thinks he is the Grill Master, which is funny, to say the least. 

Because my real father actually was a good cook. And he cared about cooking the meat properly when he used a barbecue, or the oven, for that matter. 

Ryan is a laughing joke, when it comes to trying to show his manly talents with a barbecue. We’re talking overcooked or undercooked. And never somewhere in between.

I have tried to help. I can cook a mean steak. 

”I will handle this,” Ryan says. “All under control, Leo.”

“Um, Ryan,” I said the other night, after he brought in the steaks. 

“This is gristle, Ryan, how am I to cut this?”

My mom shot me a glare from the end of the table. 

“Leo, you know where the steak knives are in the drawer, and the meat is not too tough,” she said.

Ryan smiled his smirk, trying to conceal a laugh.

I served myself some more white rice and set the steak aside, as I knew a knife would not adequately cut the meat that was way overcooked, practically all burnt.

“So Ryan,” I said.

“How was your day down at the office?”

I knew he had not gone to the office, as I had driven past my street during the class I had skipped. I could see him lying in the sun, in my mother’s front yard. So embarrassing. 

“Oh, it was fine, Leo. A lot going on down there, you know.”

“Uh huh,” I nodded, while pouring more soy sauce on my rice, and not looking at him.

“Working hard these days, Ry, life is pretty good,” I said to him while I looked right at him.

My mother was glaring at me again, this time a lot more more intently.

After my dad died, I don’t know how long she had know Ryan before they were married. I had not really wanted to know the details anyway. 

But he would never compare to my dad. And he resented that. I knew this.

“Leo,” he had said to me one Saturday morning, as he so ineptly flipped pancakes.

“You know I care about your mom a lot, and well, I would like us to be a family. A happy family. You can call me dad, you know.”

I had almost spit my orange juice out, as I was already laughing so hard. 

“Ok, Ryan,” I said as I turned to go out of the kitchen. “I will take that into consideration.”

Really, I will. Not. I thought, as I walked toward my room.

Was he serious? 

But I knew that he was, with all his misconceptions about himself, and about the way he thought I should be.

What Ryan would never know about me though, was that the cold hard cash was stashed under my mattress. 

And it was just waiting to be added to the next amount of cash that was coming real soon.