The Hundredfold Lie

For my birthday, I asked my broke boyfriend for a ninetynine dollar bouquet. The same day, my suitemate got roses. Enough of them to cover the floor of our common room.

The price tag was still stuck to the wrapping, half peeled off. Ninetynine hundred.

She called to thank whoever sent them, and through the speaker a voice said, "As long as you like them." The last word lifted a little at the end. Lazy. A rasp in it.

Everybody was whooping and I was standing there frozen. That voice was my boyfriend's. Down to the last syllable. Chapter 1 At first I told myself I'd misheard.

But I've had an ear for voices since I was small. Fletcher's is specific. Every sentence tips up at the end like he's half amused by it.

Calla hung up and explained. "That was my fiancé." The room went quiet for a second. Calla had spent three years chasing the guy every girl in that department wanted.

Where did a fiancé come from? She shrugged. "Family thing. It was arranged.

He's goodlooking and he's decent to me." She pulled a rose out of the pile. "But we both figured it's a waste to only ever try one person." "So we have an understanding.

Before the wedding, we each do what we want." She turned the stem in her fingers, bored with it already. "He's got a girlfriend this year." "He promised me that whatever he buys her, he buys me the same thing at a hundred times the price." The tag was still on the wrapping.

Half peeled off. Ninetynine hundred. Calla flicked it and made a sound in her nose. "Ninetynine dollars.

That's what he spent on her." "And she's so stupid she thinks she's found true love.

Out there being broke with a rich boy and calling it a great romance." There was nothing sad in her voice. She was enjoying it.

Then she looked at the flowers in my arms. "Mina, you got some too." She tipped her head. "Those don't look super fresh.

What did those run you?" Not a dollar more, not a dollar less. Ninetynine. "Ninetynine," I said. I looked right at her when I said it. I didn't blur a single syllable.

Here's the thing. That wasn't the bouquet I picked. I'd walked past a flower shop that afternoon and there was something pink in the window.

Spray roses in that pinkybeige color, the ones the card called strawberry marzipan, bunched in with white stock. Soft and loose, like a cloud somebody had dipped in a sunset.

I wanted it the second I saw it. The girl behind the counter said three ninetyeight. Fletcher took my hand. "Mina, it's your birthday.

If you want it, get it." "I've got a little put away." Then, a beat later: "Might be ramen for me the rest of the month, but that's fine.

Don't worry about me." "You being happy matters more than anything." I knew what he was up against. His mother died when he was young and his father was buried in gambling debt.

Almost everything he earned went to paying it down. We met on the internship. He started after me, so he came to me with the things he didn't know.

He kept coming to me with things he didn't know, and then he started asking me out. He looked like the kind of man I like. Broke, but going somewhere. So I said yes to him.

Two people from nowhere, trying to get a foothold in New York together. I wasn't about to let him eat instant noodles for a month.

So no matter how much I wanted that bouquet, I pulled him out of the shop. We found a stand shutting down for the night and I haggled the man down to a bunch of lisianthus.

When Fletcher paid, something moved in his face. The lights from the stand were yellow across his eyes. They went red at the edges, and when he spoke his voice had gone rough.

Chapter 2 "Mina. It's hard, being with me." "I'm going to fix that. Everything you want, I'm going to give you." I laughed and went into his arms and I have never been happier.

I didn't know that while he was holding me, he'd placed an order for the same flowers at a hundred times the price, for somebody else.

I didn't know that the Ashcroft in his name was the Ashcroft of the richest family on the East Coast. Or that it was the Ashcroft of Ashcroft Group, where I was interning.

I didn't stay in the suite long. The internship was two hours from campus each way, so Fletcher and I split an apartment near the office.

It was nine at night when I got back with my files. I opened the door and the whole place smelled like dinner. There was a small cake on the table.

Fletcher came out of the kitchen carrying plates, grinning at me. "Perfect timing. It's all done, I was just waiting on you." I shut down instead of fighting. I always have.

On the subway I had run it all the way through. Ask him why he lied. Scream at him. Break up. Then I actually saw him, moving around the apartment for me, and all I felt was blank.

Why would an heir to that much money squeeze into a rental with me and play at being poor? Candles on. Paper hat on. I put my hands together, closed my eyes, and made a wish.

When I opened them, Fletcher was looking at his phone. The screen lit the underside of his face.

Whoever he was typing to, there was something at the corner of his mouth that almost wasn't a smile. Not long after, the suite group chat lit up. Calla had posted a screenshot.

A transfer. Fifteen thousand nine hundred.

Calla: [he sent me money again] Calla: [this one's for the cake he bought her] Calla: [honestly. throws somebody else a birthday and still remembers me. isn't he worried the poor girl gets jealous] Suitemate: [real wife energy] Suitemate: [that's class right there] Underneath it they were falling over themselves.

I sat and looked at the profile photo in that screenshot. A man from behind, at the water, white shirt filling with wind.

I took that picture. "What's got you so absorbed?" He reached over and put a streak of frosting on my forehead, and then his eyes went dark and he leaned down, and his voice came out wrecked. "Mina.

Bedroom. Please." Six months together. We'd done everything except that. I was scared it would hurt, and he never pushed. He'd just hold on to me with his jaw locked and wait.

Tonight was supposed to be the night. After the flowers I'd stopped at a convenience store and bought a box. It was sitting by the door.

But then I thought about him being Calla's fiancé, and my stomach turned over. I put a hand on his chest and pushed him back, and went to pack.

On my way out I dropped that convenience store bag in the trash. The lease was up the next day anyway. "I'm moving back to the dorm.

I'm not renewing." He blinked at me. "Where is this coming from?" "Mina, if you're upset, can you tell me why?" I didn't answer him. I kept packing.

He was raised with the whole world arranged around him, though, so it didn't take long for that to turn. "Wilhelmina.

You've been off since the second you walked in." "I cooked all night and you didn't touch it." "Is this about the threeninetyeight bouquet I didn't buy you?" "When did you get this materialistic?

I don't buy you something, so now we have a problem?" Chapter 3 Great. The economy's in the tank and under five hundred dollars now qualifies as materialistic.

I looked up at him. "Fletcher. Is there anything you're not telling me?" He was quiet for a beat. Then he shook his head. "No." I still didn't blow it open.

Ashcroft Group is his family's company. It's also the best firm in the country for what I do. Six months of interning, and all of it was for one return offer.

My team lead had told me quietly that my scores were near the top and it was basically locked. The day the list went up I read it top to bottom three times and my name wasn't on it.

I went to ask him why.

He pulled me into the break room, and his face was doing something complicated. "Mina," he said, low. "Did you get on somebody's bad side?" I had no idea what he meant. "Your name was on that list." "Somebody upstairs made a call yesterday.

They took you off it themselves." Coming out of the break room, I could see Fletcher at his desk. He wasn't on the list either, obviously. Heirs don't intern to get hired.

They intern to have somewhere to be. He brought me a cup of hot tea and used his gentlest voice on me. "Mina, it's okay. There are plenty of good firms.

It doesn't have to be Ashcroft." "We'll take our time. Anywhere would be lucky to have you." My phone went off. The suite group chat. Calla had tagged me directly.

Calla: [@Mina your internship posted the returnoffer list today right? did you make it?] Calla: [my fiancé's girlfriend interns at Ashcroft too, you might know her] Calla: [she definitely didn't make it though.

I told him. play with whoever you want, but she doesn't get to work at our company] Calla: [it was already decided and one word from him took her off. isn't he obedient] My knuckles went white around the phone.

Fletcher knew what that offer meant to me. He knew how many nights I'd slept on the office couch reworking a proposal.

He knew my grandmother was back home waiting for me to get steady enough to bring her into the city and get her seen. And one sentence out of his mouth erased six months of my life.

And then he turned around and stood in front of me with his gentlest voice, like he had no idea. The tea in the paper cup was still steaming. It was hot enough to hurt my fingers.

So I picked it up and threw it in his face. "Fletcher. What is wrong with you?" The whole floor went quiet. You could hear the vents. He stood there for two seconds.

Then he wiped his face with a napkin and looked at me with his temper on a very short leash. "Mina. I understand you're upset about the offer.

But there's a way to behave in public." "At home you can throw whatever fit you want. Hit me, scream at me, whatever you need." "Let me take you to dinner tonight. Come on.

Don't be like this." Still gentle. Like the person who did it to me wasn't standing in his shoes. No offer meant I had no image left to protect there.

I swept the files off the desk and threw them at him. "We're done." Then I put my bag on my shoulder and walked. Behind me his voice came out with the lid barely on. "Wilhelmina.

Is this still about the strawberry marzipan? Seriously?" "You're taking it out on me over a bouquet." Chapter 4 "With a temper like that, no wonder they cut you.

You should sit with that." Outside the building it had started coming down hard. The walk to the subway was already under water.

Every other time it rained on that stretch, Fletcher would crouch down and put me on his back. "Mina likes white sneakers.

Can't have Mina's sneakers getting dirty." I'd have one arm locked around his neck and the umbrella up high in the other hand, and we'd talk about the future the whole way.

Now the rain was hitting the standing water hard enough to break it into rings. I rolled my pant legs up and stepped in. Water on my face. Everything damp.

I tipped my head back and pulled in a breath. My grandmother used to tell me to know when to walk. A breakup isn't the end of the world. Cut your losses on time.

It was all going to be fine. I moved back into the suite. Calla had an apartment off campus, but the day she heard I was back, she moved in too.

And suddenly she had a great deal to say. "My fiancé's been in a mood." "No idea what that girl is playing at.

She dumped him out of nowhere." "He was only ever having fun with her, and then she cuts him off cold right when he's into it.

Of course he can't handle it." "But he's mine at the end of the day, so when he comes to me to vent, I sit there and take it." Right on cue, her phone rang.

A man's voice, tired around the edges. That lift at the end. "I'm going to Europe for a while. Anything you want?" Calla didn't answer him.

She laughed instead. "Europe, all of a sudden?

Not smoothing things over with your girlfriend?" "She wants to be angry, let her be angry." "I'll go make it up to her once she's calmed down." Calla turned the watch on her wrist and let her eyes come across the room to me. "Aren't you worried she's done with you by the time you get back?" "No.

She loves me." There wasn't a flicker of doubt in it. "She takes things seriously.

Not like you." "If you're not going to tell me what you want, I'll just pick something." When the call ended, Calla came over and stood at my desk with her arms folded, smiling down at me. "Mina.

My fiancé's going to Europe." "Anything you want? I'll have him bring you something." Then, before I could open my mouth, she sighed. "Actually, never mind.

He's lazy about that stuff." "He doesn't do things for other people. He only brings things back for me." I'm slow about a lot of things, but I could hear exactly what was in that.

Calla and I go back further than any of this. Freshman year we both entered the startup pitch competition.

She told everyone she had an advisor coaching her and first place was a formality. Then the results went up. First place had my name on it. She got runnerup.

That's when the way she looked at me changed. Then at the fall showcase in October, they gave me Best on the Runway, and after that she really couldn't stand me.

She didn't live on campus, though, so we mostly stayed out of each other's way.

Listening to her pick at me, I looked up. "He does treat you well." "Shame he's that good to you and still went down on one knee in front of somebody else." Her face changed. "What are you even talking about?" "You said he has a girlfriend." Chapter 5 "Kissing, hands, that's what people in a relationship do, right?

Or can you not even handle that, and you still want to be the wife?" Behind me something heavy hit the floor. Rich people really are something.

She gets angry and a watch worth more than a car goes across the room. She got over it fast, though.

By that night she was back and cheerful and reporting to the room. "Guess who I ran into outside the library." "Bram Whitlock." "Standing under the light waiting for the shuttle.

Shoulders, waist, legs that are frankly rude. I stared for way too long." "I'm going to get him. I've decided." Bram Whitlock is the one Calla has wanted since freshman year.

Three years and change, and she still hasn't let it go. Everybody crowded around to look at the photos she'd taken of him without asking. I stayed where I was and unlocked my phone.

Two messages in the thread. From Bram. Bram: [Mina. I heard you moved back on campus.] Bram: [Any chance you're free for dinner?] Bram and I aren't close.

He just used to come to my line when I worked the dining hall. I'm not like the regular servers. My hand doesn't shake. I never shorted anybody on the protein.

That's how we ended up with each other's numbers. After that he'd message me most days asking what was new on the menu.

Then I started the internship and started seeing Fletcher, and that stopped. Until today. I thought about it and told him no.

Me: [Sorry, I'm buried in applications right now.] He didn't push. Bram: [No rush. Whenever you want food, say the word.] The next few days were quiet.

I went from interview to interview. Fletcher didn't reach out. The last thing in that thread was days old.

Fletcher: [Mina, I know the offer thing hurt.] Fletcher: [I'm giving you space to get it out of your system.] I never answered it. I thought that was the end of us talking.

Then, one afternoon, my phone rang with a number from home. The neighbor. "Mina, I went past your grandmother's yard today and she was down on the ground.

I couldn't wake her up." "I called an ambulance and they took her to the county hospital in Fairmont. Can you get here?" I bought a seat on the first train out that night.

The doctor said an aortic dissection. It had to be surgery, immediately. The county hospital couldn't do it. She needed to go to the cardiac center in the city, right then.

My grandmother grew melons her whole life. Two years short of Medicare, and in our state she landed in the gap—too poor for a subsidy, too something for Medicaid.

She never had insurance a day of it. A nurse slid the estimate in front of me.

The transfer was already being arranged, but without insurance, the medevac flight, surgery, and hospital stay could run about a hundred and forty thousand, all of it billed to us.

Between what I had and what I'd earned on workstudy, a hundred and forty thousand might as well have been the moon. Pride is not worth more than a life.

So that day I called Fletcher. I was going to ask him for a loan. It rang for a long time before he picked up. His voice was easy. There was a smile in it. "There she is.

You finally cooled off enough to call me?" I kept my voice down. "Fletcher. I need to borrow money.

A hundred and forty thousand." "My grandmother is—" He cut across me before I got there. "Mina, what are you talking about?" "You know my situation.

Where would I get that kind of money?" "I picked up another job, I'm actually on shift right now. They're calling me. I have to go." He wasn't lying about the calling.

In the background somebody was shouting that the yacht was leaving and he needed to get on. Chapter 6 He said something back to them and hung up on me. Every word I had left, gone.

I tried him again. Busy the first time. Then the phone was off. At the same moment the suite group chat lit up. Calla had posted a photo of a bracelet.

Calla: [good, right? my fiancé took it at auction for me] Calla: [Burmese ruby, provenance goes back to a European royal collection. five point four million] In the picture the stones sat deep and clear, like something with a light inside it.

I was sitting in a hospital hallway with disinfectant in the back of my throat. People live such different lives on the same planet.

Some people drop five point four million without blinking. Some people are coming apart over a hundred and forty thousand. I looked over at my grandmother in that bed