Candidly Reading #2: Tell Me Lies, Carola Lovering

Candidly Reading #2: Tell Me Lies, Carola Lovering

There is nothing that will sell me on a guilty pleasure read quite like twin recommendations from Cosmopolitan and theSkimm. So when I came across the ombre cover for Carola Lovering’s Tell Me Lies (which, through the novel, you learn is named after Fleetwood Mac’s song “Little Lies”), I was quick to make it my next read.

The premise in essence is very simply collegiate girl-meets-older-boy. But very quickly, I became aware of how Tell Me Lies was going to serve as more than just a fun read. Heroine Lucy Albright is introduced as an aspiring journalist in a non-industry job trying to mentally prepare for seeing the guy who epically broke her heart at a wedding they are both attending. Her narration, altering between her college years and the hours of the wedding, is coupled by those of Stephen DeMarco’s college narration, the very boy who broke her heart. Their duality offers cutting insights into both sides of an addictive and spiraling love affair that derails not once, not twice, but thrice.

And more than once, I saw my relationship — my only relationship to date — unfold on page in glaring ink and typeface.

DISCLAIMER #1: This post contains spoilers. Sorry. Don’t come here if you don’t want the tea.

DISCLAIMER #2: If you are close to me and you don’t want to relive 2015-2016, for understandable reasons, then this post is not for you. You do not need to be supportive right now.


For eight tumultuous months, he was my favorite person.

But those months were brutal. They started with an argument about what the “rules” were for behavior at music festivals. It escalated from there to losing my best friend over their old flame (something I, admittedly, should have been more prepared for). There was the night that I screamed in my sleep in rage because he was fazing me out, my mother in bed next to me having driven two hours up from Annapolis to comfort me in ways she simply could not have done over the phone. There were the Christmas presents thrown at me from the doorway of his bedroom, and the (light) push backwards when I came too close during one of his rants that followed.

People always talk about realizing they’re in love during the happy moments, but I think you realize it in the bad ones. The ones that knock you off center, scaring you when they prove that no matter what kind of logic is in your head, it’s what’s in your heart that determines fucking everything.

Tell Me Lies, Lovering

And yet if you asked me during this time what I was doing with him, I would have said he was my best friend, my person, my soulmate. I loved him more than I loved anything in the whole world. When we were good, it felt like I was alive in another plane than I had ever experienced in my previous twenty-one years. So, yes, against all reason and all judgment, I kept returning every time that he would take me back. As long as I was given chances, as I viewed them (instead of me giving them to him), I was okay.

I was delirious and idiotic and naive and irresponsible and self-destructive, and I knew all of that. But none of it weighed anything against what I actually felt. Do you follow your head or your heart? which do you do? Your heart, always. Right? I didn’t think I would ever stop believing that.

Tell Me Lies, Lovering

When it actually did end, I descended into my darkest mental health to date. It was shocking to me how bleak my life seemed in his absence. For the six months to follow, I was a shell of the person I was prior to our relationship. It took moving to another country, completely detaching myself from the ghost not only of him but also of those who had separated themselves from me in the aftermath, in order to grant myself the clarity and chance to start fresh. I gave myself permission to go on dates again, although I didn’t kiss anyone for another year. When I finally did re-enter the physical arena of romance, I found myself avaricious, eager to gain some sort of confirmation that I was still desirable now that I was capable of optioning myself that way.

Three years passed and (just like Lucy in Tell Me Lies) I found myself in New York City, fully redeemed and confident again. And then he was nine miles away from my apartment.

Whoever I was then seemed like a long-lost version of myself, someone I didn’t know anymore, and I couldn’t figure out how I’d gotten to where I was. I’d been experiencing the same recurring thoughts since I’d moved back to New York: What was I doing? Why was I still chasing him? Did I even like him as a person? How could I ever bank on a future with someone I couldn’t trust? There was that one stubborn, annoyingly veracious part of me that knew wanting Stephen had to be wrong. If you ignored the gray and got really honest, if everything in the world was separated into black and white, into good and bad, Stephen would fall into bad.

Tell Me Lies, Lovering

I knew that I shouldn’t have gone to drinks with him. I kept it quiet, not telling anyone what I was doing beforehand and only a few after the fact. I knew it would hurt many who stood by me, alienate their loyalty, but I couldn’t stand strong, stand reformed, without having the chance to shove it in his face and say, “Look! Look what you did to me, and I’m still here!” And — if I’m being honest — there was still affection.

We are no longer in contact, and I don’t anticipate that will change anytime soon. Like Lucy at the end of the book, when Stephen comes up and tries to flirt with her at the wedding with his fiancĂ©e just feet away, she knows that there is no reason to pursue something that to him is just a game. Much like the end of the book, Lucy is able to go and pursue her writing and Stephen is stuck in a dead-end finance job (just like my ex).

Tell Me Lies was exactly the cathartic read that I needed. At the end, I feel as strong and empowered as Lucy. The world is capable of so much more than the multitudes of cookie cutter Stephen DeMarcos. I know this because I see it in my parents, in my friends’ relationships, in my relatives. I feel it in the love they show me.

One day, writing this won’t even cross my mind. It will be, as my ex said when he broke up with me, “a blip on [my/your] radar.” Because, one day, there will be real love in the picture. That all-encompassing, past-relationship-amnesia-causing love that comes into your life in the most common ways. As CJ, Lucy’s mom, tells her in one of their last scenes:

Love — real love — isn’t something you construct or hope or imagine or plan for the future. Love is something you live and feel in real time, in every single moment, big or small. It’s reciprocal and often unglamorous. But we bank on it because it’s what gives life meaning.

Living Candidly #2: Thanking My Mom

I would not be exaggerating if I told you that my mom and I probably say “I love you” to each other approximately three times each per phone call. And there are at least three phone calls per day — one when I wake up, one on my way out of work to the 1 train, and one right before she goes to bed — so we’re looking at nine “I love you”‘s said by each of us to the other in a single day.

And while, yes, I absolutely love my mother, I was really looking for a way to make her feel that love this Mother’s Day.

With a lot of secrecy and coordinating group texts with my dad and brother, we managed to plan a surprise brunch for her in Baltimore. I would take the bus down the day before, hang out with two of my friends (post to come on why they’re #thebest), and secure a ride to the restaurant in time for the meal. My younger brother would be driving from College Park to north Baltimore and picking up flowers along the way (from a supermarket, let’s not get wild here). My dad would say he wanted to go to a War of 1812 reenactment at Fort McHenry, something that my mom would try to support and thus attend with him. Everything was in place.

Day of: I’m wildly hungover from a few too many drinks with #thebest, my brother is down with the flu and unable to make the hour drive by himself, and when 10:45 hits my mother and father are nowhere in sight of the restaurant. I took another sip of my ginger ale and a deep breath.

But when my mom saw me across the restaurant floor, her jaw dropped. She didn’t pick it up until she reached me, at which point it started wobbling and she cried. As she is wont to do, she enveloped me in her arms, but this time it was me holding her up instead of the other way around, as it has been the majority of my twenty-five years.

Everyone on Mother’s Day says they have the best mom and that their mom is their best friend. In addition to traditional motherly duties like changing diapers and breastfeeding, though, my mom was the first person to shave my armpits because I was afraid I would cut myself. She was the person who always did my hair before school dances and put up with my persnickety commentary the duration of the styling. She held my wrists overnight when I was in my darkest lows, sobbing and complaining that they burned for something that is today unfathomable. She has loved me at my absolute brattiest, my absolute most desolate. She has loved me when I’ve been incapable of truly loving anyone back in any manifesting ways because I’ve been too consumed with my own self. Most mothers would have stayed, sure, but none would have pushed through with the same ferocious love that she has displayed time and time again.

It is because of her and our closeness that if there is one thing I am certain of in this life that my future needs — it’s motherhood. If I can impart a morsel of the love that she has given to me in the likeness of her own mother to another generation, well, I’ll have done something good. It’s a big order, but a girl’s gotta have dreams.

Thank you, Mom. You are a heaven-sent inspiration of true and unconditional love.

Candidly Dating #1: The 85% Rule

We dive into things head first hoping for something more than we knew we could be. You didn’t have any cruel intentions, I thought I mentioned I want more than you.

“85%,” Loote feat. gnash

About three days before Christmas Day 2015, I was told by my boyfriend of six months — my first boyfriend ever — that I could not be a priority in his life. There is something incredibly confidence altering about hearing that from someone whose opinion shapes the way you view your own world. The damage that those words had not only on my own self-esteem but on our relationship and the ways I would view romantic relationships in that moment and in the weeks, months, and (unfortunately) years to come is something that I still feel the reverberations of to this day, despite all the comfort and action my friends and family have tried to instill in reparation.

The short of it is that I was giving 100% of myself, limiting my whole self to fit the needs of someone who realistically was giving an operable 85% in return. While I had no boundaries set, no visible lines in the sand, he did.

Now, it’s obviously been some time since this relationship ended. And while I still feel its effects, it has given me some key skills in negotiating the romantic playing field in my mid-twenties. The first being: always match interest, never over-invest without some indication of reciprocation.

Just yesterday, I was asked on a date by someone who I have reasonable interest in based off of what is admittedly a short conversation on a dating app — it is 2019, after all. We made plans for today at 3:00 PM, with him confirming this morning at 11:00 AM that he would send a location closer to the meet-up. An hour and a half before 3:00 PM, I messaged asking where, only to hear back he was doing errands and be asked if I was free tonight. While this could be completely innocuous, the fact that I likely wouldn’t have heard if I hadn’t texted showed lack of intent. And I was already dressed. Once more, I found myself at a higher interest than the partner.

This isn’t a phenomena limited to my own faults. I’ve watched friends give their all to guys — and girls, don’t worry — who clearly don’t see them as an equally viable partner in the long term. While it could easily be solved with a clear discussion, it often takes a harsh wake-up call in a few unfortunate situations to train a shrewd mind until finding that equilibrium.

So today, I am dateless; and honestly, I’m fine with it. A bit laughing at myself, just because this is something that I try to avoid, but other than that, I’ll just listen to “85%” by Loote a few times and then move forward with my day. It’s a gorgeous Saturday and being spared someone who doesn’t see you as worthwhile is a blessing more than anything.