A serial comedy from Ryan Hussey

Haven’t read Episode 1? Get on that.

I can’t remember the first time I lied to a woman. It was probably when I was four or five and told my mom I’d stop dialing 9–1–1 on the house phone. I had no idea what I was agreeing to, but I nodded and said Yes, I understand anyway. Over the years, my lies to women have become less inconvenient for law enforcement and more damaging to my personal relationships.

My most recent lie? Well, it’s complicated.

It didn’t start out as a lie at all. In fact, it was more along the lines of withholding information. Last week, I stopped by my brother Adam’s office to see him before his trip to London. I usually play this fun game where I act deranged and then sit on his couch and rant about the JFK assassination until he starts laughing hysterically or prescribes me pills so I shut up. It’s usually the former.

When I got there, I was greeted by one of the most beautiful women I’d ever seen. I caught a glimpse of her as I opened the door, and I needed to blink hard before I could reestablish my focus — you know, to prove she wasn’t a mirage or something. I blinked like I was trying to see if an eyelash was still in my eye. I blinked like I was repositioning my contacts on my eyeballs.

I caught her by surprise, I guess. She’d been bent over to pick up some LEGO pieces from the floor — I wasn’t going to ask questions and I certainly wasn’t going to complain. I figured she was one of Adam’s patients at first, but then she sat behind the reception desk after shaking my hand.

“Oh, hi! I didn’t expect to see you,” she said.

Maybe she was the one who caught me by surprise. The only response I could muster up was a shrug of the shoulders.

“Your email,” she elaborated. “It said you were flying out today.”

Though it took me a second, I realized she’d mistaken me for my brother. I weighed out my options: I could notify this angel of her mistake and try to capitalize on her vulnerability. Or I could take advantage of this misunderstanding and go from there.

Before I had a chance to speak, she helped me choose my path. “I’m sorry, I’m so rude!” she apologized. “I’m Melanie Rennick. It’s so nice to finally meet you, Dr. Jeremy.”

Still brainstorming a response, I forfeited my turn to speak. She beat me to the punch. “The custodian let me in, just like you said.” I offered a half-assed smile.

“Are you okay, sir?”

The most calculated answer I could give her was: “Jet lag.”

Mel shuffled around some papers on her new desk, then hesitated, “But you haven’t flown yet, Doctor...”

“Well, what I mean is — it’s sort of like jet lag. What I get is more like… uh, pre-jet lag.” Mel nodded as if she were catching on. “Yeah, my sleep gets all fucked up before I even get on the plane.”

Should I have cursed in front of her? No. Was there a such thing as pre-jet lag? No, probably not. But you’ve got to admit, that was one hell of a cover up.

Melanie, the kind person she is, told me to sit down and rest my mind for a little. She made me a cup of coffee and assured me, “Anything you need, I’m here.”

The phone rang at the reception desk and Mel poked her head into my office. “Doctor, there’s a call for you from Sacred Heart Church. I can tell them to call back if — ”

“No, I’ll take it,” I replied. I was feeling confident after my jet lag win, so I wanted to press my luck. Kind of ironic it was a church on the line:

“Hi, this is Father Cortolo from Sacred Heart. Is this Dr. Jeremy?”

This triggered a knee-jerk reaction from me, sealing my fate.

“Hell yes I’m Dr. Jeremy.”

With my brother returning from his conference on Thursday, I was kind of in a bind. I’d lied to Mel’s face, “treated” about a dozen patients, and even refilled a few prescriptions. Whoops. I know it sounds bad, but it was nothing serious — I swear. The lie had become intricate, and I had only two days to untangle myself from this web I’d so effortlessly weaved.

What were my options? I could disappear. Never go back to that office, grow a thick beard, maybe change my hair color. I could count the amount of people who would recognize me on three hands — not that I have three hands, but you know what I mean.

If I left, though, it wouldn’t look good for my brother. He’d return from London to an unexpected investigation of his practice, and the key witness would be a receptionist he’d never even met in person. How would he explain it to those patients I saw? He’d probably lose his practice and eventually realize I was the impostor. I was already a big enough disappointment.

And by quitting, I’d ruin any chances of wooing Mel. She’d never know the truth, meet the real me, and fall in love with him. She’d barely gotten to know the fake me.

So, I decided to commit. For the first time in my adult life, I made a real decision with actual consequences. I bought three blazers for a job that wasn’t mine. I paid for them with money I didn’t have. (Still not sure why they gave me a credit card.) I had no source of income, and I was living in a place I didn’t own.

My brother didn’t own it either, to be fair. But the lease was in his name, and he was letting me stay with him until I got back on my feet. I fell off my feet about ten months prior, when my girlfriend kicked me out and I got fired all in the same week.

Again, to be fair, I had broken up with her and I’d been working for her dad.

I woke up in my brother’s apartment on Wednesday, knowing my jig was almost up. With him abroad, I was basically living his life for the time being. I’d moved from the couch to his bed over the weekend — you know, to get into character. (Also, sleeping on the couch was getting tough on my back.) I’d even started wearing his dress shirts. They went well with my new blazers.

On my way to the office, I thought about telling Mel the truth. I liked her and I felt bad about lying to her. I didn’t know how the truth would go over, but I knew I couldn’t keep up this charade.

My phone buzzed unexpectedly. It was Adam:

“Ben!”

“Hey, I was gonna call you later to see if you needed a ride from the airport tomorrow.”

“But you don’t have a car.”

“Yeah, I know. I would’ve gotten you an Uber or something.”

“Ha, no that’s fine! Anyway, listen…”

Good things don’t usually start like that. I listened:

“…About tomorrow. I know the rest of the conference was cancelled, but I figured I’d stay the extra week and a half anyway.”

“Oh yeah, doing what?”

I’m not sure why I pressed this issue.

“Well, I met this clinical psychologist who’s experimenting new methods with patients. So, I’m going to study with him for the rest of the trip. He’s got a beautiful office and his — ”

My eyebrows shot up as I stopped walking.

“Wait, so you’re not coming back tomorrow?”

“Nope. I never changed my flight anyway. So, you’ve got the place to yourself a little longer.”

“Jesus Christ, that’s great news.”

He responded sarcastically:

“Thanks, Ben. I appreciate that. Just don’t, you know, ejaculate on anything…”

“You got it. Wait, what? Why would that be the first— ”

“I don’t know, I just don’t want to come back to anything sticky. Take care of the apartment.”

“Will do.”

I hung up and continued to the office. With just a phone call, my situation had gotten a lot less, uh, sticky. I no longer worried about telling Mel the truth about who I was. Now, my main focus was telling her how I felt.

Technically, I couldn’t date her because there were laws about employer/employee relationships or something. But, technically, I wasn’t her real employer. Plus, I was already breaking the law.

You can’t be a double criminal, can you?

That sounds just about as ridiculous as pre-jet lag. (I still can’t get over how #clutch that was.) As soon as I walked in the door, Mel informed me I had a full day of appointments scheduled. Then, she bombarded me with personal requests.

“Dr. Jeremy — I mean, Adam — I need to leave early today, around three o’clock. Is that all right?”

“Sure, just make sure all of my sessions are in line.” Who the fuck had I become? “Do you have a doctor’s appointment or something?”

“No, I have to pick up my son from school.”

Oh, she just had to pick up her son from school. You know, her SON — the one I’d literally just found out about when she told me she had to PICK HIM UP FROM SCHOOL.

Melanie stayed dropping bombs: “Yeah, my husband can’t get him today, so I’m gonna swing by when his after-school program is over.”

Son?? Husband??? How could I have missed these details? Surely there was some sign I’d overlooked. There’s no way I could be that blind. I thought back to the first time we’d met. She was crouched down on the floor picking up LEGOs — could explain the kid — and I’d helped guide her to standing position by taking her hand.

And YEP, there it was. Buried deep in the graveyard of my shoddy memory, the notorious ring. Good thing I wasn’t pretending to be a detective.

Before I could absorb this plot twist, it was time for my first session of the day. The Murphys showed up promptly, probably because they couldn’t stand to be alone with each other. I led them into my office and they sat on opposite ends of the couch. Lorraine broke the silence.

“Great to see you again, Dr. Jeremy. Larry here has been up my ass all week about the dog. Oh, he’s making a mess with his bone on the rug. Hon, he needs to go out. Don’t give him table food, you know what that does to his stomach!”

I wondered why Melanie hadn’t been upfront about her… situation. She’d never mentioned a son or husband until that morning, and I couldn’t think of any clear signals other than the wedding ring. Granted, the LEGOs would’ve been strange. But I didn’t want to judge — some people like building things.

Larry didn’t look amused by his wife’s impression of him. Lorraine continued, “C’mon babe, you can’t let the dog on the couch… It’s his goddamn dog! I didn’t want it when he brought it home, and I still don’t fucking want — ”

“Hon, don’t curse at the doctor,” Larry chimed in. “And don’t blame the dog for all this.”

Then again, it’s not like Mel was trying to hide anything from me. I kind of just dropped the ball. The eyes see what the heart wants them to see, or some shit.

“I’m not blaming the dog, Larry. I’m blaming you!”

So, what was my next move? I’d gotten myself into a mess I couldn’t just Swiffer up — oh that’s right, I had to make sure I Swiffered my brother’s living room floor before he got back because… things — and the main reason I’d created the lie in the first place didn’t seem to make sense anymore.

“See what I’m saying, Doctor?” Lorraine pleaded. “He doesn’t listen to me when I’m talking!”

I don’t even like kids. And I definitely don’t like husbands.

Can’t wait to read the next episode? You’re in luck.