The Lies That Bind

by Emily Giffin

“What do you want to know?” “Anything,” I say. “Everything.” He crosses his arms, then rests his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “Nobody really wants to know everything about another person, do they?”

‘I’ve always loved you, and when you love someone, you love the whole person, just as he or she is, and not as you would like them to be.’

we discussed all sorts of things, including her view of feminism, which is all about empowerment and independence from men, whereas my view of feminism has more to do with choice. Women in the twenty-first century (which still sounds so funny to my ears) have options. We can marry or not marry; have children or not have children; be stay-at-home mothers or have careers. So yes, I told her, I want to get married, and yes, I want to find a life mate sooner rather than later, but that didn’t make me a bad feminist. It just made me determined to have it all—one of the reasons I came to New York in the first place.

At the end of the day, you just want to be happy and fulfilled and sometimes it’s hard to know what that looks like.”

After all, you reach the mundane, comfortable moments only when a relationship is working. When it’s not working, the passion morphs into something twisted and dark. Drama. Jealousy. A never-ending power struggle.

Maybe all relationship journeys are messy and complicated in one way or another, products of two flawed people coming together to form a flawed but, one hopes, stronger union. Maybe the only people who don’t have any reservations amid a marriage proposal are delusional about love—and therefore destined to be disillusioned later in life when things get tough.

“You were wrong about the facts. But feelings are subjective. They’re feelings. And you can’t examine them in hindsight—and decide you just want to change what happened.”

“At first I did. But I know now that love like that isn’t real….It’s just…infatuation. It’s a fantasy. I wanted that fantasy when I moved to New York. I wanted to fall hopelessly and utterly in love with the city…and my career…and a guy.”

That wasn’t our story. It was at first, maybe, but that feeling of being head over heels can’t sustain itself. And it certainly can’t last when someone is being so practical.”

I know I’m not being fair, but feelings aren’t fair.

secrets always turn into lies when they’re kept from the people we love.

We may not get do-overs in life, but we can always have fresh starts and new beginnings.

nothing can be real when marred with so many lies.

It’s sad letting go of long-held dreams, but it’s also a relief to realize that they no longer seem so important to me. Maybe one day all of that will still happen. But if it doesn’t, that’s okay, too.

I feel detached pity for the twentysomething girl I used to be. The girl who hadn’t yet learned to trust her gut. Who cared so much about what others thought and couldn’t make a move without consulting her friends. Who wanted the fairy tale more than actual fulfillment.

It didn’t scare me being alone, but it was lonely being alone.

I began to learn that the world treats you the way you demand to be treated.