It was an anniversary of sorts. Over dinner.

“Are you happy?”

The question catches me by surprise and with my fork in my mouth, the previous bite still not even completely chewed. I usually eat fast, but this evening I’m setting a personal best. I withdraw the fork, slowly, and continue to chew. This gives me time to think. Her question, while unexpected, was short and simple. Unadorned. Straightforward. I liked that about her, the way she could just be so … straightforward. But the question was perhaps a bit too forward for its straightness. Too direct. Like I said, it took me by surprise.

I could lie. The answer then, like the question, would be short and simple. Similarly unadorned. Equally straightforward. Except for the lying part. But when you do it enough (lie, that is,) it’s not such a big deal. After all, who’s to say what the truth is? Two plus two equals five, right? Somewhere it must.

Or I could tell the truth. I knew that telling the truth would be the, quote-unquote, right thing to to, but it would require long and likely twisted explanations that would ultimately lead nowhere, and besides, I had my heart set on the Very Moist Chocolate Cake for dessert.

Better to go with the lie.

“Yes, I’m happy.”

She sat up straight, leaned forward. “I’m not,” she said, and left.

I was crushed. I watched her leave the restaurant, pass in front of the window, then cross the street. I put the fork down on my plate. There was no way I could finish what was left there. A period of mourning was in order.

I signaled to the waiter.

“Sir?”

“Check, please. Oh, and one order of Very Moist Chocolate Cake to go.”