Author's note: Lies and the Lying Parents Who Tell Them is a follow up to my previous story, On the Long Route. To be safe, it is rated T for subject matter and some language. For more about my stories, visit my profile.

Disclaimer: I don't own these characters. I'm just messing with them. Apologies in advance.

Mommy's alright, Daddy's alright

They just seem a little weird…

—Cheap Trick

Chapter 1

The Best Birthday Ever, Guaranteed

"EARTH TO DAD!"

Bo Baxter snapped back to reality. He was standing in his apartment kitchen in New Rochelle, New York, where his fourteen-year-old son was hurriedly removing a smoking frying pan from the burner that was blazing away on the stovetop. He gave a start at the sight. "Oh! Buster, I'm so sorry!" Bo made for the smoke detector just as it began a series of shrill beeps. Detaching it from its spot on the wall near the ceiling, he quickly moved it to the counter and covered it with a damp kitchen towel. The alarm silenced after a few seconds.

Meanwhile, Buster used tongs to transfer the bacon, now slightly blackened at the ends, to a plate lined with paper towels. Once the slices were secured, he helped his father open the apartment windows to let in fresh air.

"Are you okay, Dad?" said Buster when they finally met up in the kitchen again, the pungent, smoky air beginning to clear. "I could smell it burning from all the way in the bathroom. You looked like you were miles away—on another planet, even."

Before the incident with the bacon, his son's visit had been off to a good start. Buster had flown in the previous evening, no delays. They had picked up a pizza and headed back to the apartment to catch up over dinner. Bo had told Buster about some of the recent travels on which his job had taken him. Buster had tried to seem casual when he asked if Bo was still dating his most recent girlfriend, Cecilia, and Bo had quickly explained that it "just hadn't worked out" and chose not to elaborate. Buster had given him a cursory "sorry, Dad," but declined to question him about it. After dinner, they had sat on the sofa, thumbing through Buster's seventh grade yearbook while Buster pointed out the highlights of the previous school year. ("Mill Creek Middle does superlatives for each grade, and I was voted Class Clown! Francine got Most Athletic; Ladonna got Miss Congeniality; Binky and George tied for Best Dancer…") Next had been a guided tour through Buster's recent Facebook photos. Included in the "Summer 2009" album were pictures from one of Muffy's pool parties, his time spent at camp, and the "not-so-surprise" birthday party his friends had thrown for him at The Sugar Bowl two days prior. There had been just enough time left in the evening for Buster to unpack and settle in for his two-week stay.

This morning, however, was not off to a promising start. Today was Buster's fourteenth birthday, and the plan was to head into New York City and see The Dan Band, a comedy act Buster had begged to see. The show would not start until later in the evening, but given Buster's partiality for the city, Bo had agreed they could make a day of it. Buster had requested a stop by the Carnegie Deli, as well as Junior's for cheesecake in lieu of birthday cake.

His son had rattled off a long list of other places he wanted to visit, but Bo doubted they could all be accomplished in one trip. That was fine by him, especially after the phone conversation he had had with Bitzi a couple days ago. According to his ex-wife, Buster had expressed a great deal of anger when she had explained the reason behind their failed marriage. She had recounted, in detail how tense and awkward things had been between herself and Buster, and Bo suspected it was his turn now that his son was here in New York. He did not relish fielding all the possible questions that could be thrown at him. He welcomed the idea of making the trip into Manhattan two, even three times. The busier he could keep Buster, the better.

He had tried to push his concerns, various as they were, to the side so that he could make Buster's birthday the best it could be. The times they spent together had always been few and far between, and Bo always tried to take advantage of the situation and make things as fun and memorable as possible. He had begun this morning by thumbing through his vinyl collection, taking a moment to reminisce over the half-empty sleeve for The Who's Quadrophenia, before selecting The White Album. He fired up his old Thorens turntable, placed the needle down gently, and cranked up the volume. As he made his way to Buster's room, the apartment filled with the sound of The Beatles rocking out to "Birthday".

"Up and at 'em, old man!" he said, rapping on the doorframe. "Big day today!" He then set to work making breakfast while the album played on. Somewhere in the middle of "Everybody's Got Something to Hide Except for Me and My Monkey," his train of thought had drifted to another phone conversation with Bitzi nearly seven years ago…

2002

"What do you think, Bo?"

I think I need a drink. "I don't know, Bitz. I'm not sure I'm comfortable with telling our son we split because we couldn't agree on whether I should work for a billionaire sociopath."

"So now you don't like Cobb Patterson? What changed?"

"Well, he being a convicted felon helped. And since the trial, Rick's come clean about some pretty disturbing stuff he witnessed during some of Patterson's private flights."

"Really? What sort of disturbing stuff?"

That's Bitzi for you, he thought. Always the reporter at heart, always dying for the scoop. "Remind me to tell you about the mile-high absinthe party some other time. You're trying to convince me to lie to Buster about rubbing elbows with that sleazeball, remember?"

"But you did rub elbows with that sleazeball."

"I met with him a couple of times, that's all. It gives me the willies that this is the one grain of truth you've chosen to spin this little tale around."

"Calm down, Bo. It's just a story."

It's a lie, he thought.

"A stalemate," she said. "This way it doesn't have to be anyone's fault." She had tried to say it convincingly, he knew, but she was beginning to sound timid despite her best efforts.

"By nature, it already isn't anyone's fault," he said.

"You know that's not true."

"I don't know it."His voice had risen before he could catch himself, but he managed to rein in his temper and continued in a gentler tone. "And neither do you."

There was excruciatingly long pause. The tension that was building over the line was palpable. He and Bitzi had covered this territory time and again, never to yield resolution. They would talk in circles until they both got exhausted, and the argument would peter out. Another stalemate.

Guess I'll go first, then, he thought, then said, "It's not like you went out looking for trouble, Bitz."

"But I could have been more cautious. Given Elliot's history, I should have known that there was at least a slight chance of—"

"Elliot had been okay for a while. You said so."

"Still," she continued, "It was stupid on my part. I didn't even consider the potential—"

"You called him for a meet-up, just doing your job. How could you have known…things would go the way they did?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Bitzi said sharply. "And that's the point. Buster's nearly seven. He hasn't brought up the divorce in a while, but I know he gets upset about it sometimes. He'll ask questions, sooner or later, and there's no way he'll understand the truth at his age. I don't want to be caught off guard. I need something to tell him."

"But you'll tell him the truth eventually?"

"Maybe. I don't know. I think so. What's important now is making sure that we get our story straight, that we're on the same page."

Your story. Not ours. He was silent for a moment, mulling it over.

"Well?" she said.

"Fabricating a story to cover up…a situation like this seems like a real disservice to—" he faltered. Why was he finding this so difficult to say now? Maybe her evasiveness was beginning to rub off on him. "To everyone," he recovered, "especially when I think it'd do you some good to talk about it, Bitz. Outside a counselor's office, that is."

There was that excruciatingly long pause again.

"Will you please just do this for me?" was all she said.

He heaved a huge sigh. Fine, have it your way. You always do. "All right," he said.

"Thank you, Bo," she said, sounding relieved. "Now, let's go over the plan. We have to get this down."

"Okay," he said. "First off, we only tell him if he asks…"

There was a voice somewhere far away. "…bacon is burning!"

"Correct," she said.

"If he asks me," Bo continued, "I'll call you and let you know."

A little closer now. "The bacon is burning!…"

"And if he asks you, you'll call me."

"Dad?..."

"Right. Let's move on to specifics…"

"EARTH TO DAD!"

And now Buster stood in front of him, brows furrowed in concern.

"Oh, I'm fine," Bo said trying to act as nonchalant as possible. "My mind just wandered a bit—working out today's schedule and everything." He paused to observe the mess in the kitchen. "And now it looks like we should probably add breakfast to the itinerary. What do ya say? I'm sure Stan'z is much better at this thing than I am," he said, referring to one of his and Buster's favorite cafés in town.

Buster perked up. "Fine by me."

"Okay, it's settled. You finish getting ready, and I'll clean up this charcoal," he said throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward the pile of bacon on the counter behind him.

"All right," Buster said. "Only, don't throw it away. I might be able to make sandwiches with it later. I kind of like it a little burned."

Bo couldn't help but grin. "You're just like your mother. She used to love bacon sandwiches. She even liked them burned when she…" Normally, Bo was not averse to talking about his ex in front of his son, but now he would have to be careful. If he mentioned Bitzi too much, it might prompt Buster to ask questions about the divorce, and he certainly did not want that to happen.

"When she what?" said Buster.

"I just remembered," said Bo, desperate to change the subject. "It'll be after midnight by the time we make it back. You'd better open your presents now while it's still your birthday." Bo headed toward his bedroom, pausing briefly on the way to turn down The Beatles, who were now halfway through "Helter Skelter". Moments later, he reappeared with an armload of packages. He arranged them on the coffee table in front of Buster, who was already waiting eagerly on the edge of the sofa.

"First things first," Bo said, tapping a rather large and uninteresting brown cardboard box. "Not an official present, but—"

"Is this what I think it is?" said Buster, not at all trying to hide his enthusiasm. He lifted one of the box's flaps and peeked inside. Clearly happy with what he saw, he pumped his fist. "Woo-hoo! Food Box! Yes!"

Years ago, when Bo had spent time traveling the world with Buster, he had quickly learned how enthralled his son was with international foods, everything from the mundane to the unusual. Ever since, he would collect certain items during his travels and keep them in a box for whenever his son would visit. Buster would come to lovingly refer to this box as the "Food Box."

"There's a few old standards in there," said Bo as Buster hastily began pulling items from the box, a gleeful grin on his face.

"Tayto crisps—my favorite flavor, too. And spotted dick in a can." Buster snorted. "That will never stop being funny…" He placed the can and bag of chips on the coffee table and examined the other foodstuffs as he went along. "Durian candy, German snacks, Jaffa Cakes, and—" He gave a quizzical look to a small orange can.

"I also added in a few new curiosities," Bo said, observing Buster's face and trying not to laugh.

"Silkworm pupae? Really?" said Buster.

"Popular snack in South Korea. I know it's a bit out there, but—"

"I'll try anything once," Buster said with a shrug. He was only halfway through the box, but he began to carefully put the items back as if they were fine china instead of junk food. "This is the biggest haul ever. What gives?"

"It's a special occasion," said Bo.

"Well, if turning fourteen is such a special occasion, I expect an even bigger haul for my sixteenth," Buster joked. "Feel free to surprise me by putting it in the trunk of my new car."

Bo laughed. "Yeah, we'll see." Right now was definitely not the right time to mention to Buster that this might be the last Food Box he would ever receive.

Among the other presents was a small wrapped box which contained two gift cards. One was to a popular video game store back in Elwood City. It had been Bitzi's suggestion. The other was to Teed Off, a t-shirt company of which Buster was fond, so much so that he was hardly ever caught not wearing a shirt featuring an amusing graphic or funny phrase most days of the week (today's shirt was Bionic Bunny and Dark Bunny sharing a jumping high-five). It was becoming something of a signature style of his, according to Bitzi. Buster seemed extremely pleased to have this new currency at his disposal.

"That one's from Mora and Carlos," Bo informed his son as Buster picked up the final present. "They attended a music festival in Canada a few months back and picked up a couple of things for you. They said they're sorry they couldn't be here, but they send their love."

Buster opened it. "No way," Buster breathed, then, louder, "No way!" He held up a White Stripes concert t-shirt and a Tenacious D CD. "Jack Black and Kyle Gass both signed the liner notes! Wow! I am SO getting a display case for this! Man, this really is going to be the best birthday ever."

Just then, a ringing telephone interrupted the moment. Bo crossed the room and picked up the handset. He looked at the number on the display. He had been anticipating this call, but it would have to wait for now. He pressed END and put the handset back in its cradle.

"You're not going to answer that?" said Buster.

"Nah, nothing important," Bo lied. "We've got the best birthday ever to celebrate. Be ready in ten?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Buster said. He gathered his presents together and tried to hold them steady as he made his way back to his room.

Bo turned off the Thorens and deftly put The White Album back into its sleeve. He headed into the kitchen to put away the bacon and clean up. Yeah, he thought. I'll definitely have to answer that phone call, and soon. But not now. He was enjoying this moment. Today had not been off to promising start, but it was getting better. It was even turning out to be the best birthday ever, according to Buster. Bo only needed to play his cards right to keep it that way. There had been too many important phone calls as of late. Too many decisions to make. Too much pressure.

I have to survive Buster being here without starting a world of trouble. No other option. If he could not keep it together, one ruined breakfast would be the least of his worries.

To be continued…