Wasn’t It the Truth I Told You

A young couple, a secret, and a sparkling surprise from F. Brett Cox today. ~ Julian and Fran, April 20, 2025

This month’s Sunday Morning Transport stories include an explicit cyberpunk/space pirate story from Arkady Martine, Thomas Ha’s surreal and spooky family arrangements, a sparkling surprise from F. Brett Cox, and an epic underground adventure from A.T. Greenblatt. As always, the first story of the month is free to read.

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Wasn’t It the Truth I Told You?

by F. Brett Cox

“Hey!” Siobhan said.

Matt did not respond. He lay on their bed, earbuds in place, absorbed in whatever was on his phone.

“Hey!” she repeated.

No reply.

Siobhan moved to the side of the bed, leaned over, and smacked Matt on the thigh with one of the shoes from the pair she was holding. “HEY!”

“Ow!” Matt jerked to a sitting position and pulled his earbuds out. The muted pulse of the Dropkick Murphys’ “Mick Jones Nicked My Pudding” buzzed like an indignant insect. “What the hell?”

“What’s this, then?” Siobhan waved the shoes in front of him.

“What?”

“This! These. They’re not mine.”

“That hurt!”

“And they’re sure as fuck not yours.”

“What?”

“Well? Whose are they?”

“I don’t know. I never saw them before.”

“They’re right here on the floor, yeah?”

“There’s lots of stuff on the floor.”

“Whose fucking shoes are these?”

“I don’t know! How do you know they’re not yours?”

“And when have I ever worn shoes like this?”

“You wear sneaks all the time.”

“Green? With sequins?”

Matt had no reply. He turned off his phone and laid it on the bed.

“I don’t know where these came from.”

“Liar! They were right here by the bed with all this other shite.” She waved her free hand to indicate the chaos of their bedroom. Not a pit, exactly, but far from neat, with clothes and shoes strewn haphazardly about.

Matt swung himself around to sit on the side of the bed. He rubbed his thigh. “What is wrong with you?”

Siobhan started to reply, let out a sigh instead. She slumped and let the incriminating shoes drop to the floor. “I should have expected this.”

“Expected what?”

“You haven’t been the same since we got back from Ireland.”

“Haven’t been the same?”

“Soon as we landed in Boston, I could tell.”

“How haven’t I been the same?”

“You’ve been distant.”

“I’ve always been distant. You said that’s one of the things you loved about me.”

“Since fucking when?”

“You said you liked the fact that I was able to hang on my own, that I wasn’t . . . clingy.”

“Fuck sake. Don’t change the subject, yeah?” She pointed to the shoes on the floor.

“Whose are these?”

“I said I don’t know! I don’t know where they came from, and I don’t know what’s gotten into you—”

Something moved under the bed.

Siobhan froze and looked at the bed. Matt froze and looked anywhere but the bed.