* * *
"I'm gonna go watch TV!" Hailey shouts, running from the kitchen as my mom grabs her plate and takes it to the sink. I check my phone and then set it back down on the table, disappointed. Becca ended up calling Brian to come pick her up from school earlier, and she hasn't responded to any of my texts since then. I've texted her several times asking if we could talk, and even once apologizing but so far, nothing. To be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Of course, I feel terrible about what happened earlier at practice; that won't change. But the way she's ignoring me is pretty upsetting. I understand her needing time to calm down, but it's been four hours. There's no excuse for this.
So as usual, my emotions are mixed. The only feeling that absolutely never goes away is an overall nervousness deep down in the pit of my stomach. A nervousness which has been gnawing away at me for a week now. A nervousness which comes from not knowing how this whole thing is going to play out. Should I ruin my friendship with Becca, or start being mean to Summer? This question is getting more real by the day. But since I don't think I'm capable of doing either one, I'll just stick to my current plan for as long as I possibly can: wait for Becca to come around.
"Are you sure you don't want any more?" my mom asks, looking down at me with concern.
I was so deep in thought I didn't even notice her walk up. I glance at my plate of rice and gravy, which has barely been touched, and shake my head. "I'm just not hungry."
She smiles despondently. "I wish you would eat a little more." Then she picks up the plate and heads for the counter. "I'll give it to your dad when he gets home."
"How late is he working?" I ask, checking my phone again.
"Probably another hour or so."
I nod as I get up and grab my phone, then walk over and take a seat at the bar.
"Still no text from Becca?" my mom asks, looking back at me.
I shake my head while situating myself on the stool, then I prop my elbows on the bar and rest my face in my hands. I hear the fridge close and my mom walk over and lean back against the counter directly across from me, probably with her arms crossed and a worried expression on her face.
I haven't exactly been spilling details to my parents about the situation, but they know enough. They know there are problems, anyway. When my mom picked me up from school a little while ago, I simply told her Becca and I had gotten into a little argument, and Brian took her home, which I only know because I saw them pulling out the parking lot during practice.
But my mom knows there's more to it than that. If you recall, I can't hide my emotions to save my life or the lives of any of my loved ones. So even though my mom's being really cool about it by not prying or anything like that, she knows I'm not telling her everything. And most of the time, I don't want to tell her anything, much less everything, but on rare occasions like this, when I get overwhelmed and feel the need to talk, it's nice to know she's there waiting.
I ball my hands into fists under my chin and look at her, and just as I had guessed, her arms are folded across her chest and she's looking at me worriedly.
I take a deep breath and cross my forearms on the bar. "I'm scared," I tell her, gazing down at my phone in front of me.
"What happened today?" she asks softly.
I check my phone again, knowing like every other time I haven't received a text because I haven't heard it go off. That never stops me from checking, though.
"Summer and I are kind of becoming friends," I say, cringing. I surely never thought I would hear those words come out of my mouth. And I feel extremely guilty as soon as they're out.
I slowly drag my eyes back up to my mom, wondering what her opinion is on that.
To my relief, she just grins and says, "And I guess Becca's not okay with that."
"Not at all," I say. "Earlier at cheerleading practice, she saw me and Summer and a few other cheerleaders talking and joking around, and she got really upset. That's why she called Brian to come pick her up."
"Oh, okay," Mom nods.
Then all of a sudden my phone buzzes, causing my heart to plummet into my stomach. I jump, reactively scooping it up, but when I look I see a text from Bryson.
"Smile, princess?I'm thinking about you."
My insides slowly start to settle back down as a smile stretches across my face.
"Becca?" My mom asks.
I shake my head. "Bryson."
I take a selfie and send it to him. "Your girl is smiling?you're amazing." I tell him.
He is amazing. This whole thing with Becca has definitely been distracting me from my relationship with him, but he's been nothing but understanding and supportive. He doesn't just call me princess, he treats me like one, and I don't think I can do any wrong in his eyes. He certainly can't do any wrong in mine.
I set my phone down and look back up at my mom.
"What does Bryson think about everything?" she asks.
"We honestly haven't talked all that much about it."
She looks down to the floor in thought. I can tell her brain is working overtime, trying to conjure up a solution.
"I mean, am I doing wrong by talking to Summer and getting along with her?"
"No, you're definitely not doing wrong," Mom quickly says. "It's never wrong to be nice to someone, no matter what the situation is."
"Then what am I supposed to do? Becca thinks I'm doing wrong, and part of me agrees with her."
Noticing my sudden emotional state, my mom walks around the bar to me, drapes my ponytail over my shoulder, and gently places her hands on my cheeks.
"Sweetie?you are the most kind-hearted person I've ever known. And I hope that never changes. I feel bad about what's going on with Becca, but don't ever let anyone convince you that it's wrong to be nice to someone, for any reason?okay?" She lowers her chin and gazes steadily into my eyes, making sure her message has been received. I nod as she kisses my forehead.
"I wish I had a solid answer, honey. But if I were you, I would do exactly what you're doing. Just give Becca some time. Give her space, let her come to you."
I briefly stare down at the bar. "And what if she doesn't come around?" I ask. But what I'm really asking is, "What is plan B?"
I appreciate my mom's advice, and just talking to her is comforting me, but there's absolutely no way Becca's going to suddenly be okay with Summer at some point. It would be like waiting for a rabid dog to get along with a kitten--ain't gonna happen.
"Well, we'll figure that out if it happens. But for now, just give her some time," she says, putting her hand on mine.
Then Carson tears through the kitchen door.
"Hailey's watching CSI in there." He nods back toward the living room as he heads to the fridge.
Mom storms toward the door. "Are you kidding me? I thought we deleted that."
"She must have recorded a rerun!" Carson yells over his shoulder. Then he slaps the lemon-lime Gatorade jug on the bar in front of me and pours himself a glass.
"Want some?" He peeks up at me.
"Sure." I giggle as he retrieves another glass. "CSI?that's a new one."
"Yep. She ain't watching it no more, though," he says proudly as he pours.
I smile and take a sip as he puts the jug back in the fridge.
"So, why is Becca acting all crazy?"
I look at him as he walks back over, wondering first of all how he knows that, and also surprised he's not making fun of her in some way.
"I really don't know. You talked to Mom and Dad about it?"
He shakes his head while swallowing down a mouthful of Gatorade. "Brian."
"Oh," I reply, curious. And I know it's none of my business, but I can't help myself. "What does he think about everything?"
I watch as he takes another giant swig, then sets the glass down and shrugs. "He doesn't know what to think about it. He's embarrassed like hell, though."
I look away and stare at the wall, wondering if she and Brian are getting along. I'm hoping they are
, for Becca's sake.
"Well, let me know if you need to talk, okay?"
"Thanks," I say as he heads toward the living room. Just before he reaches the door, it suddenly flies open and Hailey comes walking through.
They glare at one another as they approach. Carson looks cautious more than anything, while Hailey is straight up pissed. He carefully squints at her as they pass each other.
"What are you looking at?" he snaps.
"Keep moving, numbnuts," Hailey orders, pointing her thumb over her shoulder.
Once he's gone, her face brightens and she skips over and hops on the stool next to me.
"I heard that on TV," she informs me, situating herself on her knees and leaning over on the bar.
I stare at her, bug-eyed. "Mom would kill you if she heard you say that."
"Yeah, I know. That's why I need your discretion," she explains.
As hard as I try to stop it, I begin to laugh. Luckily, Hailey's smart enough to know she can't say those things anywhere else, but that's still no reason to encourage her.
She leans practically her entire body on the bar as she stretches to grab a peppermint from the mint bowl. Then she unwraps it, pops it in her mouth, and asks me why Becca hasn't been around lately.
I can see the concern in her wide blue eyes as she stares at me, her lips all pursed from sucking on the peppermint. I feel horrible.
Becca is like a big sister to her, and aside from me, I think losing Becca would devastate her more than anyone. I'm not sure how much she knows, if anything, so I try to keep it as light and positive as possible.
"We've just had a few arguments, that's all," I tell her, scrunching my nose like it's no big deal. "Everything's gonna be fine."
I smile and push her hair out of her face, hoping I'm not lying to her.
But later as I'm walking upstairs to my room, a strong emptiness fills my stomach, and I feel almost certain I was lying to Hailey. I still haven't heard from Becca, and I'm assuming she wants nothing to do with me.
I sit on the edge of my bed when I get to my room, trying not to cry as I look at my phone. Then I text Bryson.
"I might need a ride to school tomorrow morning."
29
Blowout
I still haven't heard from Becca. Worse than that, she completely abandoned me this morning. I was even ready ten minutes earlier than usual, but when I stepped outside, Mrs. Anna's car was gone. I'm trying hard to control the anger festering inside me as I stand here waiting for Bryson. I know Becca feels hurt and betrayed by me, but this is ridiculous.
Thunder suddenly starts to roar above me. It's one of those long, deep, steady growls which seem to go on forever. It eventually breaks my trance, and as I look up to the sky, noticing the thick, dark gray clouds angrily rolling in, I think of how freakishly symbolic it is to my situation. A storm is brewing, and I'd much rather run back up to my room and not deal with it at all. In Becca's mind, I'm betraying her. In my mind, she's betraying me. And in the middle of it all is Summer, who appears to be one of the good guys now. I find myself pining for the days not so long ago when no one knew about my genius, and Summer was mean to me on a daily basis. Although you couldn't have convinced me at the time, that situation was a piece of cake compared to this one, and I would gladly go back.
As I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and glance down the street, I see Bryson's Jeep heading this way. When he comes to a stop at the end of the driveway, we just gaze at each other as I walk up. He has a sad smile on his face, and his eyes are overflowing with sympathy. When I open the door, he reaches over and takes my backpack so I can hop in. "Hey, there."
"Hey." I smile blandly as he sets my backpack down next to my feet. Then he cups the back of my head, carefully pulls me to him, and softly kisses my lips. As upset and distracted as I am from everything right now, he still manages to easily incite goose bumps all over my body.
Then he pulls back and kisses my cheek just past my lips. As he moves away from me, all I can do is mumble as I slowly open my eyes. "Thanks for coming to get me," I manage to say.
"Anything you need, beautiful." Then he lowers his eyes, scanning my body. "The away game was canceled because of the storm coming in, if you wanted to change out of your uniform before we leave."
"Oh?why did you dress up?"
"Coach just texted me a few minutes ago."
I nod, then grin suggestively. "I'll stay in this."
I know Bryson won't have a problem with that decision at all. And sure enough?
"Yes!" he shouts to himself, facing forward and shifting into gear.
I raise my shoulder to my cheek, looking at him flirtatiously. "Oh, so you like this outfit, do you?"
"It's hideous," he says, with his usual mock serious expression. "I'm just pumped about school today, you know, education!"
I toss my head back and laugh. He laughs along with me as I grab his hand firmly, pulling each one of his fingers tightly into place between mine.
Then, after the laughter dies down, an eerie silence fills the Jeep for the next couple minutes. We both just sit there, holding hands and gazing straight ahead. I start to think about the situation with Becca, but mainly I'm wondering if he's thinking about the situation with Becca. Bryson always knows how to make me laugh and take my mind off things, but he has no idea how to approach this subject. Frankly, I wouldn't know how to either if I was him. He knows how important Becca is to me and how fragile this whole thing has made me.
But sitting here with my hand in his, our fingers intertwined securely, I feel comforted. Whether he knows it or not, he's the glue holding me together. The way he's so patient, caring, and understanding; the way he makes me laugh on the spot; and the way he somehow, without speaking a single word, makes me feel like no matter what happens, he's there and ready to give me anything and everything I need. I surely couldn't do without that right now. And even though I thank him constantly, I wish there was some way I could actually repay him.
I peek over at him, keeping my head still so he doesn't notice. His expression is completely stoic and still. He's just staring down the road through blank eyes, lost in another world. Assuming he's trying to decide whether or not to ask me about Becca, I look down, nervously fiddling with my skirt, and ask, "Do you think I shouldn't be friends with Summer?"
He glances at me, presses his lips together, then looks back to the road in thought.
"No, I think you should be friends with her. You definitely shouldn't be mean to her, you know." He looks at me as I nod. "But the situation with Becca?" He trails off, looking back to the road, once again pressing his lips together and shaking his head in thought. Bryson knows the situation well. Along with the things I've told him, he witnessed Summer's behavior toward me in the past and also Becca's retaliation. He knows how much they hate one another, so he understands the unique and complicated nature of this whole thing.
He sucks in a sharp breath, then basically gives the same solution my mom and I have already come up with. The only reasonable solution that exists, really.
"I guess all you can do is wait for her to cool off. Then maybe you'll be able to sit her down and really talk to her."
I face forward, trying not to get emotional as Bryson squeezes my hand. "Let's just wait and see what happens," he says. And when he looks at me, I see the desperation in his eyes. "If I could make it all better, I would, princess."
"You are making it better. Promise." I lean over and kiss his cheek. Then we come around the curve approaching Stargate, and I become a complete ball of nerves.
We sit in Bryson's Jeep until the bell rings. And by the time we get to the main hall, I'm so nervous I'm shaking like a leaf. My eyes are scanning the crowded hallway, frantically searching for Becca. But not because I want to talk to her; I want to avoid her. The last thing I want to do is stir up trouble and make things worse.
Luckily, she's nowhere to be found as I make my way to my locker, which can only mean she's already in class. When I fina
lly approach homeroom, I'm feeling so awkward and uncomfortable I can barely stand it.
I walk in and see her sitting in her chair, slightly slouched down with one leg draped over the other and her arms crossed over her chest. I can tell she noticed me because as soon as I looked at her, she threw her eyes down to her desk.
I throw my backpack over the back of my chair, take a seat, then look over at her again. I start to wonder what I've really done to deserve this and as class goes on, I get increasingly angry.
I start to think about how she ignored me yesterday, just like she's doing now. I think about the apology text I sent to her and all the other ones pleading with her to talk to me.
I know the plan was to leave her alone, but by the time class is over, I have a new plan in mind. A plan formed out of anger and clouded judgment.
I load up my books as I watch her speed-walk to the door, her angry eyes staying glued to the floor in front of her. Once she's out of the room, I see her turn in the direction of our lockers, and when I step into the hall, I pick up the pace to make sure she doesn't get away. I can see her quickly swapping out books at her locker as I swiftly weave around and between people, completely unaware of who I'm even passing up along the way. Come to think of it, I haven't noticed anyone so far this morning other than Becca and Bryson. Not even Summer or Holly.
My heart begins pounding out of my chest and my stomach throbs with anxiety as I close in on her. And just as I'm walking up, she slams her locker shut and zips right by me.
"Hey! Are you gonna talk to me?" I yell, frowning as I turn around and raise my hands.
She stops in her tracks, freezing for a few seconds, then she spins around and looks me in the eyes.
Her expression is uncaring, as if she'd rather be in Hell than doing this right now. Even her demeanor is ice cold. She's cradling a book tightly to her chest with her hip out and her toe pointed.
Despite all that, it's still refreshing to see her acknowledge me at all. Even though it's only been a couple days, it feels like a lifetime.
She squeezes her lips together and shrugs, her eyes remaining steady on mine. "You wanted to talk," she reminds me, her tone flat and business-like, as if I'm a stranger.
"Yeah, why didn't you respond to any of my texts last night?"
She just shrugs again. "Why do you care? You have a new group of friends."
Her voice remains impersonal, and her eyes are now angry. Even though we haven't talked for a couple days, I'm shocked at how detached she seems to be. She's standing there as still as a statue, waiting for this to be over so she can move on.
I squint at her. "So you just think I don't want to be friends with you anymore?"
"I don't know, you tell me," she replies. "You know it's either me or Summer?and it looks like you've made your choice."
"Why does there have to be a choice, Becca? Why do I have to hate her in order to be friends with you? It's so shitty of you to put me in this position."
"Shitty of me?" She raises her eyebrows accusingly. "I protected you from that snobby bitch and her robot friends, and now you've turned your back on me for them," she fumes, tossing her thumb in the direction of Summer's locker. Her eyebrows are now pulled down with rage, making it clear just how unfixable this situation is.
"I'm not turning my back on you."
"No?" she quickly responds. "What about her party the other night? You promised you would leave with me if she threw me out."
"I did promise I would leave if she threw you out, but she didn't throw you out, Becca. She threw you out after you threw beer all over her." I point at her angrily. "I've asked you repeatedly to give Summer a chance."
"I'm not giving Summer a chance," she growls, each word slow and precise. "She didn't just go to bed one night a bully, and then wake up the next morning a great humanitarian. Things don't work that way, Dori?as smart as you are, I figured you'd know that."
I nod, then cross my arms and shrug. "So, tell me how things work then, Becca. Should people give their best friend an ultimatum? Demand they be mean to someone or else?"
"Absolutely, if their best friend betrays the shit out of them," she says, strongly emphasizing 'best friend.'
Although we're keeping our voices relatively low, our words are stinging like never before. Both our stances are defensive as we stand here, staring at each other in silence. But there's now a hint of sadness in the air along with the anger. I'm even detecting a bit of shock and desperation from her, and I know those emotions are spilling from my eyes, as well. It doesn't look like we're going to find a common ground, and despite my anger toward her, that terrifies me.
I slowly shake my head, still frowning. "I give up, Becca. You win. Screw Summer. I'll just follow your lead every day and bully her and harass her and push her around. I'll even try my best to get as much pleasure out of it as you do," I say, my tone full of acid.
"No, you know what, don't even bother," she insists, narrowing her eyes and raising her hands at me. And as soon as she does that, I feel my chin start to quiver.
"You just go ahead and stick with Summer. You and her seem to be a lot alike these days." Her eyes turn red and swell with tears before she finishes her sentence. Then she slowly starts backing away.
"So, now you're gonna push us both around?" I ask, my voice breaking up.
She shakes her head as a tear escapes down her cheek. "Y'all aren't worth it."
Then she turns and takes off.
I swirl around and bury my head in my locker. Then I burst into tears. As hard as I tried, there was no stopping it; it literally just exploded out of me. Now, as the tears come pouring out uncontrollably, I'm grimacing and squeezing my eyes together tightly as my upper body convulses violently.
I feel a hand gently slide across the back of my neck and then rest on my shoulder, and I know it's Bryson.
"I'm sorry," I hear him say. But I just continue sobbing. I pull my hands up to wipe my face just as he starts rubbing my shoulder. Then I feel him scooting up behind me as close as he can, trying to shield me from everyone.
After a couple more minutes of some light, shoulder-shaking aftershocks, I finally calm down to a few residual sniffles. Then the bell rings.
Needless to say, the rest of the day was a blur. And as soon as I get home, I head upstairs, lock myself in my room, and don't come out until morning.
30
Free Fall
There's only one other time in my life I remember being depressed. It was when Buddy, my German Shepherd, died.
Buddy and I had a special relationship. One day, when I was eight years old, my mom--who was pregnant with Hailey at the time--Dad, Carson and I were driving through the grocery store parking lot looking for a place to park when I noticed a man sitting in front of the store, right next to a small pen filled with German Shepherd puppies. My eyes widened with excitement when I saw the "Free Puppies" sign. I rolled my window down and stuck my head out as we approached, and I kid you not, Buddy pulled his big brown eyes up to mine, threw his fluffy paw up on the wire mesh, and watched me closely as we slowly passed.
I grabbed my dad's shirt and my mom's hand as we were walking up to the store, aggressively pulling them in the direction of the puppies. And through an ambush of begging, pleading, and even a small flood of dramatic tears, they eventually agreed to let me take Buddy home. It was the start of a spectacular three-way friendship.
Becca, Buddy, and I did everything together. We played together, we ate together, we napped together, we laughed and cried together?the three of us were inseparable.
Then, just before my twelfth birthday, a tumor which we didn't even know Buddy had suddenly ruptured in his stomach, and we had to put him to sleep.
Becca and I were crushed. We cried for days--it was pretty much the only time I've seen Becca cry, until now--but we had each other to lean on. The experience was extremely traumatic, and I'm not sure how I would have gotten through it without Becca.
So how in the world am I supposed
to get through this? Becca was never supposed to leave my side the way Buddy did; she was supposed to be there forever. She was supposed to be a shoulder for me to cry on, life-long security to help me through the hard times, and vice versa.
Even though I have my family, Bryson, Holly, Summer, Alison, Alex, and basically the entire school, I've never felt so alone?because of the absence of one person. My heart is torn apart, and the pain in my stomach is paralyzing. I can't do the simplest things which used to make me happy, like listening to the Taylor Swift CD Bryson made for me--or any music for that matter--watching the Kardashians, reading, eating?it all reminds me of Becca. I can hardly even look at the comfy green recliner.
I assume this is a lot like a break-up, only a thousand times worse. I would even venture to say that very few people in this world--if any--are as close as Becca and I are--or were. We've been attached at the hip our entire lives, and even though she's still only a couple doors down, it feels as though we're worlds apart.
I do have a lot of people I can turn to for comfort. But I would trade them all for Becca in a heartbeat. She's the only person who completes me, who balances me out, who understands me on every level. Everyone else could disappear from my life except for her, and I wouldn't feel even a fraction of the loneliness I feel right now.
And every time I think about what she must be going through, I collapse into tears. Unlike me, she has nobody. According to Holly and Carson, her relationship with Brian is on thin ice, and she's also borderline ostracized at school now. The only reason people don't downright pick on her is because they know I'll get upset.
So as broken as I am, her situation is definitely more intense than mine. I can tell how overwhelmed she's been because she doesn't talk to or even look at anyone; she just zooms from class to class with her head down, and sneaks into the library during lunch period to be alone.
Wednesday, the day after our argument, we didn't talk or cross paths at all. We stayed far away from one another. But Thursday, even though we kept our distance at school, I texted her quite a few times after I got home, telling her how miserable I was and asking if she was okay. I even begged her twice to let me come over so we could talk, but she never responded.
Then today when she pulled a no-show at school, I had Bryson run me home before the game, and I went straight to her house and rang the doorbell. Mrs. Anna's car was in the driveway, so she obviously left work early to come check on Becca.
I rang the doorbell three times?but believe it or not, no one came to the door. I was stunned. I turned around, wiping my eyes--which are constantly red and puffy these days--and headed back to Bryson's Jeep. Becca must have insisted Mrs. Anna not answer the door.
"Are they not home?" Bryson asked, turning and looking behind us while backing out of the driveway.
I sniffled as I began to text. "Yeah, they are."
"Please, just tell me Becca's okay," I sent to Mrs. Anna. She immediately responded.
"She's okay, sweetie."
I leaned my head back on the seat and breathed a sigh of relief. That made things better for a while.
But as I'm standing here on the baseline in formation, staring at the empty spot on the bleachers where Becca normally sits, I wonder if Mrs. Anna was just saying that. I wonder if maybe she's in fact so scared and worried about Becca, that she figured there was no sense in putting me through that, too. I start to wonder what condition Becca's truly in, and I automatically assume the worst.
Just as I start trying to figure out my next move--while fighting back tears--the crowd erupts, obliterating my concentration as I whip my eyes back to the court. I see Bryson doing a fist-pump as both teams walk to their benches.
Holly spins around and looks at me, all excited and hopping around, and goes, "Bryson just scored another three!"
I force a smile as I look over at Bryson, clapping my pom poms together. There's only three-and-a-half minutes left, and if it wasn't for Holly's constant updates regarding Bryson, and also for the massive scoreboard telling me we're ahead by fourteen points, I wouldn't be able to tell you squat about this game. Even though I know Bryson doesn't care one bit, I feel absolutely horrible about that, so I force myself to pay attention the rest of the game, and we end up winning by twelve points.
I look at Bryson, smiling and clapping excitedly. He smiles back, but there's a lot more sadness and worry in his expression than there is happiness. He knows I'm forcing this excitement, and underneath is nothing but a shattered soul. Still, I force a wider smile as I flash a glance at the scoreboard and then right back at him, giving two enthusiastic thumbs up. He smiles smugly in response, brushing his shoulder off as if it was a piece of cake. And I find myself giggling out loud--a genuine giggle, not a forced one--as I watch him head to the locker room with the team.
"That was a good game," Holly smiles.
I roll my eyes, frustrated with myself. "Thanks for keeping me posted."
"No problem." As Holly pats me on the shoulder, I suddenly notice Summer walking toward us. As soon as I look at her, she smiles at me sympathetically, and her steps become slow and cautious.
Summer's been really fantastic about this whole thing. She knows she's at the center of my problems, and she's done nothing but give me space and keep her distance since my blowout argument with Becca on Tuesday. She's fully aware that the situation will only get worse if Becca sees us talking, so she's been respectful by staying away. And I have to say, that doesn't help Becca's theory that Summer's up to no good. Summer could do some major damage here if she wanted to, while still coming off as sweet and innocent. But she's not. Even though I'm appreciative, Summer's just making it more and more difficult for me to entertain the thought of giving her the cold shoulder and shutting her out. But I'm afraid that's the path I'm on.
As she walks up, her expression overflowing with concern, I try to imagine myself ignoring her. I imagine myself simply turning and walking away when she gets to me, just leaving her hanging, and then never speaking to her or acknowledging her ever again. But I think I'd rather poke my eyes out than do that to someone. Especially someone who's being so nice and just wants to be my friend.
So instead, I just stand here and smile as she walks up, gives me a hug, and then asks me how I'm doing. She even asks about Becca.
"I haven't really talked to her," I say, trying to hold it together.
"Was she at home all day?" Holly asks.
I nod, now biting my bottom lip to keep it from shaking.
I look back at Summer, who's now gazing at the ground and shaking her head. "Dori, I'm really sorry about all of this," she says, looking up at me. Her eyes are filled with guilt, even though there's no reason for her to feel guilty.
Then, before I can respond, she says, "If you think we shouldn't be friends, I completely understand that."
Wait, what? Are you kidding me? I definitely didn't see that one coming. Summer basically just let me off the hook. But believe it or not, instead of taking her up on her offer with a jumbo smile, I shake my head, frowning deeply and say, "No, no, Becca will come around eventually."
I feel like the biggest tool in the world. Summer handed me the key to my freedom on a silver platter, and I slapped it back in her face. I'm about as soft as it gets.
Then I realize it doesn't matter anyway. An agreement between me and Summer to not talk anymore for Becca's sake won't do the trick. My feelings toward Summer have to be genuinely unwelcoming; hostile, even.
And even though I feel slightly relieved that I didn't just blow a golden opportunity, I also feel my chest start to tighten. This whole situation is starting to seem more impossible by the hour, and I'm feeling truly trapped now.
Just as I'm about to start bawling uncontrollably right here in front of everyone, Summer begins telling me about another party she's having next Saturday night for Halloween weekend. Luckily, I'm able to hold back the tears.
"Anyway, I just wanted to let you know about it," she says, nervously picking at her finger
tips. "I totally understand if you don't want to come. I just wanted to make sure you knew."
I sniffle from the flood of tears that nearly escaped a second ago. "Thanks?we'll see," I shrug. Then after Summer hugs me again, Holly and I grab our bags and head for the door.
I wipe my eyes as we walk out the gym and approach my mom, dad, and Hailey.
"Holly!" Hailey yells, running up and hugging her around the waist.
My jaw drops in disbelief, and I raise my hands in shock. "What about me?"
Mom, Dad, and Holly laugh.
Hailey giggles as she unwraps herself from Holly and then latches onto me. "I'm sorry. It was dark and I thought you were Holly," she explains, totally forgetting she yelled Holly's name. Which is surprising because Hailey usually covers her tracks well.
Just as I'm about to pick her up and 'fuss' her and tickle her and force her to say that I'm her most favorite person in the entire world, she peeks around me and spots her true favorite person.
"Bryson!" she roars, releasing me like a piece of trash and then darting toward him.
We all laugh again.
"Y'all can't compete with Bryson!" my dad exclaims. We can't help but agree.
I turn and see Bryson walking toward us in his khakis and white t-shirt with his Stargate duffle bag slung over his shoulder.
Then Hailey leaps up on him like a giant cat, forcing him to catch her with his free arm. Once he has her situated and secure on his side, her arms now all wrapped around his neck, they start chit-chatting away--I assume about the game--as if they're best friends who haven't seen each other in ten years.
As soon as they walk up, Bryson looks at all of us, his face suddenly serious, and says, "Did anyone lose a little blond girl?"
We laugh--including Hailey--while Bryson's expression remains serious.
"I was just wondering." His wide eyes travel from me to Holly and then to my parents. "She just fell in my lap. I have no idea what to do with her."
My mom points to the massive green container just past the gym. "Just go throw her over there in the dumpster."
"Yeah, and close the lid," I add, narrowing my eyes at Hailey.
"Aww?they are so mean, huh, Hailey?" Holly says.
Of course, Hailey plays the victim, sticking her bottom lip way out and nodding.
"Whatever," I giggle. Then Dad changes the subject.
"Well, Bryson, that was a heck of a game."
"It really was," Mom agrees. "How many points did you score?"
"Thirty-six," Dad responds briskly.
Bryson nods. "Yep, and they were the number three team in the league, too, so we're knocking down the top teams."
I vaguely hear my parents and Holly respond, but as they continue talking about the game, I gaze off into the parking lot and quickly reach a point where I can't hear a word they're saying. My mind becomes so distracted, it's as if I've shoved earplugs deep into my ears. Strangely, even when I look back at them, the world stays silent. I can only see their mouths moving.
As I watch them all laughing and talking and joking around, the only thing I can think about is Becca, and how she's not standing next to me right now, laughing along with everyone. And when I think about what she's doing right now, or how she's doing, I find myself fighting back tears yet again.
My hearing suddenly returns when Brad and Trent walk up. After Bryson introduces them to my parents and they all talk for a minute, and after dragging Hailey off Bryson--which was a bitch, but only for my mom--we all scatter and head to our vehicles.
Bryson grabs my bag from me, then pulls his blue, long-sleeve shirt from his bag and wraps it around me. There's a cool breeze in the air tonight for the first time this season, and he must have noticed I was chilly. I quickly slide my arms into the sleeves.
"I noticed you shivering a minute ago by the gym," he says, putting his arm around me and squeezing me tightly to his side.
"Thanks," I smile. As I wrap my arms around his waist, I'm thinking he must have also noticed how upset I was if he noticed me shivering. It makes me feel good that he notices every little thing about me, even when I think he doesn't. I'm the same way with him, which means his feelings must be as strong as mine. I truly hope they are.
When we get to the Jeep, he sets our bags down on the hood, then gently pulls me in front of him and looks me in the eyes.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
I stare back into his eyes--which I can barely see in the half-lit parking lot--with every intention of forcing another smile and telling him I'm fine. But it doesn't exactly work out that way.
I nod twice, then the next thing I know I'm grimacing, and my forehead hits his chest?then the floodgates open. Another torrent of uncontrollable, unstoppable, and embarrassing tears comes gushing out. Awesome.
I sling my hands up to my face to try to silence myself as much as possible, but it doesn't do a whole lot of good. I just feel like the biggest whiny baby on the planet. I am an emotional person, but I've definitely never cried this much before. And while it is true that I've also never been through anything this traumatic, my complete lack of control over these sudden, vicious outpourings of emotion is certainly disturbing.
Bryson hugs me tightly with both arms as I continue to soak his chest and the sleeves of his dress shirt, which fall well past my fingertips.
"It's okay," Bryson says repeatedly, kissing the top of my head. I feel awful about putting him through this. I also feel scared. What if he gets to the point where he doesn't want to deal with this anymore?
I slowly look up at him, wiping my nose and eyes with his sleeves.
"I'm sorry," I tell him, barely getting the words out as I take a huge, deep breath.
"Hey, don't apologize to me, okay? I'm the one who's sorry?I'm sorry you're going through this." He leans down and gently kisses my wet cheek. Then he grabs my arms and places them snugly around his neck, wrapping his arms around me and picking me up to his level.
"And don't think you're getting rid of me, princess." He kisses my cheek again. "You're stuck with me."
I smile widely. "Good," I murmur, burying my face in his neck. He obviously sensed my insecurity, and he couldn't have chosen better words to make me feel safe.
"I think we need to hang out tomorrow night," he says. "Just you and me, like we planned yesterday."
I nod, my face still buried. Then I pull my head back until we're nose to nose.
"Definitely." I gaze into his eyes, sniffling. He grins as I cup the back of his head and press my lips to his. Then he cradles me in his arms, brings me around the Jeep, and sets me gently in the passenger seat. As I watch him walk back around, all I can think about is tomorrow night. It should definitely be fun?and interesting.
31
Unforgettable Night
Okay, so here's the deal about tonight, in case you were wondering.
Thursday at lunch, just two days after Becca and I had it out in front of our lockers, Bryson took his seat next to me in the caf, placed two brownies on my tray--which I couldn't force myself to eat--and then took a deep breath.
"I'm gonna take you out Saturday night, to try to get your mind off everything," he said, concerned.
I looked up at him, my eyes puffy and cherry red, and explained to him there's not a restaurant, movie theater, bowling alley, or any place at all in this town for that matter, that doesn't remind me of Becca. Not only do these places remind me of her, I could tell a detailed story of something funny, sad, or weird that happened at each of these places while Becca and I were there. There's just no getting around it; everything and everywhere reminds me of Becca. Especially my own house.
Bryson then pressed his lips together and his eyes dropped to the table.
"Well, my house shouldn't remind you of her, huh?" he asked after thinking for a minute.
My eyes widened and I shook my head emphatically. I mean, duh?obviously.
"No, not at all," I replied. "I don't know why I didn't think about that."
But then he nodded and looked down at his tray, as if he suddenly realized there was a dilemma. Before I could ask him what was wrong, he looked right back up at me and said, "The only problem with that, though, is my mom's not gonna be home. She and Uncle Mike are going to Mississippi for the weekend to visit a cousin they grew up with."
And if you think you know what my response was?brace yourself for this one.
I actually shrugged my shoulders nonchalantly and went, "So?"
His eyebrows flew up in surprise, as if he totally wasn't expecting that. Hell, I shouldn't have been expecting that. But the fact of the matter is I'm so desperate to get out of my house and away from all things Becca that I just didn't care. Under normal circumstances--even though I would probably consider it--I'm pretty sure I wouldn't do it for a couple of reasons.
First of all, I wouldn't want to lie to my parents. Secondly, I wouldn't want to risk losing control with Bryson. The two of us alone in a house together for hours?that could be disastrous.
But I do think I could ultimately control myself, especially considering my emotional state right now. So that just leaves my mom and dad.
"You're okay with that? What would you tell your parents?" Bryson asked, searching my face nervously.
"I'll think of something," I replied.
He nodded slowly, and I could see the uncertainty on his face. "Okay. We can talk more about it tomorrow, too. We'll see how you feel about it then." Then we just stared at each other and nodded.
And now here I am, sitting on my bed--facing away from the comfy green recliner--with the blinds closed, impatiently picking at the strap of my purse as I wait for Bryson to come pick me up. He said he was cooking for me tonight, and even though I haven't really eaten all week, I promised him I would try, which was enough to make him smile. But food or no food, I'm so ready for him to come pick me up. Aside from the fact I just want to see him--like always--I seriously don't know how much longer I can sit in this house. I can't even put into words how miserable this day has been. If I didn't have tonight to look forward to, it probably would have been my worst day yet.
Mom and Dad took Hailey and one of her friends to the zoo, and then they were taking them to Golf n' Bowl, a cute little bowling alley in Baton Rouge with arcade games and a putt-putt course. I don't know where Carson has been, but I assume probably with Audrey. And Bryson's been at work. So I've been alone in this house the entire day and trust me, it hasn't been easy. I pretty much stayed parked on the sofa in front of the TV, trying to keep my mind off things. But knowing Becca was only a few steps away, locked in her room in who knows what kind of condition, has kept me in tears. Against my better judgment, I broke down and texted her a few times.
First, I simply asked if she was okay. Then several minutes later, I texted, "How long is this gonna go on?" Then several minutes after that, I pleaded with her, "PLEASE please let me come over so we can figure this out."
But all three texts went unanswered. Then I called Holly to ask if she was going to come see Becca today, since I asked her to last night at the game, but she said Becca texted her saying she wasn't up for company. I figured that would happen.
I cried on and off for the next few hours, nervously biting my thumbnail while trying to decide whether or not to just go barge into her bedroom, uninvited. I ultimately decided against that. And as the day went on, my thoughts gradually shifted to Bryson and the night ahead and I started to feel a little better. I was determined to enjoy this evening; not only for myself, but for Bryson.
I finally feel my phone buzzing in my hands. "Bout to pull up foxy woman."
A wide, excited smile stretches across my face as I hop up and stick my phone in my purse. Then I slip on my Nike flip-flops and make a quick stop in front of the mirror for a final inspection. I twirl around, pulling my blue, fitted Express tee down just over the top of my dark, boot-cut jeans. Bryson told me to dress comfy and casual when I asked him a little while ago. "Tonight's all about a good meal and relaxation," he texted with a winky face.
I rush downstairs to meet him outside, since my mom was adamant about Bryson not coming anywhere near the front door due to the fact that I'm home alone. She stared into my eyes, pointed her finger at me, and told me she was going to trust me. I can't tell you how sick I felt as I stared back at her. She had no idea that Bryson coming to the door should be the least of her concerns.
This morning when she asked me what we were doing tonight, I told her we were going to go eat and then maybe do something afterwards, but we didn't know what. Then, word for word, she simply asked, "What are y'all gonna eat?" So I shrugged and said Bryson wouldn't tell me.
So the cookie crumbled in my favor, and I didn't have to lie to her directly. But honestly, that didn't make it any better. This night would be absolutely perfect if Ms. Brenda could be home, because it's not like Bryson and I concocted this whole thing so we could have sex or anything like that. We could've already done that if we wanted to. I just want to be somewhere where nothing but great memories exists. Great memories which don't involve Becca. And Bryson's house is the only place that fits the bill.
When I open the door, I see Bryson walking around the front of the Jeep.
"Hey," I smile, turning around and locking the deadbolt. As I begin heading toward him, I brush a strand of hair behind my ear and glance over at Becca's house. I don't know what I expected to see other than Mrs. Anna's car and Mr. Brett's truck; I guess I just couldn't help looking.
"Hey," Bryson says as I approach. Then he leans down and kisses me. "Have you talked to her today?" he asks, his voice low as he opens the door for me.
I shake my head and climb in.
His eyes fill with disappointment as he closes the door and then walks around. As we pull out the driveway, I'm definitely content to not talk about Becca anymore.
"So, what are we eating tonight?" I ask, grinning slyly at him as we pull out the neighborhood.
"You wish, princess," he says with a mock scowl. "You just mind your business."
I rock forward in laughter. "I'm sorry, I had to try. I'm a hungry girl." I playfully pout and straighten my hair in front of my shoulders. I even try a few more times to trick him into telling me before we get to his house, but he doesn't budge.
"Okay, Miss Nosy, we're here." He kisses the back of my hand. "Stay right there, gorgeous." He smiles at me, then shifts into park and hops out. When he walks around the Jeep, his head passes directly in front of the sun, which is now beginning to set behind the trees far off in the pasture.
He opens the door and takes my hand as I step out. "Watch your step there, madam," he says in a silly voice.
Then he shuts the door and swoops me up, spinning me around while holding my hand outstretched as if we're dancing.
A quiet "Woo" escapes from my lips as I tilt my head back and close my eyes. Then, as he stops spinning, he gently kisses my lips. I tighten my grip around his neck, and the gentle kiss quickly becomes a more intense, open-mouth kiss.
When it finally ends--holy Hell?amazing--he sets me down on wobbly legs (of course), grabs my hand, and leads me to the back door.
I pop him on the shoulder. "Why must you do this to me?"
"Because you're so damn ridiculously pretty I just can't help myself," he responds as we approach the back door and then stop. Then he gestures to a small banner across the top of the door. "Welcome to Bryson's Caf?," he says, looking at me and grinning.
I glance at him and then back up to the banner as I begin to smile. It says in big, blue letters "Bryson's Caf?." And underneath, in smaller black letters, it says, 'Reserved tonight for Dori Woodsen.'
I'm now smiling a super-wide, open-mouth smile as I look up at him. "That's awesome!"
"Ahh, wait til you taste the food," he says, wagging his finger by his face. He leans over and kisses my cheek, then digs his keys out of his pocket and opens the door. As soon as I walk in, Humphrey and Bogart rush me--naturally--causing Bryson and me to laugh.
"These a
re my chief security officers," Bryson informs me, closing the door and then walking to the kitchen to turn on the light.
I lean down to pet Humphrey and Bogart. "Hey! Hey there, guys, how are y'all doin'?"
Bryson stands there, grinning and watching with his hands on his hips. "Yeah, they're a little pushy, but I keep them on the payroll. They keep people from running out without paying."
I look up at him and laugh. "So, how many people have they slaughtered so far?"
"Shh." He presses his finger to his lips.
Then after taking me back from Humphrey and Bogart, Bryson leads me down the long, narrow hallway to the living room.
"So, this is the waiting area," he says, turning on the two lamps on the end tables as I set my purse down on the recliner. Then he takes my hand and gently pulls me toward the sofa and sits me down. Once my bare feet are propped up on the coffee table, and my arms are resting comfortably on two soft, fluffy pillows now snug by my sides--which was all done by Bryson; he won't let me do anything on my own--Bryson pulls his iPhone out of his pocket, cues it up to a Metallica greatest hits playlist, and then hands it to me along with the headphones on the coffee table.
"For your listening pleasure while you wait, my dear." He leans in and kisses my lips, which are totally frozen into a smile at this point.
Then he grabs the TV and DVD remotes and cues the TV to the main menu of the original Exorcist movie, which I freaking love.
"For your viewing pleasure, my dear." He leans down and kisses me again. And this time, I throw my hand behind his neck before he can back away, to prolong the kiss.
"Don't get all rough with me," he says quietly, his nose touching mine. "I'll have to get my security officers involved."
I smile and shrug. "Go ahead. They love me more than they love you."
"True." He rolls his eyes.
Then I kiss him again as Bogart watches, unamused.
"I'm gonna go start making dinner. I'll be back in to check on you, princess." He kisses my nose and then takes off down the hall. But before I can even put the headphones on, he comes back in.
"By the way, you can take this chunk of terror out of my house now," he says, slapping my book down on the end table.
"Did you finish reading it?" I ask excitedly.
But he just glares at me over his shoulder--his expression goofy/serious as usual--until he disappears into the hallway. "That's all I'm gonna say about that!" he yells.
I fling my head back on the sofa and laugh. I'll take that as a regretful yes, and leave it at that.
I put the headphones on and plug them in, and as I gaze at Bryson's phone, then glance up at the TV screen, I realize how perfectly he planned all this out. Metallica is the first band he and I listened to together, so it reminds me of him right now way more than it reminds me of Becca. As far as The Exorcist goes, I told him a while back it was the one movie Becca always refused to watch with me because it scared her too much. He's definitely doing an amazing job of keeping my mind off her. And even though she crept in a second ago, it doesn't last long. Before I know it, I'm frowning and aggressively bobbing my head to the music while watching homegirl's head spin around. And trust me, I couldn't be happier.
All of a sudden, I see Bryson lean down and put a single slice of cheese on a plate on the coffee table, along with a half-filled glass of water.
I pause the music and the TV and pull the headphones down around my neck. When I look up at him, I burst into laughter. He's wearing a ridiculous pink apron--which I assume belongs to his mom--I hope it does, anyway--with ruffled edges, and it says 'Kiss the Chef' right smack on the front of it. He's practically busting out of it as I can see the majority of his grey Abercrombie t-shirt, and it only comes down an inch or so past his belt.
I swear, I don't know which is funnier: this obnoxious-yet-incredible apron, or the water and cheese appetizer.
He stands there staring at me with his hands in the air and his eyes all wide and serious.
"What? That's your appetizer."
I sit up and reach toward his chest, still laughing my butt off, then grab his shirt and pull him down to kiss him.
"There you go, chef."
"Nice," he smiles, backing away.
"Okay, now what in the world am I supposed to do with this?" I ask, my tone sassy as I look at the cheese and water.
He stares at me again in silence, the mock seriousness of his expression cracking me up almost as much as the apron and this lame-ass appetizer.
"Well, ain't that a son of a?you know what, that's just fine," he mutters to himself, grabbing the cheese and water. As he storms out, he unwraps the cheese and shoves the whole thing into his mouth just before disappearing into the hall.
I continue cracking up, only now my eyes are closed and I'm curled up on my side, clenching my stomach and trying to keep Bogart from licking my face. I honestly think I've laughed more in the two-and-a-half weeks I've been dating Bryson than I have in my entire life. And it's obviously much needed right now.
I finally pull myself back into a seated position, my stomach now aching and my eyes watering. After sitting here and wiping my eyes for a few seconds, my laugh finally fades down to a smile. Then I kick my feet back up, re-adjust my pillows, and put the headphones back on.
Before I can grab the TV remote, however, I see Bryson lean down in front of me again, this time placing a huge, fancy party cheese tray on the table along with a tall glass of Coke with crushed ice.
My mouth drops open in amazement as I glance up at him and pull the headphones from my ears. Then I pull my feet down, sit up, and lean toward it. There's four sections with four different types of cubed cheese: American, cheddar, Swiss, and pepper jack. And in the middle of the tray is a tube of toothpicks and a small cup filled with what looks to be Italian dressing.
"This?looks?so?yummy."
"Right?" he nods, pleased with himself. "And?" he continues, pointing to his apron with both hands and grinning. When I look, I see a sheet of loose-leaf paper dangling from his chest, covering the apron logo, with the words 'Make Love to the Chef' written on it with an ink pen. Before I know it, once again I'm laughing hysterically with my head dropped back on the sofa and my arms crossed over my stomach. Then I jump up and grab his shirt, pulling him toward the back hallway that leads to his bedroom. But he quickly comes to a stop.
"Hey, hey! Now, wait a minute?you have to at least buy me a drink first," he frowns, scooping me up and carrying me back to the couch. "What kind of girl do you think I am?" He looks at me, appalled. And now I'm laughing so hard, I can't even breathe. It's one of those crippling, silent, open-mouthed laughs that usually only happens to kids. But the thing is, I am a kid when I'm with Bryson. Because that's basically what he is: a seventeen-year-old kid. His playfulness is one of the main things I love about him, and I definitely hope it stays that way.
He sets me back down on the couch between the pillows, then kisses me on the cheek and takes off to the kitchen again, followed closely by Humphrey. When I finally stop laughing, I sit up, wiping my eyes and blowing out a deep breath. Then I start tearing into this scrumptious-looking cheese platter.
Bogart's eyes stay fixed on the cheese cubes as I repeatedly stab them with the toothpick, dip them in the dressing, and then bring them to my mouth. He's eye-level with me, and his face is about six inches from mine. Luckily, he and Humphrey are trained not to eat table food, because I'm not sure I would be able to stop him if he went for it.
"I'm sorry, buddy," I say, petting his head and kissing his cheek. "I'd give you some if I could."
After another four or five cubes?okay, twelve or fifteen cubes, whatever?and a few more monstrous swigs of Coke, I decide to call it quits so I don't get too full. But that doesn't stop Bogart from staring at the tray.
I lean back and toss my feet back up, crossing them on the table as I crank up the music and movie again. I'm totally relaxed now that there's actually some food in my belly. So I just kick back, rock out, a
nd pet Bogart on the head while I wait for the main course.
After another twenty minutes or so of watching poor Regan flop around on her bed like a drunk fish out of water, scaring the daylights out of her mom, the doctors, the priests, and pretty much anyone else who comes within a hundred feet of her, Bryson walks back in. I pause the music and the movie and look up at him.
"I'll be right back," he says, grinning as he picks up the cheese tray and my Coke and heads back down the hall. I'm assuming dinner's ready since he wasn't wearing the adorable pink apron anymore.
I slip on my flip-flops and scurry to the bathroom in the back hall to wash my hands, Bogart following right behind. When I walk back in the living room, Bryson's standing by the coffee table smiling.
"You ready to eat?" he asks.
"Heck yeah." I skip toward him and take his hand as he extends it to me, and when we get about halfway down the hall, I start to smell the food. I peek outside when we get to the foyer and I see the grill smoking. When we walk into the kitchen, the only light is the dimmed bulb above the bar. It's just barely lighting the table on the other side, resembling the lighting of a fancy restaurant?pretty cool.
I notice two lit candles in the middle of the table as we approach. When we walk around the bar, I see two plates with grilled steaks and huge, loaded baked potatoes on them. And I immediately think back to Summer's party last weekend.
Bryson and I had somehow gotten on the subject of food while we were sitting on the circular sofa--weird, I know--and I was telling him how much I would've loved a big, juicy filet at the moment with a loaded baked potato--tons of butter, bacon, green onions, and cheese--because it had been a while since I'd had that.
That's exactly what I see here: bacon, green onions and all.
He grins when he sees my face light up.
"Filet?!" I flip out.
"Yes indeed," he smiles. "And a loaded baked potato, and some steak sauce, and a big ol' tall glass of Coke." He points to each item as he names it. "We have dessert, too," he adds, wagging his eyebrows up and down.
"Are you kidding me?" I say to myself as I look at the table.
"Not kidding, princess. And believe it or not, this is only gonna set you back ninety dollars," he nods, crossing his arms and staring at the table. "But the good news is I only accept cash?in advance?with a thirty-percent gratuity."
I laugh, then quickly compose myself, bat my eyes at him, and say, "How about kisses instead?"
"Whoa?tough negotiator." He frowns in thought. "I'll take it."
I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him long and hard. "Plenty more where that came from," I grin.
"Good to know." He places his hands on my shoulders and guides me to the chair at the end of the table, sits me down, and then takes a seat next to me.
Then, other than me expressing how yummy my first bite was, we don't say much as we begin eating because the food is amazing. And I'm not just saying that. He cooked the steak exactly how I like it--medium-well--and the baked potato is absolutely packed with cheese, butter, bacon, and green onions?ohh, yeah.
We do eventually begin talking, though. But since there aren't a lot of topics that don't involve Becca in some way, we actually end up in deep conversation about The Exorcist.
We talk about how awesome the movie is, and how fun it must have been making it and how many hours a day Linda Blair must have spent in a makeup chair before shooting some of those classic scenes. Then we briefly discuss our thoughts on whether or not it happened in real life.
Then I ask him about the Camaro. I smile widely--with a mouth full of potato--and get excited when he tells me he ordered some parts for it today which should be in in a couple weeks.
The next thing we know, our plates are empty. I lean back in my chair and put my hand over my stomach.
"Want another one? There's three more," Bryson tells me, taking a drink of his Coke.
"Yeah, I would love one, but I have to save room for dessert," I say, shaking my head.
Normally I'd be finishing my fourth steak by now while wondering what else is in the fridge. But since I've barely eaten all week, I can't handle much right now. Bryson knows this, but that doesn't stop him from picking on me.
"Lightweight," he mumbles.
I narrow my eyes at him, still holding my stomach. "Zip it, boy."
He starts laughing just as he takes a drink, and his cheeks puff out as he tries not to choke. I instantly go on the attack.
"Spit it out- spit it out- spit it out," I chant, banging my fists on the table. "Spit it out- spit it out- spit it out- spit it out-"
The more I chant, the more he struggles. And just as I start bouncing up and down in my seat in anticipation, he swallows it down and raises his fists in triumph.
"Dang it!" I lean back in my chair and cross my arms.
"Yeah, you can 'dang it' all you want, Little Miss Troublemaker. Play with fire, you get burned," he gloats, wiping his mouth with his napkin as I stick my tongue out at him.
Then he tosses his napkin on the table and hops up. "No, I'm glad you saved room."
I watch him with a smile as he rushes over to the counter by the fridge. Now I'm craning my neck, trying to look over the bar to see what he's doing, but I can't see much because his back is to me. All I can hear is the crinkling of aluminum foil. Then he turns around, walks back to the table, and sets a plate down in front of me with a big piece of white-icing cake and an even bigger slice of cookie cake on it. Then he sits back down next to me with his own plate. I lean forward, my mouth wide open in shock.
"Best boyfriend ever!" I exclaim, looking at him. He nods smugly, as if he already knew that.
I laugh. "When did you get all this?"
"I left work early today," he says, then shoves a piece of cake in his mouth.
As it turned out, I had a lot more room in my stomach than I thought. I quickly gobble up both pieces on my plate, and then even had another small slice of cookie cake.
"Awesome job, pretty girl." Bryson gives me two thumbs up, then leans over and kisses my cheek. "You ate good."
I smile, happy he's happy. I know how important it was to him that I eat tonight. He's been worried about me all week, relentlessly trying to get me to eat something, but I just couldn't.
But tonight was completely different. As I watch him bring the dishes to the sink--he wouldn't allow me to help--his plan became crystal clear to me. He always acts goofy and makes me laugh, but tonight he went above and beyond. He literally kept me laughing so hard that my mind remained free and clear from the situation with Becca. That's why I was able to eat. The apron, the fake cheese and water appetizer, the constant joking around--it was brilliant. I'm super-impressed.
He wipes his hands dry with a dish towel, then we head back to the living room. It's literally only a matter of seconds before the lamps are out--leaving only the glow of the TV--our shoes are off, and we're laying on the sofa, kissing.
We start out hot and heavy, squeezing each other tightly and locking our legs together. Then our lips part slightly, and I touch my hand to his face, breathing heavily, and say, "Thanks for everything tonight. All the surprises were amazing." I kiss his nose and smile. "I've got a surprise for you now."
He smiles as I release my grip on him and hop up. "What?" he chuckles.
"No peeking," I demand, pointing at him. "I'll be right back."
He chuckles again as I grab my purse from the recliner and take off to the bathroom. After flipping the light on, shutting the door, and setting my purse down on the counter, I lean toward the mirror and give myself a little pep talk. I stare at my reflection, mentally willing myself to stay in control of this situation.
Then I smile, reach over to my purse, and pull out my cut-off blue jean, hoochie mama shorts--yes, the ones Hailey hacked up--and quickly change into them.
Bryson has told me several times how insane these shorts drove him that day in my driveway, and this is really the first opportunity I've had to wear them for hi
m again. But I don't think he's expecting it at all.
I stand on my tiptoes and spin around to check out my butt. This time, instead of pulling the shorts down a little, I'm slightly tugging up on them. And If I said my butt cheeks weren't totally hanging out, I'd be totally lying.
After running my fingers through my hair a few times, I walk over and flip the light off as I slowly open the door. Then I poke my head out and ask, "Ready for your surprise?"
"Absolutely," I hear him say.
I step out the bathroom and see him sitting up and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, waiting for me to emerge from the dark hallway. I walk into the living room--not nearly as embarrassed as I thought I'd be--with one hand on my hip and the other one swaying back and forth, as if I'm a runway model.
"Oh, my God." He collapses back on the sofa with his hand on his chest.
I walk back and forth a couple times, giggling to myself, and when I walk back up to him, he wastes no time grabbing me and pulling me down on the sofa. And just like that, we're right back where we started with our lips pressed together, holding each other tightly. Only now, I'm practically in a blue jean thong.
Then before I know it, his shirt is off. To be perfectly honest, my mind is so cloudy I have no idea if I did that or if he did it or if it was a team effort or what. All I know for sure right now is that it's off, and I'm rubbing my hands all over his bare, muscular back.
Then I feel him pull my leg all the way up on his, and then run his hand up the back of my thigh until it's just below my butt. And when he suddenly applies pressure between my legs with his thigh, I reactively throw my head back and moan.
Just then, if you can believe this crap, we hear my phone buzz on the coffee table.
"Should we worry about it?" I ask him, panting.
"Umm?" He pauses for a second. "Yeah, I guess we should. It's probably your mom, huh?"
"Yeah, probably."
I sit up, adjust my top, run my hands through my hair, and try to regain control of my thoughts.
"I'm sorry about this," I say, looking over at him.
"Why? It's not your fault."
"I know, but it still sucks."
I look at my phone and see that first of all it's 10:16 p.m.--way later than I thought it was--and then I see the text from my mom.
"Did y'all go somewhere after dinner?"
Bryson leans over and kisses my cheek, then looks at my phone. "She's not upset, is she?"
"No, she's just wondering where we're at." I look at him nervously.
His eyes hit the floor in thought. "Tell her we stopped by Brad's house because he had some people over. And I'll give Brad a heads-up just in case he happens to talk to your mom again."
I nod and look back to my phone.
"This will definitely be the last time we do this," Bryson adds.
"For sure."
After replying and hitting send, I watch Bryson as he turns the lamps back on and then stands in front of the sofa with the remote, still shirtless.
I stare at his tanned, smooth, solid chest and broad shoulders?and I start getting excited all over again. After taking quick notice of the muscles rippling in his forearm as he presses buttons on the remote, my eyes are drawn to his bulging six-pack abs. I can slightly see the black band of his boxer briefs--I'm guessing--just over the top of his pants, and suddenly I'm unable to control myself.
I walk over to him and begin dragging my fingertips down his chest and stomach, my mouth hanging open as I gaze at his body. Then I grab his pockets and pull him to me as I start backing up toward his room. My eyes are filled with desire as I stare him down, while my seductive grin is telling him exactly what I want.
"Show me what you got," I tell him, my voice low and sultry.
So he picks me up aggressively, takes me to his room, and tosses me on his bed. As soon as he climbs on top of me, I push him off and then climb on top of him. I begin kissing his chest and stomach all the way down to his pants. Then I wildly rip his belt loose, unbutton his pants, and pull everything down. Then I begin to?
?okay, let's just go ahead and take this back to the living room. I apologize for that--like I said before, I have an extremely active imagination. It's appalling, actually. Now my spine is tingling and my mouth is watering as I sit here and watch him shut down the DVD player, then put his shirt back on.
I'll definitely be revisiting this fantasy later.