“No … and … no, I will not go out with you.” She wasn’t looking at me anymore. I wanted to grab her chin and steer her face back to mine.
“Why not?” My first inclination was to say: Why the hell not?
“Because I am a llama and you are a bird and WE are not compatible.”
“Okay,” I breathed. “Then what will it take?” I was completely out of my element. Begging a girl to go on a date with me. This was fucked up.
“Miss it.”
I stared into her cold, blue eyes and knew I’d just met the kind of girl books are written about. There was no one like her.
“Miss it,” she said again, “and I’ll go out with you.”
I didn’t say another word. I was in shock. I jogged back to the court, my mind so stuffed with opposing thoughts I figured I’d die of a brain explosion before I got to make the shot. I wasn’t going to do it. It was crazy. She was crazy. Fuck. That. Shit.
But, when I stood at the free throw line, ball in hand, I had a couple seconds of deep thought. I was angry. I should have done what came naturally, which was to win the game, but I kept seeing her face. The way she looked down her nose at me and said, “Miss it.” There had been something in her eyes that I couldn’t shake. She asked me to do the impossible. She set the bar high and she expected me to fail.
I raised the ball, my palms curved around it like it was an extension of my body. How many hours did I spend playing basketball each week? Twenty … thirty? It was nothing for me to make this basket — I could do it with my eyes closed. But, something about the look on her face tied an invisible string around my wrist, making me clutch the ball harder than I normally would. I could see the sad victory on her face, like she had resigned herself to all men being disappointments. She was wrong if she thought that she could predict what I was going to do. If I wanted her…
I wanted her.
I missed the shot.
I was in way over my head.
I missed a shot. People looked at me like I’d gunned down a gym full of people instead of shooting an air ball. My mother was always teasing me, telling me that I didn’t take anything seriously. It was a joke in my family — my lack of dedication to anything. I was good at most everything I did, but I didn’t love any of it. Not basketball or finance, or boating, or the money that came so easily to my family. It all made me feel empty. My friends — the ones I’d grown up with — spent their time and money getting box seats or floor seats at baseball games and football games and basketball games. I’d go to the goddamn games and enjoy them, but at the end of the day, there wasn’t a damn thing that filled me. I started reading books about philosophy. I even took a couple classes my sophomore year. I liked it. Philosophy gave me something to believe in. But, Olivia Kaspen stepped into my life, and for the first time, I was dedicated to something. Her philosophy. Her emotional makeup. I was taking her seriously. All five feet, two inches of her. She was mouthy and condescending and she never smiled, but I liked her. I wanted to give her something. So I missed the shot.
“Is it true?”
I looked up from my plate of pancakes. Desiree, one of the cheerleaders, slid into the seat opposite me. She was wearing her makeup from the night before and my buddy, Kiel’s jersey. Why did girls want to wear a guy’s jersey? Eerised
“Is what true?”
“You missed the shot for a girl?”
“Where did you hear that?” I pushed my plate away and took a sip of tea.
“Everyone is talking about it.” She smirked at me and ripped off a piece of my pancake, sliding it between her teeth.
I looked at her through narrowed eyes. I was having a hard time pulling off this charming act when my palms were sweating. “Who are they saying I did it for?” If people found out it was Olivia I’d missed the shot for, things would get very uncomfortable for her.
Desiree sucked the syrup from her fingers. “Oh, there are rumors. Who knows if they’re true? You know how people can be.”
I shrugged, trying to be nonchalant, but my shoulders were tense.
“Humor me, Des.”
She pursed her lips and leaned forward. “A pre-law major. No one really knows who she is. Some people say they saw you talking to her before you missed the shot.”
“Maybe my game was just off,” I said, setting my mug down and standing up.
Desiree smiled up at me. “Maybe. But, your game has never been off before. If you ask me, it’s kind of romantic.”
“Romantic?” I repeated.
“Yeah. She must be pretty hot.”
I leaned down until both of my hands were flat on the table, and Desiree and I were on eye level.
“Does that really sound like something I would do, Des?”
She looked at me for a long minute before shaking her head.
“No, actually.”
“Well, there you have your answer.”
I left, wiping my palms on my pant legs. How many people had seen me speaking to Olivia? It was stupid … careless, but then I could have never anticipated her challenge. If things had gone my way, she would have agreed to a date for making the shot. Everyone would have walked away a winner, aka I would have walked away the winner.
I couldn’t help but smile as I jogged down the stairs in front of the dining hall. Forget it. Girls rarely surprised me. I would have missed that shot five hundred times for a date with her.
I’d never felt anything like her.
Olivia burned. When she walked into a room you could feel her fire. It rolled off of her in waves. She was angry and passionate and fearless. She burned hot enough to keep everyone away. It was a good trick, except I played with fire.
Bang, bang, she shot me down.
“I just don’t think we’re compatible.”
She was afraid of me. I knew it the moment we locked eyes that first day, under the tree. She might not have known her type, but I knew it.
I almost laughed. She delivered those words in her clipped, matter of fact voice, her eyes dancing everywhere but my face. We’d been on our first date the week before. I’d practically conned her into it, sending the very basketball that I’d used to procure the date, to her dorm room with a note to meet me in the library. The library had gone well. She wore this long sleeve, black lace shirt that was so tight, I could see every curve, not to mention her ivory skin peeking through all of the eyelets in the lace. I wanted to kiss her, right there, in the stacks. I would have pushed her up against the Dickens’ section if I hadn’t thought it would scare her away. Reluctantly, she agreed to the date. I took her to Jaxson’s, my favorite ice cream place. At the start of the evening, she’d been standoffish, but then she opened up and told me things about her past. I thought things had gone great. Until…
I just don’t think we’re compatible.
“That’s not how it feels to me,” I said. Our chemistry was palatable. She was either in denial or lying her ass off. I’d bet anything it was the latter.
She blinked at me — fast little blinks, like bird wings.
“Um, well I’m sorry. I guess we are just on two different wavelengths.” She dragged out wavelengths, as if she wasn’t sure that was the right word to use. We were actually on the same wavelength — I wanted her and she wanted me, but I wasn’t going to be the one to point that out. Olivia didn’t know she wanted me yet.
“No, that’s not what I meant. I know you like me, just as much as I like you. But, it’s your choice, and I am a gentleman. You want me to back off? Okay. Goodbye, Olivia.”
Before I could grab her, before I could shake sense into her, I walked away.
Don’t walk away! Fight her on this!
That’s what I was thinking. But, the last thing I wanted to do was chase after someone who didn’t want me … or didn’t know they wanted me.
I went back to my dorm room and drank warm beer. Rejected for the first time, it wasn’t pretty. It was pretty fucked up, actually. Or at least that’s what I thought then. I’d done everyt
hing she’d asked me to do. My teammates were barely talking to me, my coach had put me on suspension, and my heart was hurting. Hurting. How could I be feeling this way over someone I’d just met?
I took a sip of my beer, pulled out my Statistics textbook and stared at the page for thirty minutes without ever seeing anything. No, that’s not true. I was seeing Olivia Kaspen.
I saw her everywhere. I pretended not to. I pretended that she was just another girl, not the girl I wanted. My friends thought I’d lost it. I wanted her because I couldn’t have her — that was the consensus. Maybe it was true. They had taken to slapping me on the back and pointing out random girls on campus who would sleep with me. Sex therapy, they called it. I tried it once or twice, but it was ineffective. I was benched, rejected and drunk on a girl I’d only kissed once. When someone mentioned that she was probably a lesbian, I pounced on the idea. Then, just months after she told me that we weren’t compatible, she started seeing the biggest load of douchebags I had ever laid eyes on. I fucking hated them. So, I moved on. She wasn’t what I thought she was.
Then I met Jessica. The first thing she ever said to me was, “Damn, I don’t know if I want to lick you or marry you.”
I’d said, “How about both?” And that was it. We were together. Jessica Alexander was sexy and kind and ditzy — my type exactly. She was smart too, but you’d never know it from the way she babbled on and on about insignificant things like clothes and movies. I liked being with her. I liked having sex with her. She took away the constant edge I felt. Olivia gradually receded to the back of my mind. I could joke about it after a while. In retrospect, it seemed funny that I’d become so obsessed with a girl I barely knew. Then right when everything was going my way, I found out that Jessica was pregnant and had an abortion behind my back. She wasn’t the one to tell me. That’s what killed me. She made the decision without me. That was my baby — mine. I wanted that baby. I would have taken the baby even if Jessica didn’t want it. I punched a tree, sprained my wrist and went into dating hibernation.
After my parents divorced, my mother wanted to move to America. She was born in Michigan. Her father — my grandfather — met my grandmother at Cambridge where he was studying abroad. When they got married, they moved back to the States for a while and had my mother. But, when my grandmother was homesick, my grandfather sold their land and house, and moved back to England for her. My parents ran in the same social circles and they happened to happen. She nixed the “Sams and Alfreds and Charlies” and gave my brother and me American-sounding names. When she caught him cheating for the third time, she packed us up and moved us to America. I took it way harder than my brother. I blamed my mother for a while, until I flew to England for my dad’s fourth marriage. When I saw him taking vows for the fourth time, I got it. I wasn’t even sure what this wife’s name was. Elizabeth? Victoria? I was pretty sure it was a Queen of England. But, I knew I didn’t believe in divorce. You couldn’t make vows and just break them. If I married a woman, I was going to stay married. I wouldn’t treat marriage like a lease. Ever.
I wanted to marry Jessica. I mean, it’s not like I bought her a ring, but I saw her fitting into my world. My mother liked her; Jessica loved me. It was so easy. But, when I found out she had an abortion and didn’t even bother telling me she was pregnant, I lost it. I at least wanted a say with my child.
Then Olivia came back. She came back, dancing like a siren. I knew exactly what she was doing the night she came to my frat house and cocked her finger at me from the dance floor. If she hadn’t come to me, I would have gone to her. Forget all you know — I said to myself. This is the one you belong with. I don’t know how I knew that. Maybe our souls touched underneath that tree. Maybe I decided to love her. Maybe love wasn’t our choice. But when I looked at that woman, I saw myself differently. And it wasn’t in a good light. Not a thing would keep me from her. And that could make a person do things they never thought themselves capable of. What I felt for her scared the hell out of me. It was a consuming obsession.
In truth, I’d barely touched on the obsession. That was still coming.
“Pass the butter, please.”
Damn.
I pass her the butter, but not before I assess the density of that request. When you’re passing a woman butter across the table, you’re in something serious. I grab her tanned arm as she reaches for it and kiss the inside of her wrist. She smells like clean linen. She smiles at me — she’s always smiling. She has dimples; the deeper she smiles, the deeper they cut. Jessica and I don’t officially live together, but we alternate between each other’s places. Mostly we are here, but that’s because I like my own bed. I watch her butter her toast while she plays on her iPad. We have a nice little thing going on. I still feel like a barren wasteland on the inside, but she makes it better.
“Pass the salt, please.” I test this out. See how it feels. She passes the saltshaker without looking up, and I frown. Everyone knows you don’t pass the salt without the pepper. They’re a pair. Even if someone only asks for one. You pass both. Now I’m going to have to break up with her.
Kidding.
We get ready for work and kiss at the bottom of the elevator.
“Caleb,” she says, as I’m walking away.
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
Wow. Okay.
“Jess,” I say. “I-”
“You don’t have to say it back,” she smiles, “I just want you to know.”
“All right,” I say, slowly. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah?”
She nods.
Eight months, one week, that’s how long it has been since she spent the night at my place for the first time. Acissej — it doesn’t really roll off the tongue like some of them do. What she just said feels strange, but I can’t pinpoint why. Maybe it’s time to move in together. I climb into my car and put the AC on full blast. She likes my facial hair. Leah wouldn’t tolerate facial hair. She said it chaffed her face. When she used the word “chaffed” I wanted to divorce her. Or maybe I just always wanted to divorce her. When I think about Leah, I feel sick. Not because of her — she has very little power over me anymore. It’s that little girl.
I pull my thoughts away from that. When I get to work, my mother is at the office, visiting Steve.
“He’s never home anymore, and you hardly come to visit,” she says, hugging me. “I have to come here to see my two boys.”
She doesn’t mention my brother. She’s just as pissed at him as I am for sleeping with my ex-wife. Leah dropped that little bomb on me the same night she told me I wasn’t a father. I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought a million times over that Estella might be his. That hurts the most.
“How’s Jessica?” my mother asks.
I half smile and sort through the papers on my desk. She has taken a seat in my office, so I know she’s here to chat. If I don’t give her something, she won’t go away.
“She told me she loved me this morning.”
“Well, did you say it back?”
“No.”
She’s quiet for a few minutes.
“I really liked Leah,” she says. “When you lost your memory, she really just stuck with you. As a mother, I appreciated that.” She sighs. “But, I know you still love that girl.”
My turn to sigh.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. And even if I did, I wouldn’t want to talk about it. So talk about something else. How are your roses?”
“Don’t even,” she says. “Jessica is great, Caleb. Really, she is. But, she wants a commitment. You do know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be married again? Have … children?”
I flinch.
“Not really.”
“You can’t let one woman steal who you are.”
I appreciate my mother, I do. But, she has no idea what she’s talking about. My heart is still broken. I’m trying to figure out how to live without what I really want. That in
cludes letting go of old dreams and making some new ones. I think, anyway.
“I don’t want those things anymore,” I say firmly.
“I saw Estella.”
I freeze.
“What?”
“At the mall. I ran into Leah and she was with her.”
I’m quiet. I don’t know what to say. How is she? Was she talking? What does she look like?
I run a hand across the back of my neck and stare at the armrest on her chair.
“She was my granddaughter. I love her.” Her voice drops off at the end, and for the first time, I consider my mother’s feelings in all of this. She lost Estella too.
“She’s yours, Caleb. I feel it.”
“Mother, stop it…”
“No, I won’t. You get a paternity test. There is something not right.”
I stop what I’m doing and sit down. “Why would she lie to me about that? She loses child support, babysitting, and claim on me, by lying.”
“Oh, Caleb. Leah is the type of girl who values revenge more than practicality.”
I get goose bumps. Honest to God.
I shake my head. “You want that to be true. I do too. But, it’s not. There is a good chance she is your grandchild. Talk to your son.”
She pulls her mouth tight. It makes her look older.
“Just think about it,” she says. “If she refuses, you can get the court to order one.” She leans forward. “Caleb, she has your nose.”
“Fuck. Okay, we’re done here.” I never curse in front of her. I stand up and walk her to the door. Before I push her out, I kiss her on the cheek. “You’re a good mother. But, I’m a grown up. Go meddle in Seth’s life.”
She smiles, pats my cheek and looks more worried than before.