Checked Again (9 page)

He’s
not following his plan. But that’s not Annie’s fault. She probably doesn’t know
what is going on. So I try to be nice to her. I talk to her calmly. I sort of
tell the truth and I more than sort of lie. Thank God confession is tomorrow.

I
tell Annie why I can’t go to the appointment next Friday—because I’m scheduled
to attend a conference. I don’t tell her that I’m actively seeking a way to get
out of the conference (Lie #1—a lie of omission since I just don’t bring up
this information). I do tell her that I plan to schedule an appointment with
Dr. Grove as soon as my schedule clears (Lie #2—a big fat blatant lie). And to
get her off the phone, I thank her and say that I’m glad she called to check on
me (Lie #3—the most gigantasaur lie yet).

Finally,
she lets me go. We hang up, and I resume my morning schedule. As I clean the
living room, I get back into deep thought about what I’m going to say to Dr.
Gabriel…how I’m going to talk my way out of the conference…when I see him in
only a few short hours.

I
continue my morning routine, not ever figuring out a solution for my Dr.
Gabriel problem. After I eventually get out of the shower and get ready for the
day, I go to my dresser to check my phone. I swear I heard it making noises
while I was in the bathroom.

It
was making noises, apparently. I have some Words with Friends notifications and
a new text from a certain Unknown Number.

Text
first. Count. Open.

What
conference are you attending?

Ugh.

I
click out of his message. First of all, I am NOT attending the conference.
Secondly, it goes beyond his doctor/patient responsibility to seek this
information. And third…just UGH.

I
click on the little Words with Friends icon. It’s my turn in three games…but
I’m only playing two of them. I’ve thought about deleting that third game
(which was really my first game), but I haven’t been able to make myself do it
yet. It’s a situation that bears more than a little resemblance to the problem
of a set of overly-worn pajamas not making its way into the washer…

{Damien
starts to—}

NO!

I
quickly open my games with Melanie and Tony and take my turns. Melanie is still
killing me—how can she be so good at this? Tony is only seven points ahead of
me, though.

Speaking
of Tony, he’s sent me a message through our game.
Wow
. Our first actual
communication in years.

Count.
Open.

Hey,
Angel.

Angel.
His little nickname for me when we were dating. A little inappropriate to use
right now, I think…

I
read on, and he gets more inappropriate.

Are you going to
your parents’ house for Sunday dinner this weekend?

Do
you still do that?

Seriously?
What the hell?

I
can’t respond to this right now. I don’t want to even think about this right
now. I turn my phone to silent, put it in my purse, and start my
leaving-the-house routine. Soon, I’m in my car and on my way to class…still
with no concrete plan for my conversation with Dr. Gabriel…

{The
Pretenders sing
“Angel
of the Morning”
for half of the car ride. Shaggy and Rayvon sing
“Angel”
for the other half.}

Dr.
Gabriel meets me seconds after I enter the classroom. He walks entirely too
close to me as he has me go with him to his desk. He doesn’t seem to notice my
discomfort. I’m sure he doesn’t care. When we arrive behind his desk, I try to
shake off that discomfort, and my irritation, so I can spit out some lies, some
excuses about why I can’t make it to the conference. I don’t get the chance to
speak, though.

Dr.
Gabriel says he has an email he wants me to see, and he directs me to look at
his laptop. He sounds really excited.

I
close my eyes for a quick count of three and then focus on his computer screen.

And
what I see is awful. Dreadful.

It’s
an email from my advisor, Dr. Hause. It’s also a death sentence—a nail in a
Callie,
you now have to go to the conference
coffin. I carefully read the email, my
eyes getting more and more blurry and more and more damp with each new word I
read.

Dr.
Gabriel,

I
just received a call from the conference chair in Florida. She is organizing a
special three-day feature story line up with local newspapers, and she wants a
representative from our school to contribute. I think Calista Royce will be the
perfect person to represent our university.

I
know you’ll see her in class today. Could you talk to her about this? As a
representative, she’ll attend many lectures, presentations, and discussions.
Then she’ll be expected to write short articles about her experiences. She’ll
write three articles—one for each day of the conference. I’m sure you won’t
have to tell her what an amazing opportunity this is—quite a résumé builder!

Please email me
after you’ve spoken with Calista.

                             Thank
you,

                                         Lila
Hause

Awesome.
Freaking awesome.

There
go all chances of getting out of this. There go all of my lies.
{Engelbert
chimes in with
“There Goes My Everything
.
”
}

I
stare at the computer screen much longer than necessary, trying to blink away
the fuzzy dampness in my eyes.

Dr.
Gabriel eventually interrupts my staring to congratulate me for being selected.
I try to mumble an “mmhmm” in response, but that really isn’t what comes out of
my mouth. It sounds to me like more of a high-pitched hum.

Dr.
Gabriel doesn’t notice. He begins to babble about different seminars we should
attend and different times when I’ll be able to sneak away to write my
articles.

No.
Choice. I have no choice.
Damn. It.

Soon,
Dr. Gabriel pauses his stream of conference chatter to tell me that it’s time
to start class…and to say that he’ll email Dr. Hause to confirm this
arrangement and then talk to me later about our travel plans.

I
don’t even respond. I peel my eyes off of his laptop screen and pull my feet
off of the ground so I can move slowly back to my seat.

I
don’t really see or hear anything that happens in class. I just pick off my
nail polish and try not to think.

When
I get home, I have two messages—one, a text message and the other, a Words with
Friends message. Both of the messages are from guys who have left me due to my
problems…

So
why are they writing to me now? Especially when I haven’t replied to either of
their last messages…

I
tackle Unknown Number first.

Count.
Open.

Wait—this isn’t the
conference in Florida—the one Dr. Harper mentioned to me, is it?

Count.
Reply.

Yes.

Count.
Send.

Yes—I’m
going to Florida. Yes—I’m going to have to get on a plane. Yes—I’m going to
have to sleep at a hotel. No—I don’t know how the hell I’m going to do it. And
no—it isn’t any of your business.

Now,
for my other message. My Words with Friends message. Count. Open.

If you are heading
to Pittsburgh on Sunday, I want to see you. I have some things I need to give
you. I’m going to be flying in on Friday and staying until Monday.

Reply.

What
do you need to give me?

Send.
I don’t bother to ask him where he is flying in from…where he is living now…who
he is living with…

I’m not sure
that I even really care.

I
put my phone on my dresser and spend a little time with
Anna Karenina,
a
pencil, and a notebook. I don’t really get anything done, though…too busy
thinking about Florida and plane crashes and hotel bathrooms…oh, and also too
busy checking my phone for new messages. None come, though.

Eventually,
I stop not working on my paper and begin getting ready for Girls’ Night. As I
clean the house, my phone remains completely silent. It makes no noises until I
get into the shower—then it starts going off like crazy.

I
make myself wait until I am scrubbed and shaved and shampooed and dried and
dressed (in fresh, clean pajamas), and then I head over to my phone.

I
have multiple messages from Tony. I open the first one.

Here
are the items I want to return to you:

1.)
Pink Pierce hoodie

Yep.
He took that with him one of the first times he came up for a weekend at
Pierce. He said he wanted to have something at home that smelled like me. I
don’t really want that back now. It will just remind me of him. And it will
probably smell like him.

Interestingly,
my eyes flicker over to the top of my hamper for a brief second. No need to
think about that…about
him
…right now, though.

Back
to my list of old forgotten stuff. Message two.

2.)
Friends
Season 1

Yep.
I remember him taking that too. He never could understand why my sisters and I
like to watch old episodes over and over again, so I let him borrow Season 1 a
few months before the breakup. He watched like half of an episode, I think, and
didn’t say much about it. He never returned the DVDs, though. And he just
continued to get annoyed every time I said we were watching
Friends
on
Girls’ Nights.

I
don’t need my copy of Season 1 back. I re-bought it about a week after the
breakup.

I
don’t tell him that, though. I don’t type anything back. I just go back to
reading. Time for message three.

3.)
Professional prom portrait

Seriously?
Throw it out, asshole. Why haven’t you done that already?

I
take a list reading break and get rid of the nail polish I applied after class.
I’ll just have to reapply it before I go downstairs.

Speaking
of downstairs, Melanie will be here (and downstairs, in the living room) soon.
Better hurry up. Back to reading. Message four.

4.)
Cell phone charger

Yes…I
remember that charger. It works for the phone I bought half a decade ago (and
have since thrown out). Don’t need that back.

Message
five.

5.)
Clear nail polish

Really
old nail polish. Nope—don’t need that either.

I
look for a sixth message, a sixth item (a third item in my second set of
three), but there isn’t one.

Naturally.

Ah,
but wait. Now my phone is buzzing again. Another message. Open.

Oh—and can you bring
my spare car keys? Gonna sell the old Stratus next week, and the guy who is
buying it wants both original sets of keys. Thanks, Angel.

Close
message. Roll eyes. There it is. His reason for wanting to meet. Sounds about
right. He could’ve just asked me to mail the keys…OR he could’ve told the car
buyer guy that he lost the other set…OR he could’ve gotten another set made or
something. But those options would’ve been reasonable…unselfish…not like Tony
at all.

I
begin to wonder what he would’ve done if I hadn’t opened Facebook this week and
accepted his friend request, if I hadn’t agreed to play Words with Friends with
him.

Then
my phone buzzes. Tony again.

So…Sunday?

Reply.

Can’t
I just mail you the keys?

Can’t
you just go away?

Buzz.

Well, I already told
the guy I’d be getting the other set this weekend. I arranged to meet him on
Monday when I get back home from my weekend trip to Pittsburgh.

Of
course you did.

Buzz
again.

So how about we meet
before your dinner. 4:00 p.m., maybe? Dawson’s Grille?