Getting Over Garrett Delaney (22 page)

“I thought up another step for that plan of yours!”

“You did?” I remain noncommittal. LuAnn’s previous suggestions for the “Getting Over Garrett” file have so far included transferring to an international school somewhere glamorous and European, making out with twenty-four boys in twenty-four hours, and staging an intricate voodoo witchcraft ceremony to peel his essence from around my soul. “That’s sweet,” I tell her. “But I’m doing fine for now.”

“She’s hardly even talked to him this week,” Kayla agrees.

I turn to her. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Duh.” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “Do I need to remind you about a certain Slushie incident? For the sake of my wardrobe, I need to know if you’re in panic mode.”

“No panicking,” I tell them both. “I’m good — I promise.”

“But you could be better!” LuAnn cries. “If you just had — drumroll — snap bracelets!” She produces a handful of thin rubber bands. “See? You put them on, and then whenever you think about Garrett, you snap them.” She demonstrates on my bare wrist. I reel back in pain.

“Owww!”

“It’s negative reinforcement,” LuAnn declares, eyes lit up with a sly gleam. “Eventually, you associate Garrett with pain and stop thinking about him.”

“Um, no,” I tell her firmly, peeling them off. “Don’t you think it’s a little extreme?”

LuAnn shakes her head. “You said it yourself: you can’t underestimate a broken heart.”

“It’s OK.” I laugh. “Really. I don’t need to resort to physical harm — I promise.”

LuAnn doesn’t look convinced. “It can sneak up on you at any time,” she warns, tucking the rubber bands away. “One minute you’re fine, and the next — bam! You’re weeping in the corner in three-day-old sweatpants, with nothing but a pack of Hostess Cupcakes to fill the emptiness and longing inside.”

I blink. “Thanks for the warning,” I tell her slowly. “I’ll let you know if I change my mind.”

“Sure thing!” She heads inside, skirts fluttering.

I turn to Kayla. “Um, let me know if you ever see her with a cattle prod, OK?”

The rest of the afternoon slips by without any more crazy ideas from LuAnn — except her attempts to play Lady Gaga on the stereo, which are quickly overridden by five different customers and an executive decision from Dominique.

“Some of us are trying to work,” Dominique informs LuAnn, striding behind the counter and snatching the offending CD from the player.

“You’re not even on today. You don’t get a say!” LuAnn objects, rushing to save her pop mix from the trash. I edge back, out of the way.

“I have six chapters to learn before my test tomorrow.” Dominique stalks back to her corner table: a makeshift fort of textbooks and wide-ruled notebooks. “I need quiet!”

“But Dom —”

“Just play something else,” Carlos calls from the back office, where he’s been locked away, scowling at the books. He scoots his chair into the doorway and tells LuAnn, “The customers are always right, remember?”

“Fine,” she answers with a grin, reaching for another CD. “You asked for it.”

A moment later, Carlos’s hit song starts playing; LuAnn sings loudly along.
“I’m feelin’ free …”
she warbles.
“Like a bird in the sky …”

“LuAnn!” Carlos warns her. She pivots away, turning to the next customer.

“You like this song, don’t you?”

“Uh, sure.” The middle-aged man blinks, then begins nodding in time with the beat. “I heard it on TV, that car ad.”

LuAnn shoots Carlos a triumphant look and keeps singing.
“I’m flyin’ so high … Freeeeee …”

Carlos retreats, slamming the door behind him. I sneak a glance at Dominique, still full of questions about their weird back-alley makeout setup. She hasn’t said a word to me yet about my unfortunate discovery; she’s just been breezing through her shifts with the same icy detachment as ever. Does she care that I’ve kept her secret, or is she so far above petty gossiping that she wouldn’t even care if I told? I watch her: head bent over those law books, a pair of chic, wire-rimmed glasses on her nose. She looks studious and reserved, like the last person to be having a scandalous affair with her boss, but perhaps that’s the point.

Dominique looks up suddenly and catches my gaze. I turn away quickly, embarrassed to be caught staring.

“I don’t know why he’s so touchy,” LuAnn says. “Anyone would think he’s ashamed of selling out. I’d sell out in a minute,” she adds, “if it meant I got a check in the mail every month.”

I laugh. “What happened to artistic integrity?”

“Screw artistic integrity,” she shoots back. “Mama needs to pay rent.”

The door dings behind us.

“So what does a guy have to do to get some service around here?”

I turn. And there he is, a crumpled button-down shirt half tucked in to brown corduroy pants; his beat-up leather satchel slung across his body. He approaches the counter, a familiar grin on his face.

Garrett.

“So, what’s the coffee of the day?” His grin broadens as he leans on the counter.

I gape, frozen in place with a pair of muffin tongs in one hand and the other clutching a coffee mug for dear life.

Garrett. Back. Here.

My mouth drops open in shock. How is this possible? I had a whole countdown planned: his return date circled in red on my calendar at home — the calendar I haven’t looked at in weeks, I realize. The one currently buried under a mountain of trashy romance novels and teen movie DVDs. “I … I don’t …” I stutter, helpless.

LuAnn gives me a weird look. “That’s our Somali roast,” she says, stepping into the breach. “It pairs really well with our almond torte, if you’d like.”

Garrett turns to me. “What do you think, Sadie?”

“You guys know each other?” LuAnn brightens. “Why didn’t you say?”

Finally, my brain engages. “Garrett,” I manage. “He’s back. I mean, you’re back.”

“Surprise!” Garrett laughs. Before I can even think, he circles the counter and enfolds me in a massive hug. “I can’t believe it. The past six weeks have felt like a whole lifetime.”

I stay still, motionless in his arms.

Sure, I knew this day would come — but not yet! I was supposed to have time to strategize, to put a whole emergency plan in place before I was faced with this momentous occasion.

“Hi!” I finally manage, disentangling myself from his arms. Up close, he’s painfully familiar — the way his hair falls into his eyes, the perfectly sculpted cheekbones, the smudge of birthmark just above his right ear. There’s newness, too, though: a fuzz of blond stubble on his chin, tan lines on his wrist. “What are you doing here?” I manage. “I mean, you didn’t say you were coming home!”

“Just got in.” He exhales. “I spent six hours crammed up against a Hell’s Angel named Bubba, so God knows I need a shower, but I just had to come by and see you first. Man, I missed you.”

I blink up at him, reeling. Then I remember LuAnn, standing just two feet away from us. Aiko has arrived, too, watching us curiously as she ties on her apron.

I leap back. “I’m going to go get you some of that torte!” I exclaim. “You go sit down. Relax.”

“It’s OK. I don’t want to keep you. I just wanted to say hey.” Garrett’s still smiling, seemingly unconcerned by my babbling, clumsy performance. “But let’s hang out later. We could do a movie tonight.
Annie Hall
is playing in Northampton.”

“I don’t know… .” I try to think straight. “I was going to —”

“No excuses,” Garrett says, cutting me off. “Come on, it’s my first night back in town! You know how you love Woody Allen.” He gives me a mock puppy-dog look, and right away, everything rushes back to me — the late nights, the road trips. The way he can look at me like I’m the most important person in the world.

“OK,” I agree. “Tonight. I’ll see you then.”

“Great!” he says. “Pick you up at seven!”

I watch him lope away, still reeling from the change, from a ringtone on my phone, a face in photographs, a memory to this, flesh and blood, and back in town.

“Emergency staff meeting,
now
!” LuAnn announces. “Dominique! Aiko!”

She grabs my arm and drags me back toward the office. Carlos looks up in surprise as we barrel in.

“Sorry, we need the room,” LuAnn announces. “Shoo.”

“Shoo?” he repeats, looking at her with a mix of amazement and disbelief. “This is my office!”

“And we need to borrow it!” she replies. “Pretty please? You can go cover the register. It’s a girl thing,” she adds. “Let me find those tampons for heavy flow… .”

He leaps up. “Uh, sure. Take your time.” Carlos bolts so fast, he almost trips on his unlaced sneakers.

LuAnn laughs. “Every time …”

But the humor of men’s predictable aversion to girl talk is beyond me right now. I sink into Carlos’s seat, still dazed, and soon, LuAnn, Aiko, and Dominique are lined up opposite me. LuAnn holds out her phone. “I have Kayla on speaker, too.”

Kayla’s voice comes through, tinny on the tiny speaker. “So, what happened?”

“He’s back,” LuAnn says. “Just came right in like nothing had happened.”

“Some nerve.” Aiko tuts.

“He looks like an idiot to me,” Dominique adds, studying her nails.

Something about the way they’re lined up, united against him, fills me with a warm glow of friendship. I’m not alone in this.

“Thanks, guys,” I tell them, finally taking a deep breath. “It’s sweet of you to back me up, but … Garrett isn’t the enemy here. He never did anything wrong. It was all me.”

“Still, he hurt you!” LuAnn protests, eyes wide with outrage.

“But he’s my friend. That was the whole point of getting over him,” I remind them. “To keep him in my life. That means you’re going to have to be nice to him.”

Silence.

“I mean it,” I add, wondering if LuAnn is going to spike his coffee or spit in his food.

Finally, she sighs. “Fine, we’ll be nice.” Aiko nods in agreement.

Dominique shrugs. “Sure, whatever.”

I exhale. “OK, then.” After a moment, Kayla’s disembodied voice comes through the speaker.

“But how do you feel?”

They all look at me, expectant.

“I … I don’t know,” I say slowly. “I think I’m still in shock. I mean, I’ve been so focused on not thinking about him, I didn’t really plan for this part.” I look between them, lost. “What do I do now?”

“We need new rules,” LuAnn says immediately. “For having him back. Like, no spending time alone together. And definitely no hugging.”

“No romantic situations of any kind,” Aiko agrees. “No candlelight, sunsets, or places playing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs’ ‘Maps.’”

“You should stand him up a few times,” Dominique offers. “Make him see he can’t take you for granted anymore.”

“New rules …” I nod slowly.

“It’ll be OK.” Aiko gives me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “You can do it!”

“She’s right,” LuAnn agrees. “You’ve come so far. This is, like, the last hurdle. It’ll be no problem now.”

I take another breath, and slowly, my confidence returns. They’re right. I
will
be OK. I’m a million miles away from the wretched, lovelorn Sadie I was when I saw him last, and there’s no way I’m going to regress now, not after all the sweat, tears, and spilled coffee I’ve put into getting over him. The guide has gotten me this far; I just need to adapt it to suit this new reality!

“I’m ready,” I announce. “I can do this.”

“Atta girl.” LuAnn grins.

“But Sadie …” Kayla’s voice comes through. “Be careful, OK? Don’t go falling for him again.”

“No way,” I swear. “He surprised me today — that’s all. We’re just going to be friends.”

Dominique sighs. “Sure, you are.”

“Show a little faith,” I tell them. “I can be strong!”

Someone once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result. Remember how you used to send silent prayers to the Gods of Requited Love for a divine intervention every time you hung out with him? And did said intervention ever occur?

It did not. Clearly, the old approach didn’t work out so well. So it’s time for some new rules.

Start with no touching. Add no romantic locations, no long midnight drives, and most definitely no innocent tickle fights on his bed. There is no such thing as innocence once your heart has been broken into a million anguished pieces, just remember that.