Little Miss Lovesick (24 page)

CHAPTER 27

WHY in the world would I call him?

I stared up at the ceiling, thinking. After coming home from my morning hike with Patty, I took a long shower. I always think of great ideas in the shower. But I couldn’t figure out what to say to Matt when I called. I needed to come up with a reason. Something that wouldn’t sound stupid. I lay on my bed, staring into space, trying out different possibilities.

“Hi Matt, good to see you last night.” Yeah, right.

“Hey, listen, I’ve thought of a name for your puppy, if you haven’t thought of one already.” Yes? And the name is? That’s what I thought.

“What do you think of the color red, Matt? It reminds me of hell, which is what I’ve been going through since the last time we talked.”

That one might actually wo
r
k, whispered a Voice.

I rolled over and pounded my pillow. I pretend-cried as I lay there. You know what I mean. You’ve done it. That sound when you’re imitating a child crying: Hh-hhuuuuhhh-hhuuuuhhh.

My stomach growled.

The fact that it sounded like it was replying to the crying made me laugh. I smothered my laughter in my pillow. There was nothing funny about this. Unless you counted Matt’s family’s legend. And I hardly think the way to iron things out is to tell him how ridiculous it is.

I was tired. I was hungry. And I couldn’t think of one good reason to call Matt.

But
I
ha
d
to.

I miss hi
m
, sighed Little Miss Lovesick.

“Me, too,” I sighed aloud.

You really should keep some snacks by the be
d
, piped up another Voice.

Not unless you want to buy some larger clothes, said another.

Maybe I could explain about the emotional baggage. Somehow let him know that I’m not pressuring him for anything, just want to share the load. Of course, I’d have to make sure not to let on how much I know. Patty mentioned I might want to keep our conversation a secret for the next coupl
e
year
s
. That whole privacy thing he has going.

I’ll tell him I’m sorry he’s angry. That was certainly the truth. Hey, maybe we should get something to eat. He seems to be in a good mood when he’s eating.

I opened my eyes and rolled onto my back. My stomach growled again. Speaking of food. I rolled out of bed (the place where I do my best thinking, regardless of the fact that I’d been up for hours, hiking and all) and padded into the kitchen.

I made a piece of peanut butter and jam toast and drank a lemonade (out of OJ). I stood at the counter staring out the window, trying to come up with the right words.

“Don’t hang up. It’s me. I’m sorry about last night.”

Nah, there’s nothing to be sorry about. You didn’t know he was there. You didn’t do anything wrong.

Don’t be a rug, remember
?
said Sergeant Pride.

I finished my toast and tarried over the juice. Chicken. That’s me. Hmm, maybe I should say that.

“Matt, I’m just a big chicken. I’m afraid to say what I really think or what I really feel because people just don’t. No one does.”

I finished my juice and picked up the phone. True or not, it wouldn’t work. Let’s go back to option one.

The phone began to ring and I began to shake. This was a very bad idea.

“Hello?”

Hang up
!
screamed a Voice.

I took a deep breath. “Don’t hang up. I want to apologize.”

Silence.

“Matt, I’m not sure that we started out on the right foot. First, the vacation flirting when I didn’t think I’d see you again. Then the weirdness when we saw each other at GT’s. And now the problems we’ve created with our emotional baggage.”

Once I heard myself say it out loud, it sounded exactly right. And undeniably stupid.

“If I could make everything perfect, if I could start over with you as a happy, healthy woman with no issues and no past, I would. I’d make us people who could tell the truth all the time, the right way, without misunderstandings.”

I paused. I sounded like I had my heart on my sleeve. And like I watched soap operas all day.

I sighed. “But I can’t make things perfect.” I half-laughed. “I can’t even make things just okay. But I can apologize for my part in making you angry. I’m sorry.”

I waited. I could barely breathe.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Typical guy answer.

“Say whatever you want, so long as it’s the truth. I think we’re good enough friends that we can handle it.”

There was another silence, then — “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

My mind raced. Do what? Talk on the phone? Be honest? See each other?

“Uh, what exactly are you referring to?”

“This. This dating game shit. I told you at the beginning that I don’t play games.”

Uh, okay. Confused. What games? He’s the one acting like an idiot now.

“Sorry, you lost me.”

“The whole set up — you getting another guy to drool over you when I’m sitting right there.” He sounded frustrated now, and more angry by the second. “Girls who try to make guys jealous to try to cure some kind of imagined commitment phobia. Everything is calculated to find the moment to move in for the kill. I’ve dated girls like that before and I’m not doing it anymore.”

Now I was the one who was mad! But I was determined to be the calm, rational one here.

“First of all, I don’t know what you think you saw, but there wasn’t anyone drooling over me. Trent’s a co-worker, for Pete’s sake! Second—”

“I saw him. The guy has the hots for you.”

“
Secon
d
of all, I’m not trying to cure you of anything, least of all your self-described commitment phobia. Though if—”

“I don’t have commitment phobia!”

“—I had to give my opinion, I’d say you’re right on target.”

“I’m not afraid of commitment. I’m afraid of psycho women who—”

“Are you calling me a psycho?”

“—will do anything to get a man to marry them!”

“Who’s trying to get married
?
Yo
u
won’t even admit that we’re dating! According to you, we’re just eating together a lot.”

“You want honesty? Fine, here’s honesty! I’m not the marrying type, okay? So you can go spread your net somewhere else. I’m not interested!”

“Well, you sure fooled me. For someone who’s not interested, you’ve been seeing an awful lot of me!”

“Like you’ve ever said no when I called!”

“I didn’t say no because
I
like
d
you. Past tense!”

“No problem! I won’t be calling again. Don’t worry, though. Your back-up groom looks like he’s willing and ready.”

“You are well and truly warped! Talk about psychos!”

Dial tone.

I can’t believe that psycho hung up on me!

I can’t believe that incredible hunk was psych
o
, exclaimed Lovesick
.
What a disappointment.

I hung up the phone and leaned against the kitchen counter, shaking. This was unbelievable. Simply unbelievable.

Good riddanc
e
, said Sergeant Pride.

That boy needs a reality chec
k
, said another Voice
.
And an attitude adjustment.

And a good smack upside the hea
d
, said Another.

I started to take a step to toss my juice bottle in the trash. Unsteady, I leaned against the counter. I couldn’t stop shaking. I was so angry. And hurt.

And mystified as to how I could be so good at choosing the wrong men. I mean, th
e
reall
y
wrong men.

I tossed the bottle away and moved to my junk drawer. I pulled out a black magic marker and walked to my briefcase on the kitchen counter.

I pulled out The Plan and twisted the cap off the marker. Reading through number six, I bit the inside of my lip and told myself not to cry. Then I obliterated Matt and any plans I thought I had with him.

CHAPTER 28

I STOOD at the kitchen table staring down at the paper with the huge black gash through it. I refused to cry. I’d cried enough over love in the last six months. No more tears. Just call me Johnson & Johnson.

I walked over to the refrigerator and looked inside. Nothing interesting. I opened the freezer. Frozen dinners. Frozen chicken. I moved the Bag o’Breasts to see if any ice cream was hiding in the back.

Nada. Then I remembered I’d finished the Godiva a few days ago while doing some paperwork.

I closed the freezer door and leaned my forehead against it. The cool surface felt good against my face. Some ice cream would make me feel even better. I grabbed my car keys and purse and left.

At the store, I got a cart and went up and down the aisles. So long as I was here, I might as well make it a regular shopping trip. Then I wouldn’t have to come back.

I bought some Sun Chips, regular and cheddar. A few pounds of strawberries and apples. Then I noticed the caramel and chocolate dipping sauces, so I bought one of each.

I noticed a package of bear claws near the bakery and decided to pick that up for tomorrow. My mom always used to buy doughnuts on Sundays. Granted, this package would feed a family of four, but hey, it was all they had.

I went down the cookie aisle to get some Keebler Grasshoppers, and saw some kind of cinnamon shortbread cookie. I picked up one of each. A voice in my head suggested I keep in mind what a bad idea it is to shop while you’re hungry.

Or depresse
d
, whispered another Voice.

I pretended not to hear either of them.

When I got to the ice cream aisle, I looked first for the chocolate raspberry truffle. Yes! I bought two. (They don’t always have it.) Then I noticed Ben & Jerry’s was on sale and Godiva wasn’t. Decisions, decisions.

Since they don’t always have my flavor, I didn’t put the Godiva back. But to not buy when something is on sale is a waste of money. I grabbed Peanut Butter Cup and New York Super Fudge Chunk.

Knowing I probably wouldn’t feel like leaving my apartment today, I picked up a frozen pizza (the really good kind) and some mozzarella sticks. Then a package of frozen breaded mushrooms, in case I felt like that instead.

By the time I got to the checkout, I was glad I’d gotten a cart. You know how it is. You come in for one thing…

You’re going to make yourself sick.

I shushed the voice.

You’re just eating to keep from crying.

I shut that one up, too. If I was trying not to cry, I would’ve bought some wine. That’s m
y
modis operand
i
. But I didn’t. So there.

I tried not to think as I drove home and unloaded my groceries.

There’s nothing wrong with what I bought, I told myself. The four ice creams are small. It’s not like I was going to sit in front of the TV with a five-gallon container and a spoon.

When I was done putting things away, I found the book I was reading and curled up on the couch. I looked at the clock and began to read.

Exactly ten minutes (and four sneak peeks at the VCR clock) later, I got up and nonchalantly pulled the Peanut Butter Cup ice cream out of the freezer.

See, I waited. I didn’t run to the store, then come home and dive right in. And it’s not my favorite, so that means I’m not drowning my sorrows. I’m just eating ice cream like everyone does on a summer Saturday.

In fact, I’m actually saving money by buying at the store instead of going out.

See?

I curled back up on the couch with my book, my ice cream and a teaspoon. (Not a tablespoon.) My goal was to simply relax for the weekend. That’s been my goal for days. It’s not because of Matt.

Mid-afternoon, I took a break from my book to eat some yogurt. Very healthy. No worries about men or anything else that would make me run to high-calorie foods. I’m perfectly fine.

I finished the book about the time it was getting too dark to read without a light. The serial arsonist died in his own fire. Justice was served.

I lay on the couch breathing in the twilight. I don’t know why, but this is one of my favorite times of the day. Maybe the half-light makes things look softer than they really are. I closed my eyes and snuggled deeper into the cushions. The ticking of the wall clock behind me began to sound intrusively loud. I didn’t realize how many cars drove down my street until I lay there and listened to them all passing by.

How many were driven by a single someone, on their way to an empty home? Was Matt home? Was he alone? Was Dirk alone? Trent?

When most single girls I knew had trouble finding even one intelligent, nice, single man to go out with, here I was juggling three. How ridiculous. Unreal. And it didn’t even matter because I didn’t want the ones who might want me, and the ones I might want
,
didn’
t
want me.

You meant to say “one,
”
said a Voice
,
the “one” you might want.

I sighed heavily. This was just sick and wrong.

On a whim, I pinched myself. Nothing. I pinched myself harder. Okay, ow, that hurt. Still nothing. I should never have read those time travel romances. They put wishes in your head that you can never have.

The fact is, I don’t want a line of men outside my door. I’d never apply to be the next Bachelorette and choose a sexy hunk to marry while the world watched. I just want one man to love me forever. And I want to find one man I could love forever. Just so we’re clear here, I want him to be th
e
same ma
n
. And then I want us to live in a real house that we could make into a home.

I sighed again. God, what am I doing wrong? Which one of them am I supposed to be pursuing? Am I supposed to be pursuin
g
an
y
of them? Is there one soul mate for everyone? Or is that something we made up down here?

I thought about it for a moment. Actually, there is no mention of that in the Bible. I know the whole “man and woman become one” part, and the threatening “let no one tear asunder what God has joined together” part. But I’ve never read, “Sydney Riley, I created Mr. X for you to marry on September 17 of your 32nd year.” That’s not in there. Not in the parts I’ve read, anyway.

Big sigh. Well, it should be. God, if you know everything, why can’t you let me in on some of it? I crossed my arms and prepared to pout.

That’s so matur
e
, said a Voice.

Better than crying.

Maybe tomorrow Pastor Mark will say something helpful. He’ll be standing up front, about to begin the sermon. Then he’ll suddenly frown, look for me in the crowd, and say, “Sydney Riley, are you here this morning? God just told me who you’re going to marry. Come on down! You’re the next contestant on ‘God is Right!’”

I half snorted a tiny little laugh.

Or maybe after church, when we’re all standing around talking, he’ll come up to me and whisper in my ear. Maybe slide me a note. “Sydney, this is a message from God. He said to tell you, ‘Door Number 3.’ Does that mean anything to you?”

I’ll light up with happiness and give him a hug and go find — well, whoever is Mr. Door Number 3.

I suppose those silly thoughts before I fell asleep were the reason I dreamed weird dreams. The one I remember the clearest is the one where I’m walking down the aisle at a beautiful garden wedding, flowers and guests everywhere, wearing a fantastic wedding gown. At the end of the aisle are Dirk, Matt, and Trent. All three of them!

Dirk was holding a sign with the words, “Will you forgive me?” written on it in big, black letters.

Matt had a sign that said, “Am
I
The On
e
?”

Trent’s sign read, “Do you like me? Check Yes or No.” It actually had little check boxes, too.

I know, you’d think I was drinking before I went to bed. Aside from being embarrassed, there was one other thought that hounded me for the rest of the day Sunday.

Where could I buy that gorgeous wedding dress?

YOU probably guessed this already, but I don’t want to keep you hanging. Pastor Mark di
d
no
t
give me a message from God Sunday. Not even a hint.

There was one moment that made me squirm and run home as fast as I could. David, my friend who I sat next to when we all went to have pizza two Sundays ago, came up to me and asked if I had lunch plans. I’m sure it was harmless, but that stupid dream was way too fresh in my mind. I made some excuse and left. Fast.

After moping around my apartment all day Sunday, I got ready for work Monday morning determined to have a good day, a good week.

A good life? Well, now that’s pushing the limits of my Pollyanna attitude. After all, today was Monday and I had to spend most of the day with GT, starting at his office. Which is where Matt would likely be today.

No matter. I don’t care. I dressed for success, but not to impress. Matt has more issues than I’m interested in dealing with. (We won’t be discussing my issues today.)

I pulled on a pair of khaki Capri pants (the closest you can get to shorts and still be professional) and a white button-down cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I looped a blue scarf under the collar and stepped into a comfortable pair of sandals.

One last look in the mirror — perfect. It was a “let’s get down to business” outfit that also said, “I love summer.”

Just my style.

I look stupid.

Shut up!

This insecurity thing is driving me crazy! Why isn’t there a pill or something for it?

I hurried to the car and turned up the radio. Loud, so I couldn’t hear myself think. Driving to GT’s house soothed my nerves. About half the drive is along the bay on Peninsula Drive. The water calms me. I can never decide if I want my house to be on the water or in the woods. They both nurture that peaceful vibe in me.

When I ge
t
an
y
house, I’ll feel a lot more peaceful.

And a husban
d
, reminded Little Miss Lovesick
.
That will definitely make me feel more peaceful.

I snorted. I was seriously beginning to have doubts about that.

GT’s driveway was coming up on the right. For one awful glorious moment, I considered just driving past it. Like in the movies. Just drive past it and keep on driving.

Sighing, I flipped on my turn signal and pulled in.

I’ll tell you one thing, come hell or high water, I wil
l
no
t
look around for Matt. In fact, my plan is to not look anyone in the eye. Just get to GT’s office and get to work.

The back door into the kitchen was open as usual, so I walked in and made a beeline for the office. Matt stood in his usual place at the butcher block, surrounded by paper.

I hurried around the other side of the counter and glanced at my watch as if I didn’t see him. I saw him look up out of the corner of my eye, but I pretended I didn’t.

Making it into the hallway that led to GT’s office, I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. That was easier than I had hoped.

Just ignore the overwhelming feeling of guil
t
, said a Voice.

Yeah, like I have anything to feel guilty about!

How about amazingly bad manner
s
, said a Voice that sounded too much like Mom.

I knocked on GT’s office door. It was half-open and I could see he was on the phone. Poking my head in a bit, I saw him motion me in.

As I sat down, GT handed me a piece of paper. “Requirements for Yolanda’s Cottage” was the title.

As I read through it, I got a little rush of energy — relief combined with excitement over my work again
.
Thi
s
was doable.

GT finished his phone call and hung up. Turning to me, he said, “Better?”