Complicated Girl

by Mimi Strong

  I shrug and look around for a distraction. Where is that cat when I need him?

  “Let’s just take it one day at a time,” I say sweetly, moving toward him.

  “Are you herding me out of your house?”

  “No,” I say, even though I clearly am.

  He darts back in, getting past me. “Forgot my phone,” he says. He gets it from the table where we ate breakfast, and then makes his way out the front door again, watching me warily. “What’s your number again?”

  “I never gave it to you.”

  “I know. You called my after-hours line from the home phone. I want your cell number so I can text you my address for Saturday.”

  I give him my number, and then program his number into my phone, since it would be rude not to.

  Standing in the doorway, he looks down at how close I’m standing. Our stomachs are nearly touching. He says, “You can’t wait to get rid of me.”

  “I think you’re projecting. You should probably talk to someone about that. Maybe a self-help group.”

  He grins. “You’re so cheeky.” He gives me another kiss, and then he finally steps back out of the doorway and turns to leave.

  I watch his GQ-adorable butt as he walks past the spot where we got the grass stains last night.

  He stops and points to the lawn in that area. “Looks like some wild animals bedded down here last night. You can see some of the blades of grass are bent.”

  “Maybe coyotes.” I wave at him. “Have a good day at work.”

  Still grinning, he waves back, and then disappears around the hedge.

  I close the door and finally relax, slouching forward with my hands on my knees as I mutter a string of curse words.

  I’m in a real pickle now. I certainly don’t want to go to Drew’s dumb house on Saturday and meet his roommate and then his parents who live ten blocks away. I don’t want to date someone who badgers me about how long I left stain remover on grass stains.

  I don’t know what I want, or why I want what I want. Or why I don’t want what I don’t want. But I do know I need to take another shower, and throw this stupid BJ shirt out, and get my life together for once.

  Chapter 21

  After Drew leaves, I spend the bulk of Wednesday watching TV and leafing through magazines. I’ve got to break things off with Drew. Our hookup was fun, but I’ll just get hurt eventually, so I can’t be with him.

  Muffin seems agitated, and keeps looking at the front door, like he’s expecting Drew to return.

  At quarter after six, Rory phones to ask why I’m not at O’Flannagan’s.

  I slap my palm to my forehead. I completely forgot that a few hours earlier, I made plans to see her for dinner.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  “Obviously not. I am so sorry. Hang on, I’ll wipe the chip crumbs off my shirt and be there as fast as I can.”

  “Don’t bother.”

  I start to sniffle. “Rory, I’m so sorry. You’re my only friend, and I said the D-word when we were doing laundry, even though I knew you’d be upset, and now I’ve stood you up. I’m the worst person.”

  “No, I mean don’t bother wiping the chip crumbs off your shirt. I’ll grab some takeout and bring it over there.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “Sure,” she says slowly. “Promise you’ll stay away from pointy things and pliers until I get there.”

  I sniff again and thank her.

  Rory shows up at the house with a bunch of food, including spicy hot wings. I didn’t think I was hungry, but then the sharp vinegar smell of the barbecue sauce hits my nose and my mouth waters.

  Rory has her curly dark hair loose around her shoulders, and her eyes are bright and gold tonight. She’s also wearing makeup, which is unusual for her.

  “New dress?” I ask.

  “Yup.” She opens the takeout containers and places them around the table with a quickness that comes from being a professional caterer.

  “New lipstick?”

  She smiles. “Yup.”

  “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or do I have to drag it out of you one syllable at a time?” The smell of the food is making my mouth water so much, my lips are making smacking sounds when I talk.

  “I can’t explain it,” she says, her eyes darting around to check that we have utensils and napkins. “But I talked to the guy who owns Sweet Caroline’s.”

  “Duncan?”

  “Shush.” She blushes and looks around nervously.

  “Rory, we’re in the dining room of a private residence. We’re not in the high school cafeteria. Duncan’s not going to hear us talking about him.”

  “It’s nothing.” She shakes her head, her dark curls twirling. “I’m buying some furniture. That’s all.”

  “He might have a girlfriend. I saw him with a hot girl in a fancy car.”

  “That’s his roommate.”

  I snort, and then snort again. “Girls like that don’t live with platonic roommates. Do they?”

  She loads up her plate with food, ignoring my question.

  “Meenie, grab the food while it’s hot. And tell me what’s going on with you. You don’t usually flake out and forget dates that involved food.”

  “Not much is new, except that guy Drew has fallen in love with his first impression of me and I’m going to have to cut him loose before he figures out who I am.”

  “You don’t like him? It seemed like you did.”

  “Sure, I liked him. I liked him a couple of times. On the front lawn, and in my bed, but he’s delusional. Plus he’s using me.”

  Rory looks uncomfortable at the mention of sex, but doesn’t run away. “How can you tell if a guy’s using you?”

  “It’s pretty easy if he comes out and tells you. This morning, Drew basically told me his life was all bleak like a black and white movie, and then I came in and started rocking his world in technicolor, like a Manic Pixie Dream Girl.” I spoon more blue cheese dressing onto my plate for the hot wings. “These wings are great, by the way. So, where was I? Right. Drew. So, he’s all sad because he was with some ice queen for too long, maybe since high school, then he meets me and starts gobbling me down like I’m Prozac and Boner Pills all rolled up in one. But when the drug high wears off, where does that leave me?”

  “Huh?” Rory looks confused, but she’s never even had a boyfriend, so the idea of getting used as a thrill ride is a foreign concept to her. How can I put this in a metaphor she can understand? What kind of food am I?

  “Rory, I’m like birthday cake. I’m the corner slice, with all the icing. Drew is the greedy kid at the party. He wants me, and all the icing, but he’s going to get a stomach ache, and tomorrow he’s going to want his plain sandwiches again.”

  She’s quiet for a minute, as though mulling it over. Or maybe she’s thinking about cake, like I am.

  Finally, she says, “You’re not cake.”

  “But I’m not Tina, am I? I’m not the marrying kind. I’ll never get a guy like Luca. Nobody’s going to sell out the flower shop just to take me on a date. I’m the girl they call to help them fix a flat tire.”

  “That’s not true. Duncan said some nice things about you.”

  “Shut up!” I howl with laughter. “He did not. Either you’re lying, or he is.”

  “I’m serious. He said you’re very interesting.”

  “He’s trying to get into your panties.”

  She winces at my mention of the word panties.

  I apologize immediately. “I’m sorry I said that, Rory. You’re a good friend, and you brought over food, and I’m going to work hard to be a better friend right back. I’m so sorry about all the mean stuff I said on Sunday.”

  “Nobody’s perfect.”

  “I’m serious, Rory. I am truly, truly sorry. I’m trying to change.”

  She reaches across the table and pats my hand. “I love you exactly how you are. You and Tina are like the sisters I never had. I don’t want you to ever
change. I just want you to be happy.”

  I choke back emotion. “I love you, too, dude. Let’s just be happy from now on.”

  “Okay.”

  I put on a smile and think about being happy, but it’s too big and abstract, so I start thinking about baking a cake tomorrow.

  After a few minutes of eating, I ask, “What else did you and Duncan talk about? Tell me everything.”

  “He likes electronic music.”

  “And?”

  “Well, mostly we just talked about you, and furniture.”

  “I’m so glad my humiliation was a great ice-breaker for you two.”

  She gets a big grin that lights up the whole room. “Yeah, you give me so much material.”

  “Thanks,” I say, because I am feeling weirdly proud of being so interesting.

  My phone, which is sitting on the table, vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Drew.

  I’m still eating dinner, and I don’t feel like breaking up with him tonight, so I send the call to voicemail.

  Chapter 22

  I’m at work on Thursday when I finally send Drew the official break-up text.

  I know it’s rude to break up with someone by text message, but it certainly does get the job done.

  Here’s my final message:

  Drew, I’m super bummed I can’t come to dinner on Saturday, because I’m just not looking for a relationship right now. You’re a cool guy, plus you have the whole dentist thing happening, and you said you have a good credit record, so you probably make good life decisions. Now that you’ve had your crazy animal lawn sex (thanks for that, by the way!) you’re ready to move on. I hereby pronounce you cured of your funk, and give you all my blessings to go forth into the dating world and conquer. I hope you find a NICE girl. And, before you ask, the answer is no. No, I don’t want an invitation to your wedding. I don’t want to be “friends.” I hope this text message finds you well. It might seem like I forgot to say hi and ask how you are, and then lead up to more by saying something like “we need to talk,” but this truly is my first text message to you. There aren’t any lead-up messages that got lost in transmission. I think it’s better to just rip the waxy hair removal strips straight off.

  Peace out, dude.

  Meenie (a.k.a. Megan)

  After I send the message, I go and stand in the walk-in flower cooler for a few minutes. I feel like I’m burning up, like I have a fever.

  The front door chimes. It’s just Tina, not a customer, so I stay in the cooler.

  She slides open the glass door. “Now what have you done?”

  “I had sex with Mr. GQ, and then I broke up with him.”

  She steps in with me and slides the door shut. Our breath quickly fogs up the glass. “Are you going to be okay?”

  I shrug. “I can’t get any worse, really.”

  “You do know you are your own worst enemy, right? That you make things complicated for yourself?”

  I stare into her brown eyes like I’m looking at a mirror that shows me the truth, especially when I don’t want to see it.

  “Tell me how to be uncomplicated,” I say softly.

  “It’s very easy. Think about what Mom would do, and then don’t do that.”

  I start to laugh. “Teenie!”

  “Or better yet, think about what Aunt Jane would do, and definitely don’t do that.”

  I keep laughing, feeling better. I might be complicated, but Aunt Jane is difficult, which is a whole ‘nother level.

  My phone buzzes. I swear and jerk my arms up, nearly knocking over a shelf of roses. I pull my phone out of my pocket and hand it to Tina. “That’s Drew, I bet. Don’t read me all the words. Just give me the general idea of his message and then delete it.”

  She rolls her eyes in that big-sisterly way that makes me feel annoyed, yet also deeply loved. “You’re such a weirdo.”

  “Do it.”

  Her eyes widen as she looks at the text on the screen. Her jaw drops open.

  I grimace. “That bad?”

  She flicks her eyes up to mine briefly. “Actually I was reading the one you sent. Did you have Aunt Jane help you compose that masterpiece?”

  “Shut up and tell me what he said.”

  She keeps reading, and her expression changes from horror to something else. She looks upset.

  “This is the guy you met at your self-help group?” she asks.

  “Yes. Don’t act like Rory hasn’t reported everything to you.”

  “Maybe I was wrong about this guy. He seems nice, Meenie. I think he genuinely likes you.”

  “Delete it. Delete the message.”

  Through the glass door of the cooler comes the sound of the door chime and a customer coming into the shop.

  My heart skips a beat. If that’s Drew, coming to declare his love for me, I’ll throw myself into his arms and just enjoy our time together for as long as it lasts. I rub the foggy glass with my sleeve and peer through. It’s not Drew. Why did I even imagine that it would be him? Now my heart sinks to even lower than where it started, before the glimmer of romantic hope.

  “It’s just Luca,” I say to Tina.

  “We’re getting lunch at Delilah’s, then I’ll be right back.” She hands the phone back to me. “You should read it.”

  I push the phone back to her. “Delete his message, or I’ll smash the phone right in front of you.”

  Grumbling about how difficult I am, Tina deletes the message.

  She puts her hand on the door handle, but pauses.

  “He said that if you change your mind, you’re still invited to his dinner. He sent his address in a second message, and I didn’t delete that one.”

  “Fine.” I nod for her to open the door. “Well? Don’t keep Luca waiting.”

  She steps out ahead of me and greets Luca with a hug and a kiss. “I actually had a late breakfast,” she says. “Why don’t you take my sister for lunch?”

  I object to this, but Luca is so perfectly sweet, insisting I go with him, and I can’t say no. I apologize to Tina, telling her I feel bad for stealing her date, but she just shoves us out the front door and says to have fun.

  Luca and I walk down the street together, toward Delilah’s. When we reach the diner, he points up to the giant teapot high over the door. “That’s made of Styrofoam,” he says.

  “So’s your head,” I say.

  He busts out laughing. “So’s your butt,” he says.

  We walk in and sit at a table. We place our order with the waitress, then I stare across the table at Luca, my chin on my right palm. “Luca, why aren’t more guys like you? I get along so well with you. With other guys, it’s always a disaster.”

  “I just ignore half the things you say.” His blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

  “Probably a good idea.” I rearrange my silverware. “Are things as good with you and Tina as it seems?”

  “I think so, but I’m not an expert on women, or relationships. You know I’m just taking things one day at a time.”

  “She was really hung up on Jonathan.”

  He looks saddened by the mention of Jonathan’s name. He was Tina’s boyfriend, and he died right after high school graduation. For almost a decade, Tina seemed like a princess under a spell in a fairy tale, preserved in a bubble, until her prince came along.

  “We went to his gravestone,” Luca says. “I wanted to go. I sort of said hello, and then I waited in the car while she had some time with him.”

  I swallow down what I’m feeling. Jonathan was my friend, too. Maybe even my best friend. Everyone was so worried about Tina, they didn’t notice me grieving in her shadow.

  I turn and look out the window of the diner. I survived, and I don’t blame anyone for assuming I was fine at the time. It’s my own fault for being so tough on the outside. I guess I’d rather be ignored than be vulnerable in front of people. At least you can keep your hurt to yourself, small and contained.

  The waitress comes to our table with two milkshakes in tall gl
asses.

  “I didn’t order a shake,” I tell her, but she’s already rushing off to another table.

  Luca pushes one tall shake toward me. “I ordered two, because the last time you wanted a sip of mine, I hardly got any.”

  I pluck off the maraschino cherry and pop it in my mouth. “You’re a good guy, Luca Lowell. Unlike the others.”

  “What happened with that guy you liked? From your group?”

  “What happened? Grass stains.” I turn and stare out the window again. “I don’t know. Who can say? It just didn’t work out.”

  “I’m sure you’ll meet someone better,” he says, and he’s so solid and steady—so Luca-like about the whole thing—that as we eat our lunch and talk about how things are going at his garage, I actually believe him.

  Chapter 23

  Thursday and Friday are marked by a heaviness in my chest that won’t let up.

  Why do I feel so terrible? I’m the one who ended things with Drew. He didn’t dump me, because I beat him to it. Is this how the dumper always feels? Honestly, it’s easier being the dumpee.

  Every song on the radio is about sadness, and I feel like I have no right to that sadness, but here it is, all up inside me like an invasive weed.

  I’ve thought about calling Drew. I even looked up his office address and drove by, but I couldn’t stop the car. What would I even do, anyway? Go into his upscale dental practice, get on the reclining patient chair, and beg him to take me back? Ugh. I can smell the desperation, just from the mental image alone.

  Nope. I need to get on with my life, and look for someone more like Luca. Someone gruff, with motor oil stains on his fingers. Someone who swears a lot, maybe.

  Better yet, someone who doesn’t speak English.

  That would work.