She chuckled. “He sure is. You want to talk to him?”
My hands turned clammy and the constriction in my throat grew. “Can I?”
She clapped her hand over the mouthpiece to muffle her shout. “Paul, phone. It’s Brenda.”
A clatter echoed loud, then silence. She must have dropped the phone to go find Paul. I gripped the receiver so hard I was surprised it didn’t snap in two.
Another scuffle then the voice I longed to hear. “Brenda? You’re home?”
My breath gushed out in relief. He was there. I was talking to him. Everything would be okay.
“Can you come over?” Maybe I shouldn’t have sounded so eager, but I couldn’t help it.
There was a strange pause.
The ground beneath me began to roll. “Paul?” I put my free hand on the water heater to steady myself. “Are you there?”
“I’m here. Um, yeah, I guess I could come.”
Another silence yawned open and my knees went liquid.
“I can be there in about thirty minutes. Okay?” His voice sounded odd. Something was wrong.
“Okay,” I said. “See you.” I dropped the receiver into its cradle and stared at my empty hand.
Something was very, very wrong.
Chapter Six
Half an hour can be a millennium. For a long minute, I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and stared. I was ready to cry and the watery-eyed look was not attractive. I rubbed at the black smudges of mascara under my eyes and re-applied some rouge. My hair was flat from leaning on the headrest in Scott’s car. I ran wet fingers through it, trying to poof it up. It remained flat, almost plastered to my head.
I didn’t look good enough to see Paul. It’d been weeks. I should be cute and perky and irresistible.
I ran upstairs to my room and dug through the clothes I’d left behind. How stupid would it look to have a dress on when he came over? I yanked out my favorite black dress and changed. This was the dress I’d snagged him with before. Do your magic, dress. My black flats were at college, but I’d left my low pumps at home. I slipped them on just as the doorbell rang.
I straightened my shoulders, raised my chin, and went downstairs. Inhaling deeply, I opened the door.
“Paul.” His name fell from my lips in a happy sigh as I looked into his familiar blue eyes. “Paul.” I took a step toward him for a hug, but he hadn’t moved except for a quick tightening of the muscles around his eyes.
“Hello.” He smiled, but it dropped flat. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home this weekend.”
I stepped back, awkward and unsure. “Do you want to come in?”
He gave me a quick hug, like one you’d give an ailing grandma, and walked past me into the living room.
“Where is everyone?”
“At the beach, I think.”
“So we’re alone?”
“Yes.”
He sat on the couch and rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. “How’ve you been?” There was an edge to his tone. Each word landed like a pierced balloon at my feet.
I stared at him. Who was he? Where was the excitement at seeing each other? Where had my Paul of a month ago gone?
I lowered myself down on the far end of the sofa. Why was he acting like we hardly knew each other? Confusion and irritation gathered in my stomach and I knew its presence showed on my face.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Are you?” My voice turned icy.
He winced. “I’m fine. How is it going?”
“You should know. I write you a couple times a week. Long letters.”
What was I doing? Insulting him for writing such short notes to me? I loved those notes.
“Yeah, well.” He shifted on the couch and reached for my hand. His touch was cold, his grip loose.
“What’s wrong? Are you mad at me?” I asked.
“Sounds like you’re the one who’s mad,” he said.
The knot inside me grew.
“You’re acting weird. What happened? Are you breaking up with me?”
He studied our hands and rubbed his thumb over mine. I used to love that gesture. Now it reminded me of scraping the finish off of old furniture.
“Do you want me to break up with you?”
I jumped off the couch. “Why would I want you to? What’s going on? What’s wrong? You promised this wouldn’t be like Greg and me.”
He flinched and I saw the pain in his expression. “Okay. I’m not breaking up with you,” he said. “But when I got your last letter …well, I just thought we should slow down. Think about things.”
My mind whirled trying to remember everything I’d written in my last letter. School stuff. Melinda’s and my “Craig Project.” The sick casseroles the cafeteria served. Colleen’s popcorn fetish. And…
Oh no. No. No.
Future Plans.
I’d gone on and on about me being a teacher and him being a teacher and wouldn’t it be cool if we got married and were teachers together and we’d have the same days off and the same vacations and it’d be so much fun and weren’t we made for each other.
I sank to the couch. “The stuff about us being married. I was just kidding around. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
But I had meant something. I knew it, and he knew it.
What had I been thinking?
I grabbed his arm. “Please pretend you never got that letter. It was stupid. It meant nothing. I wasn’t trying to rush you into anything. Really I wasn’t.”
The pleading in my voice turned my stomach. Pathetic. I had to stop. I clamped my lips together and looked at him.
“I’m not ready for marriage. I’m not ready for any of that. When I read your plans I realized you were way ahead of me. It wouldn’t be right for me to string you along.”
My lips unclamped. “String me along? Is that what this has been?”
“No, no, it came out wrong. I care about you. A lot. But I’m not ready for permanent plans. I’m not even ready to joke about them. And you were serious, Brenda. I know you.”
“But what are you saying? What do you mean by slow down?” A trembling had taken over my stomach. Nausea climbed my throat. This couldn’t be happening.
“I want to back up a little. Take things slower.” His voice shook.
“You can’t go backwards in a relationship. How would it work? You want me to pretend these last years never happened? That I don’t know you better than I know myself?” I was back on my feet, and the words spilled out in a jumbled mess.
A new realization dawned. “When were you planning to tell me? What if I hadn’t come home this weekend? What were you going to do?” I tried to suck in air, to steady myself, to slow my heart down.
Paul rubbed his hand over his forehead and stood. He stepped close and his warm breath brushed my face. His blue eyes were so full of sadness I couldn’t move. If he’d yelled or stomped, I still could’ve hoped. But the anguish in his gaze tightened around my chest like a steel belt.
“Brenda, I’m so sorry.” His words escaped in a pained whisper. “So sorry.” He touched his lips to mine and walked out the door.
I stared at the empty space where he’d stood, and my stomach spiraled to the floor.
How long I remained there in the gaping silence I don’t know. Long enough to discern the buzz of the refrigerator and the crackle of the baseboard heaters. I was tired, so very tired. I wanted to drop.
Instead, I climbed the stairs to my bedroom like I was scaling some impossible mountain. In my room, I yanked my black dress over my head and threw it to the floor. What kind of insane person hoped a dress could make everything all right? I kicked it to the back of my closet, dragged my wrinkled high school track shirt off the top shelf, and pulled it on.
I crawled beneath my covers in a cocoon of misery.
I wanted my mother.
****
The rest of the weekend passed in a haze. If I’d had my own car, I would have driven straight back to college on Saturday
morning. Stupidly, I hadn’t even gotten Scott’s number so I couldn’t call and beg him to go back early. When he finally pulled into the driveway on Sunday afternoon, I literally raced to his car. I gave one backward glance at the house as we drove off. My parents would arrive later and never know the misery of the last forty-eight hours.
Neither Scott nor I said much on the way back. I kept my face plastered to the window. No reason to let him see the tears I couldn’t stop from falling. When we arrived at my dorm, I sniffed loudly and mumbled my thanks, grabbed my bag and went inside.
I opened the door to my room, and all I could see was the display of notecards on my wall. I walked straight over and like a robot began tearing them off. Colleen came in behind me.
“Brenda, you’re home. When did…” Her voice froze.
I continued to pry off the cards.
She put her hand on my shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Paul wants a break.”
“He dumped you?”
I turned to her. “Basically.”
“But why? You were my perfect couple. He can’t do that. You were my perfect couple.” Her brows furrowed above the questions in her eyes. “How could this happen?”
I flopped onto my bed. Paul’s notes fluttered around me. “I blew it, Colleen. I blew it.”
She plucked the cards up into a neat stack and sat beside me. “How? Why?”
“I scared him off.”
Her frown deepened. “But how?”
“My last letter. I talked about being married.” My stomach twisted and I pressed my hands over it.
Colleen’s sigh billowed into the room. “But this is Paul. He’ll come around.”
I grabbed her arm. “Do you think so? Really?”
“Of course.”
I wanted to believe her. I wanted the phone to ring — to somehow hear Paul’s gentle voice on the other end. I wanted to laugh with him over this huge ridiculous misunderstanding.
Colleen patted my shoulder. Someone knocked and we both jerked. Melinda glided through the door, took one look at me, and clucked in sympathy. “You’re missing him, aren’t you? Was it wonderful being together again?”
Colleen pursed her lips and gave her a wide-eyed look full of meaning. Melinda paused, confusion written on her face.
“You were together, right?” she asked me.
Colleen jerked her head toward the empty wall. Melinda sucked in her breath. “Why are the notes down? What happened?”
“I was stupid,” I said. “That’s what happened. I was stupid, and he broke up with me.”
“Nooo,” she moaned and joined us on the bed. “How? I don’t understand.”
“But he didn’t actually dump you, right? He just wants a break,” Colleen said.
I shrugged. “What difference does it make? He’s gone.”
“I’m so sorry,” Melinda said. “If it’s any consolation, Craig thinks I’m a dweeb.”
“Oh sure it’s a consolation,” snapped Colleen. “Since she’s been going with Paul for, oh let’s see, over two years and you’ve been going with Craig for … oh, wait, not even one day. Yes, it’s a real consolation.”
“Well, sorry, just trying to be nice.”
“Stop it, you guys,” I interrupted. “Just stop.”
They both shut their mouths and we sat in silence for a minute. I looked at Melinda. “What happened with Craig?”
She scrunched her shoulders up to her ears and then let them drop with a groan. “He found out the poems were from me. I told him we—“
“What? You said we?” I was incredulous. “Why bring me into it?”
“Your name slipped out. I wasn’t prepared to be caught, and I started rambling. My mouth wouldn’t quit. It was humiliating.”
“Wasn’t the whole point to get caught?” Colleen asked.
Melinda blew out her breath from puffed cheeks. “I suppose it was. Well, it didn’t work. He smiled and said he wasn’t going to get involved with anyone. Then he asked about you.”
My spine stiffened. “What? Me?”
“Yes, you. So there it is. My big fat backfired plan.”
“What did he ask?”
“Who you were. What you were studying. Stuff like that.”
“Oh fine. Isn’t that simply marvelous?”
Melinda gazed up toward the ceiling. “Yes, it is. It is marvelous. He’s fine.”
Colleen slid off the bed. “Broken heart here, Melinda. Focus.”
I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “No. I’m okay.” I got up, rolled my head and heard my joints snap. I rubbed at the back of my neck. “Come on, is the cafeteria still serving?”
“Till nine,” Colleen said.
The three of us headed over for dinner. I shut the door. In my mind’s eye, I saw Paul’s teetering stack of notes sitting alone on my empty bed.
****
I plunged even more deeply into my education classes. They kept me sane. I did my homework at the library instead of in my room, and I no longer walked through the main dorm entrance where my mailbox was. I entered through the side door and circled around the long way. If anyone else had sent me mail, I wouldn’t know. I never checked.
The weather worsened. We hauled out our heavy coats and scarves. One Friday afternoon in November, I walked downtown with Colleen to buy snow boots. The frozen air made my cheeks sting, and I smirked.
“Frozen air, frozen heart.”
Colleen rolled her eyes. “Come on, Brenda. It’s been weeks. Give it up already.”
Her impatient tone shocked me. I stopped walking and pulled on her arm to make her stop, too.
She looked at me sheepishly. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right. I’m the one who’s sorry. I’ve been a sorry mess for weeks. It’s time.”
Her brows crinkled in sympathy. “We’re friends. You can moan as long as you want.”
“No, you’re right. It’s time to be done. Done. He’s gone and I need to move on.”
We started walking again. Colleen nudged me with her elbow. “But it’s Paul, Brenda. You can’t be done.”
I laughed at her waffling. “Colleen. I can’t have it both ways. So, I’ve decided. I’m done.”
If I said the words loud enough and often enough maybe I’d believe them.
But she was right the second time. It was Paul. I’d never be done.
****
Colleen and I both sported brand new snow boots on our way back to campus. As we neared the dorm, Colleen automatically went toward the front entrance. I paused and hung back.
She stopped. “Oh, yeah. We’ll go around to the side entrance.”
“No. No, we’re going in this way. I’m done, remember?” I marched resolutely toward the front door, my new boots stiff around my ankles. Blisters were probably already forming. I wrenched open the heavy glass doors and walked through. There were turkey cutouts announcing a Thanksgiving dance all over the bulletin board. I sighed. Thanksgiving was only a week away, and I hadn’t given it a thought.
I supposed Scott would drive me home again if I paid him.
I approached the bulletin board. “You going to this dance?”
Colleen joined me. “Probably. You want to go?”
“Is Melinda going?”
“Yeah.”
“Then we should make it a threesome. Sure, I’ll go.”
I moved away from the bulletin board and faced the mailboxes. I took a deep breath and looked through the tiny window of Box 152. Crammed full. I keyed in my combination, and the little door clunked open. I grabbed the pile of letters and fliers.
“You don’t have to go through everything if you don’t want to. I could do it for you.”
I swallowed. “No, it’s fine.” I skimmed through the pile. Four letters from my mom and a good chunk of adverts from restaurants trying to entice students. “Hey, I got a turkey flier about the dance.”
I walked to the metal garbage can by the drinking fountain and started tossing the junk mail. Near
the bottom of the stack, I saw it. I sucked in my breath and leaned against the wall.
“Colleen.” I held out the envelope.
She rushed over and snatched it from my hand. “It’s from him, dated two weeks ago. Two weeks. Open it.”
She shoved the letter back at me.
“You open it.”
“No problem.” Colleen ripped it open. Her brows drew down to a fine point. “’Are you okay?’ That’s all it says. ‘Are you okay?’” She flipped the card to the backside as if checking for more. She handed it to me.
I took it and stared.
“Write him back.”
“No reason to.” I dropped the note into the trash and walked away.
Colleen rushed after me. “Are you nuts? He wrote. He’s thinking about you. Write him back.”
I stopped and turned to her. “Done. Remember, Colleen? Done.”
She made an ugly scrunched-up face and marched ahead of me into our room.
****
Later, when Colleen was in the shower, I returned to the entry way and dug through the garbage until I found Paul’s note. I flicked off a candy wrapper stuck to the back and held the card to my chest. I smiled, sighed, and floated back to my room.
Chapter Seven
“Craig’s going to be there,” Melinda said as we walked to the Student Center. “You think he’ll ask me to dance?”
“Why would he?” Colleen questioned. “He hasn’t said two words to you since the secret note disaster.”
“He could’ve had a change of heart. What do you think, Brenda?”
“Maybe. People have changes of heart all the time.”
Melinda stopped walking. “All right. You’re in too good of a mood. You’ve been moping around forever, and now suddenly you’re not. What gives?”
“It’s almost Thanksgiving break. Four glorious days off. Who wouldn’t be in a good mood?”
Colleen looked at me with narrowed eyes. “Riiight.”
“Hey, there he is!”
Up ahead, Craig entered the Student Center.
“This is my lucky night, I know it,” Melinda said. She pulled off her knitted hat. “Is my hair too squished?”
I laughed and rearranged a few wayward strands. “Looks perfect.”
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