Stuck With You (First Kiss Hypothesis)
Page 19
He shifts on the picnic bench.
“It’s so exciting, Jack,” she tells Gramps. “Caleb’s going to play varsity lacrosse in his freshman year. That almost never happens.”
I hadn’t heard that part of it. I notice Caleb wince.
“W-well…” Gramps starts. “You always have been a natural athlete. But also smart.”
“Oh yes.” Aunt Jenny lifts her hand and almost pushes back Caleb’s hair again, but he pulls away. “Yes. He is. We’re so proud.”
“You sh-should be.”
“All right, enough chitchat,” she declares. “Time for brunch.”
Caleb stands up before the rest of us can. “Catie, um, can I talk to you for a second?”
Aunt Jenny frowns at him. “Everything okay with you two?”
“Yeah, Mom,” Caleb snaps. “Yes. Everything’s fine,” he says, softening his tone.
Gramps’s gaze lingers on me as Aunt Jenny considers Caleb like she doesn’t buy that at all. “Don’t be long,” she says as she pushes Gramps inside. The door closes behind them, and we’re alone.
He attempts a smile.
No. No smiling. “Caleb. I think we said everything we need to last night. Let’s just get through the weekend, okay?” I walk toward the door.
“Wait,” he says. “No. Cate. Catie. Wait, please.”
We’re standing directly in front of the big picture window where on the other side of the glass, our families are currently sitting down to eat. Five sets of eyes are staring at us, no doubt wondering what the hell is going on.
“Can you come downstairs for a second?” he asks. “Please?”
What will they think behind those windows if I disappear with Caleb?
It really doesn’t matter, though, does it? There’s nothing to tell them about us, no big reveal.
Except that I am applying to Northwestern.
As for Caleb, I’ll give him a minute. One minute, then I’m back upstairs and counting down the seconds until he goes back to Florida and I can leave him behind.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Caleb
I’m pacing. It’s not a good look for a guy who is known for his slow-and-easy-as-a-Texas-sunset manner. I’m starting to wonder if that part of me is gone forever. Lately, I’ve been hyped up like a rattlesnake in a stampede.
Last night, when I was laying in bed, not sleeping, thinking about what she’d said to me, it hit me.
I’m a chickenshit, yes, but she doesn’t even know how big of a chickenshit I am. I’m literally scared of everything. This dumb-ass easygoing demeanor is a lie. I’m freaking scared of all of it.
So yeah, I realized it, but then I laid there wondering now what?
It took me a few solid hours of thinking and zero sleep to come up with my “now what.”
I run my hand across my newly cut hair, not believing that she actually followed me under the house. Now she’s waiting for me to speak, that square chin of hers sticking out and those eyes flashing like the sky in that lightning storm the other night. She has every right to hate me. I told her I’d be here for her, and then I basically told her it was over.
The worst part is that right now, I want to kiss her again. I have no right to want that. I know I’ve ruined everything, but can I help it if she is beautiful and those lips are calling to me?
I make myself take a deep breath, but it doesn’t go so well. I choke on it, and I start coughing, and Catie just raises an eyebrow.
“It’s in through your nose and out through your mouth, dummy,” she says.
I bang a fist on my chest while I cough some more. She lifts a hand and checks out her fingernails.
I’m stomping a foot trying to stop this ridiculous hacking. Mo barks. Catie doesn’t move an inch. Finally I catch my breath. “You know what, Catie?”
She’s wearing a cute little blue tank top that shows off the burn that she got at Fun Spot that turned into a tan on Pleasure Pier. My eyes focus on that little indentation at the base of her neck. What is that called? Over the past few days I have become best friends with that thing.
“What?” she responds in her own sweet time.
“I apologized to you,” I say.
Her eyebrows rise in unison.
“And you called me a chickenshit.”
“Well,” she chuckles. “You said we were a thing—to my face, and then you took it back. I don’t have to accept your apology, and you are a chickenshit.”
I dare to take a step toward her. She glares in warning. I take another step, and I watch her jaw clench. I run my hand through my hair again.
“You got a haircut.”
“Yeah, I stopped at the barber when I was out this morning.”
We stare at each other for several long seconds before she sighs. “You had something to say to me?”
I shake my head. “Yeah.” I look up to the underside of the house, trying to calm myself. I’ve already rehearsed this speech a million times this morning, but now only this weird strangled sound is coming out of me. I lift my hand and wave it in the air like I’m trying to catch the right words.
“Then say it, please.” Her face looks pained, and I can tell this is killing her. I’ve messed everything up, and the news that I have to tell her probably isn’t going to change that.
I take another step toward her. Just being near her again calms me. It’s like I’m looking down a long tunnel, and at the end, I see Catie. There’s still a ways to go, but she’s there. I hope she stays put. I take another step, and she doesn’t back away.
“Catie, you were right.”
“Oh?” Her eyebrows arch again. She doesn’t smile or give me a sign that it’s safe to keep talking, but she also doesn’t tell me to stop.
“Yeah.” I rub at my temples with my fingers and hope that I can say something that makes sense. “I just— You’re right, about all of it. I’m a liar and a chicken and I don’t deserve your forgiveness.”
Her hands go to her waist. “That’s what I said.”
I nod. “Yes! I know.” The speech I’d practiced is so jumbled that I don’t know how to get it back on track. “But there’s something else! I don’t want to be— I don’t want to be scared. And I don’t want to lose you.”
“Is that so?” She’s frowning, but her eyes are shining with what might be the start of tears.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “You have to go to Northwestern. Please try. I don’t want to have anything to do with keeping you here. I don’t want you giving up your dream for me.”
She chuffs. “Caleb?”
“Yeah?”
“Is that why you ended this?”
Nope. We’re not going there. I just need to know. “Did you finish the application?”
“Caleb. Is that what you’re doing? You can’t give up your dream for me.”
I rub at my temple. “Catie. I don’t know. I gave my word. To my parents, to my new coach. The team is counting on me. A person’s word is everything.”
“When?”
I open my mouth to keep arguing, but my brain hits its pause button. “When what?”
“When did you give any of those people your word?”
My eyes track side to side. “I …” I can’t remember.
She frowns. “I’ve known your parents all my life. The only thing they want for you is to be happy. They don’t want you doing something you aren’t meant to be doing. And I don’t know the team or the coach, and maybe they’ll be annoyed, but they’ll get over it. What you said to me and what I said to you, Caleb, it’s all true. We should be going after the things we want. Not the things that other people want for us.”
I try to remember my point past the blue of her eyes.
“And you know what?” she continues. “I do not want to run the company. I want to at least try to do this journalism thing. That’s what I want right now—and right now is what matters. The question is, what road are you gonna take?”
I hike up one corner of my mouth. I think of this morni
ng, when I met Professor Jackson at Mike’s Donuts.
That meeting, texted desperately to the professor early this morning was my “now what.” Standing there at the door of that stupid donut shop, I’ve never been more scared in my life. The professor claims that since I already filled out the Texas state application, it’ll take about ten minutes to apply to A&M Galveston. It terrifies me, changing plans, and breaking commitments. I’m still somewhere on the line between saying yes and remaining a chickenshit, but it’s true what she said. I get to choose.
“Well? What do you want?”
I’m hit with it like a lightning bolt. “You.”
She chokes out a laugh. “You’re kidding?”
“No. I’m not, and I know I screwed up last night—I panicked when my dad called. I knew I wanted you, and I’d let myself start thinking about coming to school here, and then that phone call was like a choke chain, yanking me back. And then I thought you were going to do it, too, the thing you didn’t want to do, for me, or whatever, and that made me mad, too. I totally overreacted, and I’m sorry, and I know there’s no reason for you to believe me, but in my terrified and fucked-up head, I was trying to save you, from being like me, or whatever. I don’t know”—I move closer to her, and she stands her ground—“I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but I know I want you. I don’t want to lose you.”
There’s a wary look on her face that I completely deserve.
“And I know you probably feel differently, but I do not want to call this,” I say. “This—this is good. Or it was until last night, and it can be again, once I stop acting like an idiot. Don’t you think?”
She crosses her arms as I move just a little closer. “I thought it was good, yes.” She looks away, there are definitely tears pooling in her eyes. She swipes at them, annoyed. “God, Caleb, no boy has ever made me cry, except you.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry.” I reach out and touch her arms, and she lets me, which feels like a good sign. She lifts her eyes to mine. She looks so sad. That’s all my fault. “I swear, I won’t do it again.”
She takes a step closer to me, and that feels like everything.
“If you do,” she says, her eyes glinting, “you’ll be sorry.”
“Yeah, I will.”
“I’m talking roller coaster rides until you throw up.”
“That’s fair.”
She takes a last step, and we stare at each other. I think I know what she’s thinking. I hope she knows what I’m thinking. Slowly, she moves her arms and puts her hands on my chest, and then reaches up and around my neck.
“Okay,” she nods once.
“Okay?”
A small smile moves those lips, and she lifts up on her toes, and I lean down, and she lets me kiss her. I’ve never been so relieved in my life. I kiss her more, harder, like I’m never going to stop. If it’s up to me, I never—
“Kids! Come on and eat!”
Oh shit.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Catie
My father yells the words just as we come into his view.
We don’t stop kissing in time.
We break apart, and I feel my face redden. Caleb’s is a weird color, too, and he runs a hand over his mouth like he can somehow wipe away the evidence of what my father just saw with his own eyes.
“Are we doing this now?” my dad asks, his voice eerily calm. He’s not a big man, but when he puffs himself up, he can look a little scary.
“Yes,” Caleb says under his breath, then clears his throat. “Yes, sir. We are.” He takes my hand and squeezes.
I want to die.
“It’s time to eat.” Dad’s voice is a rumble, his mouth set in a hard line. “Let’s go.” He turns around and walks back up the stairs.
I take a second to make eye contact with Caleb. His jaw is tensed. He looks terrified.
“Pancakes first, then death by firing squad,” he grumbles.
I pop out a laugh, and he smiles, and when that happens, I know that it’s all gonna be okay. Somehow.
“Come on, git!” Dad, who is clearly losing his mind, shouts again from up the stairs.
So we git.
My mother and Aunt Jenny have a huge spread laid out for breakfast. Our parents, especially our moms, never do anything by halves at the beach house. Why have a big breakfast if you can have an all-you-can-eat buffet?
Caleb and I walk through the front door just as Dad sits down.
Everyone else stares at us.
“Have a seat,” Dad says, and I know better than to argue.
We each have our designated spot at this table, traditionally. One mom sits at the end, one mom sits at the other. The dads sit catty-corner from their respective spouses, and Caleb and I fill in the empty spaces, diagonal to each other. I usually sit by Uncle Rick, and he sits by my father. If there are guests, which there often are, we fit in wherever we can, but Caleb and I never sit next to each other.
This morning, I figure, will be no different. I go to the open chair next to Gramps, whose wheelchair has been pushed up to join us. Mom is on his other side to help him eat, though I can do that, too. He can still manage some things, but not everything.
“Wait,” Caleb says in a clear voice.
I snap my head up.
He’s standing behind the chair that’s next to his mother. There’s an empty chair next to that one.
“Catie, will you sit by me?”
My throat tightens. I might experience some spontaneous barfing. The room is so quiet you could hear a dust bunny hit the floor, but Caleb doesn’t seem worried or bothered. He waits for me.
Everyone’s eyes are on us, but I keep mine trained on him. This is it. This is what comes next. Our futures are shifting in real time. I step around to the other side of the table. It’s not a long walk, but it feels like a thousand miles. When I get to his side, he reaches for my hand, and I let him take it. We sit down.
Of course my mother is the first to speak. “What’s happening, Catherine?”
I swear I hear a low growl emanating from my father to my right. Even though he knows the answer, he’ll sit there and growl unless I explain. I feel something rise up inside of me, and it might be vomit.
“Mom, Dad. I have something to tell you.”
No. Not vomit. Courage.
Dad puts down his fork. “Puts” might not be the word. Slams would be more accurate.
No one speaks, and it occurs to me that they might think something else. My mother’s face is one of absolute terror.
“Are you…?” she mutters. “Oh my God, are you pregnant?”
“Oh God, no!” I say. Note to self, don’t ever start a sentence like that again. “No!” Then I laugh. “No!” I shake myself and squeeze Caleb’s hand. “Nothing like that.”
Or maybe I should start everything I say like that. Anything that follows is better than being pregnant.
“I have to tell you all…” I glance at Caleb, hoping for some extra strength. He doesn’t know what I’m about to say, but right now, with him next to me, I’m not afraid. I do glance at Gramps, who is grinning. He winks at me. Like he knows.
“So, I know that everyone expects me to go to UT. But I have to tell you that it’s not my first choice.”
“What?” my parents say at the same time.
“Where is your first choice?” Mom asks.
“I’m going to apply to Northwestern, early admission.”
“Northwestern?” my father blurts. “As in Illinois Northwestern? Do they have a good business school?”
“I don’t know.” I steady my voice and press on. “They have one of the best journalism schools in the country, and I want to learn broadcast journalism.” I breathe in deeply, nervous, unable to judge my parents’ blank stares. “I might not get in.”
“You’ll get in,” Caleb interjects. He still grips my hand, calming me.
“Maybe I will, but if I do, and if they give me enough in scholarships, I think I want to go.”
“Mom, I just want—” I start, but Dad interrupts.
“You’ve always said you wanted to be in the business. Ever since you were a kid. You were president of the Accounting Club. You won all those awards.” Dad’s voice is full of disappointment. I also notice that his eyes keep moving to our joined hands, then up to Caleb’s face with a snarl. Oh, this is not going well, but it’s too late to stop now. Stay strong, Dixon.
“Yes, I’ve done well in business and journalism, but journalism is what I want to do, Dad.”
Mom stands up, scooting her chair back with a scraping sound on the tile. Her hands go to her hips. “I don’t understand. You want to run the company.”
She’s really upset, and Dad looks like he’s about to blow, and all of a sudden I’m having thoughts—doubts, really. I’m being selfish, aren’t I? My eyes fall on Gramps, who is staring at me with a face of utter concern. Maybe Robert Frost was wrong. Maybe we don’t get to choose. Is it wrong to want what I want?
Chapter Twenty-Five
Caleb
I can tell she’s losing steam, and I can’t let that happen, so I squeeze her hand again and clear my throat. I feel a little light-headed. I swallow hard. This is happening.
“I have something to say, too.” My voice is quiet but as firm as I can manage. “You know I love you.” I look at Mom and Dad, and then at the Dixons and Gramps. “All of you. And I respect the hell out of you for what you’ve built.” I inhale and glance at Catie. “But I think we might need to come up with a different game plan for the business.”
“And why is that, son?” my father, quiet until now, says with a warning in his voice. I think I might already see his face turning red.
Rip off the Band-Aid. “Because I want to go to school here.”