Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK

by Betsy St. Amant

  And the inevitable answer to Wes’s question that I still couldn’t make myself give.

  I stuck six powdered doughnuts on a plate and snuck it upstairs to Marta while Dad sipped coffee in front of the TV. This day required fortification, and I was out of mocha money. I waved the plate beneath Marta’s nose then thought better of it in case she inhaled the powder and sneezed.

  “Get up. I’m having a crisis.” I nudged her with my toe. Marta grunted and rolled over and then sat up and brushed her blond hair out of her face with one hand. “Good morning to you, too.” Then she spied the doughnuts and crammed one in her mouth without further comment.

  I hid my smile, wondering if Marta’s family would blame America for her bad table manners upon her return home.

  Then my grin faded. I didn’t want Marta to go home. Winter would be over before I knew it, ushering my best friend out with it come spring. Who would I vent to? Who would bring me sugar when I had a bad day?

  “What is the crisis this time?” She nibbled her next doughnut. “Haven’t you reached your quota?”

  I grabbed a doughnut, too, as I sat cross-legged on the other end of her inflatable bed, tucking my Hello Kitty house boots underneath me. The sight of them brought back the night I’d ridden Wes’s motorcycle for approximately ten yards, and a knot formed in my throat. “Same stuff. Just more overwhelming in the daylight.”

  “I thought that was supposed to be the reverse?” She raised flaxen eyebrows at me.

  I shrugged as I ate. “In fairy tales and sitcoms, yes. My life? Not so much.”

  “Is this about your dad? Or Wes?” Marta reached for a third doughnut at the same time I did, leaving behind a sugar-sprinkled plate. “What is it really about, Addison?”

  “It’s everything. But right now …” I wrinkled my nose. “Wes.” As usual. Would I ever lose the tie he had on me? Would telling him I couldn’t be with him even help anything?

  “Do you know what you have to tell him?”

  I nodded, though how to put my feelings into words was still beyond me. How to look him in the eye while doing so seemed even more out of reach. Time to put my newly solid faith into action. God, You’re listening now, right? It seems like it. So, uh, I’m going to need some advice. And quickly.

  “Then start small.” Marta gestured with her doughnut, sending a spray of crumbs across the purple blanket on her lap. “Tell Luke first.”

  “Luke?” I licked powdered sugar off my lips and frowned.

  “What does he have to do with anything?”

  “You need to be honest with him. He’s still bringing you flowers—often—and while you haven’t been encouraging, you still haven’t told him you are not interested, either.” Marta brushed off her fingers over the empty plate. “It’s only fair.”

  “So you can make a move?” I winked at her, though my heart wasn’t in it.

  “As if.” Marta rolled her eyes then sat up straight. “Hey, I sounded really American then.”

  “I’m so proud.” I pointed at her. “But you like Luke. Admit it.”

  She nodded slowly. “I do. But it doesn’t matter. I will be leaving in a few months, and if we stay friends only, it will be easier. Besides, I doubt he will recover from your rejection that quickly.” She smiled. “Ms. Heartbreaker.”

  “Whatever. He’ll be fine.” He’d better be. I couldn’t handle any more drama right now. But Marta was right—Luke deserved honesty from me, and maybe that conversation would be good practice for the one I needed to have afterward with Wes.

  My stomach clenched, and my thoughts backpedaled. Maybe there was still a chance for me and Wes. Maybe he wouldn’t distract me from the path I’d set myself on last night. Maybe I’d be a good influence on him, and my dad would come around, and Wes would change—

  And maybe Lady Gaga would wear jeans and a T-shirt to the next Grammys.

  I pressed my fingers against my forehead and groaned. This had to be done, and the sooner, the better. The holidays were coming—Thanksgiving was next week—and I didn’t want all this ugliness looming above me during my favorite time of the year. It’d be weird enough this season with Ms. Hawthorne hanging around—I didn’t need any extra tension between the few friends I had. Maybe if I came clean with Luke, we could still be friends. As for Wes …

  Yeah right. Somehow I knew it would be all or nothing with him.

  And I just couldn’t make my lips form that dreaded word.

  CALL ME WHEN U CAN. NO RUSH.

  I sent the text to Luke then sat down on the top step of my nearly frozen front porch to wait. Cold seeped through my jeans and jacket, but the chill kept me focused. Determined. The sooner I had this conversation, the sooner I could go inside and warm up with hot chocolate.

  My phone blared and I jumped, staring at the caller ID as it flashed Luke’s number. That was fast. Too fast. Maybe he wasn’t going to take this as easily as I hoped.

  I squeezed my eyes shut then pressed the button to answer. “Bored much?”

  Luke’s warm laugh echoed in my ear. Man, I didn’t want to do this. But I couldn’t lead him on, and enough flowers had already died for this pathetic attempt at a relationship. Time to spare the rest.

  “I just thought calling you back seemed more entertaining than the Cartoon Network.” Luke yawned into the phone. “You girls are up early.”

  Wait a minute. I frowned. “How’d you know Marta was here?”

  “She texted me last night on her way over.”

  Figured. I sort of doubted Marta’s whole “long distance” spiel earlier. The sneaky girl was texting him mere hours before her whole “we’re just friends” rant. I glanced over my shoulder toward the house, where she was supposedly getting dressed. “Do you have a minute?” I shivered as the cold wrapped around me.

  “For you? Of course.” Luke turned on the charm, and for the tenth time I wished I could change my feelings and go for the guy who said all the right things and spewed romance like he had cue cards in the wings.

  “You’re great. And the flower at the show last night was sweet.” I hesitated. “All of the flowers you’ve sent me over the past few weeks, actually. But …” I drew a deep breath, unsure how to continue.

  Luke filled in my blank. “But you want me to stop.”

  “Yes. No!” I sucked in my breath. “Yes. You’re just …”

  He let out a sigh. “I’m not Wes.”

  “Right.” My eyes widened, and I slapped my hand over my mouth, my next words muffled. “No! That’s not it. I can’t be with him either. I mean—” Oh, I needed another doughnut stuffed in my face, pronto. Why was I blabbing my feelings for Wes to Luke? I was the worst breaker-upper ever—and this wasn’t even a relationship. Good grief.

  “I get it, Addison.” Luke laughed, the sound far less cheery than it had been three minutes before. “I knew this was coming. It’s nice of you to actually tell me flat out.”

  Is that what I’d somehow managed to do around all the babbling? I breathed a little easier, though the knot in my stomach had yet to fully unravel. “I’m glad you understand. If I could change things, I would.” And I meant that. I hoped he believed me.

  “I know.” A blaring horn sounded from the cartoon in the background, followed by the familiar meep meep of the Looney Tunes Road Runner. “Guess I’ll have to end my discount club card at the florist.”

  Oh my gosh. I sat up straight on the porch stairs, my frozen rear end forgotten. “You didn’t.”

  “I didn’t.” His laugh sounded more genuine this time. “Got you.”

  He was going to be fine. I leaned forward, hoping my smile showed in my voice. “As corny as this sounds, can we still—”

  “Be friends? We better.” The flirty edge to his voice suddenly made me doubt the progress of the entire past five minutes of conversation. Was he thinking if we stayed friends he’d have a better chance of pursuing me later?

  No. I shook it off. How conceited was that? He probably just didn’t want to let things e
nd badly any more than I did. It seemed a lot easier to save face and move on past the initial awkwardness if we stayed friendly, rather than having to avoid each other at school and make people guess. “Great. So … I’ll see ya?”

  “Yep. See you.” Another honk sounded from his end of the line, and I couldn’t help but picture the coyote endlessly chasing the road runner.

  Marta went home an hour later, and I decided to head to the library. Maybe losing myself in a classic novel for a few hours would take the pressure off and let me figure out what to say to Wes. I wasn’t stalling—I was preparing.

  That was the mantra I repeated to myself, anyway.

  I hitched the strap of my book bag higher on my shoulder as I perused the fiction rows, grateful this side of the library offered a sense of peace and quiet for now. The Saturday crowd seemed drawn to the far side of the building, where a local author was signing books and about to lead story hour for children. It was past time I caught up on my to-read list, since the talent show had sucked all my available time the past two months.

  Breathing in the familiar, slightly musty smell of my beloved books, I plucked a well-worn volume of Jane Eyre off the shelf and let my fingers flip through the frayed pages. How many times had I read that one? Six? I reshelved it and reached for Wuthering Heights.

  “That one’s a bit of a downer.”

  I jerked so hard at Wes’s voice that I dropped the heavy book on my foot. I jumped then bit my lip as pain streamed through my toes. But the rush of awareness at Wes’s sudden proximity hurt much more.

  “Sorry.” He knelt to retrieve the volume then handed it to me, his fingers brushing mine. “Why are you so jumpy?”

  “I don’t know. What are you doing here?” The words practically hissed from my lips as I scrambled to stick the book back on the shelf. My toe stung, my dignity smarted, and looking into Wes’s eyes, my heart broke. I wasn’t ready for this.

  “Same as you.” He grinned as he tugged at the bag on my shoulder, already half-full. “Making up for lost time since the talent show, huh?”

  “Something like that.” The bag suddenly felt heavy, and I set it on the floor at our feet. “And I’ve read Wuthering Heights already. I don’t need a recap.”

  Wes frowned, leaning against the shelf beside us and crossing his arms over his chest. “What gives, PK? You that upset to see me?”

  Yes. But not because of the reason he thought. I shrugged and turned my attention to the row of novels, grazing my thumb along the spines as I pretended to study the titles. I’d practically grown up in this section of the library, and I hated to mar the fond memories with a sad new one. But I couldn’t put this off any longer, or my resolve—what little existed—would crumble. God, help me. I’m trying to do the right thing.

  Wes’s hand on my shoulder cut off my silent prayer, and I flinched under his touch. His arm fell slowly to his side. “I’m starting to think you have an answer for me.”

  I nodded, rolling in my lower lip and refusing to make eye contact. Instead I stared so hard at the spine of Jane Eyre thefaded text blurred and swam together.

  “I get it.” Wes’s voice cracked a little, and he coughed. “You just can’t forgive me, huh?”

  “It’s not that.” I spun to face him then, unwilling to let him think something that wasn’t true. “It’s where I am right now. Something happened last night that really woke me up—I realized some stuff about my life, and I can’t—”

  “I see. The old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line.” Wes nodded, the formerly teasing spark in his eye now replaced with a bitter sheen. He snorted. “Guess that’s fair. I’ve used it enough times.”

  “It’s not a line.” I drew a shaky breath. “It’s a fact. I’m in this process right now, and I can’t be distracted.” I shook my head. This was even worse than my conversation with Luke—so much for practice. This just sucked. “It’s hard to explain.”

  “Quit being so vague, PK.” Wes’s arms tightened across his chest. “If you’re going to do this, then man up and do it. Tell me the truth. Even if it hurts.”

  Oh, it hurt all right. Like an eighteen-wheeler parked against my chest. “I am telling you the truth. I don’t need a boyfriend right now.”

  “When does anyone ever need a boyfriend?” Wes scoffed. “This isn’t about need, Addison. It’s about want. What you want.”

  My heart struggled to beat a normal rhythm as the shelves in the library pressed in around me. I want you, I want you, I want you. The words pressed against my lips, threatening to spring forth and puddle on the ground between us. Everything in me wanted to wrap myself in his leather jacket and inhale his cologne and believe this would work. Believe that I could find myself while with him, that I could grow and change and finish this journey I started last night fully involved and not distracted in the least. God and Wes.

  But a still, small voice held me back with a quiet assurance I couldn’t deny. Wait.

  Tears formed as I met Wes’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

  He nodded, looking away, his eyes roaming to the shelves of books surrounding us before flitting back to my face and then finally to his shoes. “It’s your choice, PK.”

  Choice. The word sounded so freeing, like I had all these options and privileges. But I didn’t. If I wanted to make my life right, really know what it meant to be a Christian, finally allow my prayers to drift higher than my bedroom ceiling, and participate wholeheartedly in a relationship with God for the first time in my church-saturated life, then I couldn’t have it all. I couldn’t surround myself with the temptation of Wes, the opportunities to sin and pedal backward instead of forward down this new path.

  I did have to choose—and it hurt worse than anything else I’d ever felt.

  “Nothing about this has been right.” I gestured between us, desperate for him to understand, to agree. “We’ve been off ever since you moved here. First you were with Sonya, and there were all of my dad’s rules. Then your issues with your father, and that night in the meadow, and the misunderstanding with Sonya. Our timing is jacked up.”

  “It doesn’t have to be.” Wes reached for my hand, and I foolishly allowed him to take it. “You’re making it more complicated than it is.”

  My palm relaxed against the warmth of his grip, and before I knew it, he’d tugged me toward him. I opened my mouth to protest but couldn’t speak.

  His eyes searched mine as he drew me closer. “This could be our timing, PK. Our moment.”

  My breath caught in my chest, and automatically my hands snaked around his neck and my fingers tangled in his hair, longer than his jacket collar now in the back. I breathed in his spicy cologne and the scent of leather, my senses dazed as if drugged. My head reeled, the library blurring around us as Wes’s eyes dropped to my lips and he leaned in even closer.

  I angled my head toward him as if on autopilot, heart racing a frantic beat.

  No.

  NO!

  I jerked backward, my entire body protesting as my mind ordered a rush of adrenaline to separate me from danger. “See!” I couldn’t breathe, could only back away and press one hand against my stomach as I sucked air through my lips. “See! I can’t.”

  “You can’t date me because you’re attracted to me?” Wes’s incredulous expression turned to doubt. “Addison, I’m not going to pressure you again. If you’re not ready for that step, fine. I’m cool.”

  But was he? And better yet, was I? I’d just broken up with him, yet at the simple touch of his hand, I was ready to make out in a public library. That didn’t bode well for my virtue. I clenched my hands into fists, determined to stay strong. “I won’t be ready for that. Until I’m married.”

  A flicker of anxiety darted through his eyes—just a flash, but it lingered long enough for me to see we were definitely not on the same page in that regard. The clarity gave me a rush of assurance that I was making the right choice, and I breathed a silent prayer of thanks.

  “If this is about sex, don’t let that ma
ke up your mind.” Wes’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I don’t care. I can wait.”

  I somehow doubted that, but the sincerity in his eyes caught me off guard.

  “It’s not the … the sex.” I glanced over my shoulder, unable to believe I was having this conversation in public. “It’s the whole relationship. It’s all tied together, and I can’t tie myself to anything else right now.”

  “What do you mean by ‘else’?” Frustration sketched a pattern across Wes’s features. “Come on, Addison. The talent show is behind you. You said you forgive me. So what do you have to focus on that’s more important than us?”

  Aggravation built in my chest at his insistence, and I’d never felt more thankful. Anger was so much easier to bear. Sympathy and compassion? Impossible. Chemistry? Unbearable. “You want the truth?”

  “Yes! I’ve been saying that this whole time.”

  “Fine.” I crossed my arms and tilted my head to one side as I waited for his response. “The answer is God.”

  Wes’s mouth snapped shut as disbelief filled his eyes. He took a step backward.

  “I know you don’t believe me. I’m a PK. How much more Christian can I get, right?” I snorted. “But it’s true. I realized last night that I’m far from where I should be, and I want to make efforts to get there. For real.”

  Wes continued to stare at me. “God?”

  “God.” Saying His name out loud brought more assurance of my stand, even though my chest still ached at the crestfallen expression on Wes’s face. “I know this is weird. But seriously, why don’t you come to church tomorrow?” I reached toward him, my heart cracking into bits as he shook my hand off his arm. “Give it a try. What do you have to lose?”

  “Do you know nothing about me, Addison?” Wes’s voice rose, and he made no effort to lower it even as a passing librarian shushed us from the end of the row. “Why would I want anything to do with church? For all I know, every person on that pew is a hypocrite just like my dad. Did you know my mom used to sing in the choir when I was a kid?”