Cocky Nerd

by Kayley Loring

  I left the Montgomery house in a daze, told everyone that “an emergency work situation” came up and I have to return to the Bay Area right away. I don’t know if anyone believed me. They probably heard us upstairs, but nobody tried to stop me from leaving.

  I checked back into a room at the hotel. I couldn’t just leave town without knowing how real this shit is. I haven’t heard from Olivia. I haven’t heard from Monty. I paced back and forth in this hotel room for about an hour and I’ve actually worn a path into the carpet.

  This fucking sucks.

  How do I turn this around?

  Focus on work.

  Can I monetize this? Can I partner with that matchmaking service and tie it in with Brainy Biz? Personal marketing and matchmaking for nerds and geeks. Brainy Love. Brainy Hearts. Brainy Fuck.

  Fuck.

  Nothing matters if I’m not with Olivia.

  I’m in bed. The blackout curtains are mostly closed but I see light shining through the edges. I check the clock. It’s eight-fifteen. I slept through the night. I didn’t eat dinner and I slept through the night.

  I grab my phone. No messages from Olivia. One text from Monty asking if I’m back in Palo Alto.

  I may actually be coming down with something. Everything is falling apart.

  I wish I could talk to Nathan about his sister right now. I wish I could talk to anyone about Olivia right now. Mostly, I wish I could talk to Olivia, about anything.

  If I say “I love you” for the first time in a text, email or on the phone, it will just make her mad. I may not know much, but I know that.

  I start typing out a text on my phone. This all started two years ago in Pittsburgh.

  Delete. It started long before that. Long before I’d realized it.

  Who knows how long I’ve loved you.

  Delete. I’m not going to start quoting early Beatles songs until I’ve completely run out of my own words, which may be in about three hours.

  Can we start over?

  I don’t want to start over. Delete.

  What if we just have sex for the rest of our lives and never speak again?

  Is that what I want?

  Maybe?

  But I love everything she says. Even when she’s telling me I’m an idiot.

  Delete.

  Half an hour later, I send this: Where are you?

  And I take a shower.

  And then I check my phone.

  No response.

  I order room service.

  Check my phone.

  No response.

  Force myself to eat.

  Still no response.

  Fuck this. I call her. It goes straight to voicemail.

  I can’t take this, the not knowing. If I don’t understand what’s happening I can’t figure out how to fix it. I won’t know what’s going on unless I go back to the Montgomery house.

  Sanjay has been leaving me messages since yesterday afternoon, but there’s nothing urgent, he just panics when I don’t tell him what to do every hour. Nothing matters until I find out where Olivia is and where her bewildering head is at.

  I may not know much about love or Olivia, but I do know that if she’s told her family about the contracts then it’s really over. If she hasn’t told them, I still have a shot.

  When I pull into the driveway, the house looks empty. I ring the doorbell and knock on the door, three times, like I always have. They only hear the doorbell if they’re upstairs, and if someone knocks too loudly or quickly it startles Mrs. Montgomery. Three knocks, not too fast, not too slow. I don’t hear barking. Maybe they’re not home.

  The door opens and Mrs. Montgomery looks up at me, happy to see me, but confused. Definitely not angry.

  “Johnny? What are you doing here?”

  “Hi, Mrs. Montgomery. I…Is Olivia here?”

  “We took her to the airport this morning, we assumed it was to be with you.”

  Fuck yeah. There is hope.

  “It’s just me home now. You know that Nathan and Katie went back to Chicago. Alan and Bob are at a puppy training class. Come in, come in. It’s so funny—I thought it was you when I heard the knock, but then I thought no he’s in Palo Alto. Come in.”

  I want to go to the airport. I want to call Olivia. But I can get more information from Mrs. Montgomery.

  There is hope.

  I step inside. “Okay, I don’t want to bother you.”

  “Oh, it’s never a bother.” She studies my face. “You two had a fight, didn’t you?”

  I nod and look down, ashamed. She pats my back and squeezes my arm.

  “Come have some coffee and help me eat the leftover banana-zucchini bread.”

  The banana-zucchini bread does get better as it gets older. She leads me to the kitchen table. It’s the same table I sat at with Nathan so many mornings, whenever we weren’t allowed to eat while watching TV. I learned about family at this table. I learned about Olivia’s eating habits at this table. I learned that if I add or subtract polynomials in my head I can control my erection even when my best friend’s teenage sister is eating a banana while wearing shorts and a thin flimsy T-shirt with no bra—but I won’t think about that now. I will learn something important at this table today, I just don’t know what yet.

  Steph Montgomery places a mug that says Mama needs some coffee in front of me, and a plate of the bread she made with me in mind, and I realize that it never even occurred to me to call my parents yesterday, or go to their house to be with them, and for the first time in my life, maybe, I feel like crying.

  But I don’t.

  Because I’m a fucking stud.

  But my eyes may be a bit damp and my lower lip may be quivering. I’ll have to learn how to control that.

  She smiles, her lovely warm smile and rests her chin in her hands, her elbows on the tabletop.

  “Johnny. It’ll be okay. You know, all I’ve ever wished for my girl is that she find someone who loves and adores and is as dedicated to her as she is to dancing. And guess what. She met you even before she took her first ballet class.”

  I nod. I try to swallow a bit of the bread but there’s a lump in my throat and my mouth is dry. I start choking. It’s not a good look. Mrs. Montgomery gets me a glass of water and waits for me to get control of my fucking body, which apparently doesn’t work anymore if Olivia isn’t near it.

  “Better?”

  “Better.”

  She is excited to get back to her train of thought. She is as excited to talk about Olivia as I am. “I’ve always been worried that because she loves dance so much that she’ll never look for someone that she could love as much. She’s had some real d-bag asshat boyfriends, I don’t know if you know that?”

  I nearly spit out my coffee.

  “I had an idea, yes.”

  “Ever since she was a teenager. I mean, they were barely even boyfriends, really. Boys who made her cry. Boys who made her mad.”

  I may be one of those.

  “And then she’d just get bored of them and throw herself into dancing again.”

  “Bored, huh?”

  “Oh she could never get bored of you. You’ll be so good for her. You already are, I can tell. You’ve always had a good head on your shoulders.”

  “I can’t think straight anymore, when it comes to your daughter.”

  “Then don’t think straight. Think in circles. Think in swerves. Or don’t think at all.”

  Think in circles, think in swerves. That last thing is impossible.

  “I think she’s really mad at me. I think I really fucked up. Sorry.”

  “You didn’t treat her badly, did you?”

  “No. I don’t think so.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. That’s usually what all fights are, in the beginning.”

  “I hope it’s just the beginning.”

  “I’m sure of it. She’ll get over it, whatever it is. I don’t have to tell you how stubborn our girl is, Johnny. Sharp a
s a tack, but her mind is the last part of her that’s invited to the party, if you know what I mean. She’s a dancer, through and through. It’s music and emotion and passion that moves her. Which is why it’s been nearly impossible for Alan or I to reason with her over the years.”

  “Did you give up? Trying to reason with her?”

  “I think we just finally decided to trust her instincts the way she does. They haven’t led her very far astray so far. I don’t think they’ll lead her away from you.”

  This is my chance to ask Steph Montgomery what I could never ask my own parents, or at least I’d never expect an answer from my parents.

  “How do you do it? How does marriage work?”

  “Well. Every marriage is different. But I think what makes marriage work is you’re forced to try to work things out. It’s amazing what can happen if you give it time.”

  I grit my teeth and refrain from launching into a monologue about general relativity and quantum mechanics. “Do you and Mr. Montgomery have fights? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  She laughs and waves her hand dismissively. “Of course we do, I’m sure you’ve heard them. But they’re just fights. You learn how to fight fair eventually. You’ll see. Just give her some time.”

  “But what should I do?”

  “Usually it helps to just get back to the basics. You’ve taken her to Asia and a gala and Cleveland. You’ve done the grand gesture. Just be around for each other. Take it slow. See what happens.”

  Back to basics.

  What is a real relationship?

  How do I say I love you out loud?

  What if one plus one doesn’t equal two?

  “What do you mean, exactly?”

  “You both have such demanding careers I think it would be nice if you have each other, for the quiet times.”

  “The quiet times.” I can do that. “I just wish I understood her.”

  “Why?” She cocks her head. She really doesn’t understand why I’d want to understand her daughter.

  “Don’t you?”

  She smiles and touches my hand. “You’re a good boy Johnny. But you don’t have to understand everything. When we try to understand something it’s because we want to feel like we have control over it.”

  Is that true?

  It is.

  This woman. She’s the genius.

  My leg is bouncing under the table.

  She smiles, her lovely warm smile. “You can go to the airport now.”

  I stand up and lean into the best hugger I’ve ever known. I would give anything to be her son-in-law. Even my time.

  22

  Olivia

  Thursday

  Almost as soon as I got back to San Francisco, I went to a ninety-minute ballet conditioning class, hoping that the familiar ache of quad, hamstring and abdominal muscles would cancel out the unfamiliar ache that has been consuming me.

  It didn’t.

  I didn’t tell anyone about our fight or the arrangement. I told Callie about the ladies room encounter with Montana Reed, and that kept her busy Googling “crazy Montana Reed” and discovering that #crazyhotMontana is a meme. I told Franklin about the sex stuff, and the concept of not ejaculating broke his brain.

  Now I’m back to working lunch shifts at the restaurant.

  I didn’t reply to John’s texts asking where I am, or when he wrote to tell me that he was on his way home yesterday. I still don’t know what to say. It feels like we had something that could have been great and we blew it. Maybe fucking each other has made him dumber and me more uptight and socially-inept.

  I’m at the bar waiting for a drink order when I see him on the sidewalk. Dark hair the color of my favorite old Led Zeppelin T-shirt, the one I will never get rid of. The first thing I feel is relief. The second thing I feel is butterflies. The third thing I feel is mild rage. He is on the phone, of course. Women turn their heads as they pass by, checking out his butt. I die a little inside, at the thought of anyone else grabbing onto it. I have to retreat to the restroom, to prepare to face him.

  Franklin knocks on the door. “Your boyfriend’s waiting for you in your section.” I hear him say “lucky slut” under his breath.

  John looks tired. It stops me in my tracks. He’s still wretchedly handsome, but there are dark circles under his eyes. I can see that, despite his glasses. Just when I thought I was used to the idea of being surprised by him, he knocks me on my ass with something totally unexpected. John Brandt looks humbled.

  “Hey Tiny Dancer.”

  “Hello.”

  “Is it okay that I’m here?”

  “It’s a public restaurant, I can’t stop you from coming here. Did you hire the matchmaking service?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Don’t you have meetings and work stuff?”

  “I had Sanjay reschedule everything.”

  “You did not.”

  “I did. We pushed everything back a week.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can be around for you.”

  I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Good.”

  “I miss you.”

  “I’m still mad at you.”

  “Okay. Can I come back tomorrow?”

  “Okay.”

  He leaves a twenty-dollar bill on the table, kisses my cheek, and leaves.

  Friday

  He’s back.

  He looks really tired.

  “Hi.”

  “Hello.”

  “I miss you.”

  “You look like shit.”

  “You’re still mad at me.”

  “Are you sick?”

  “I don’t get sick. Are you still mad?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay. Should I leave?”

  “I guess.”

  “Are you going to come with me to the wedding?”

  “When do I have to decide by?”

  “Next week, I suppose.”

  “I don’t know, maybe it’s fate. Maybe you should go to that wedding by yourself and meet the love of your life there.”

  He looks like he’s fighting back tears. Or maybe he’s angry. “I don’t believe in fate.”

  “What do you believe in? Contracts?”

  He reaches out for my hand, his lower lip quivering.

  I am this close to falling apart.

  “I believe in us,” he says, softly. “I’m sorry I fucked up. I was scared.”

  “I know.”

  “Should I leave?”

  “Yes. I have to work.”

  “What about after work?”

  “I have to go to a class.”

  “Can I come back tomorrow?”

  “If you want to.”

  “Okay.”

  He reaches for his wallet.

  “Do not leave me a tip.”

  He puts his wallet back in his pocket. He kisses me on the cheek.

  I start to say something, to tell him I hope he does come back tomorrow, but he brings his phone to his ear and starts talking to Sanjay. Business as usual, I guess.

  Saturday

  He hasn’t come back.

  He didn’t come back.

  I can’t believe he didn’t come back.

  He hasn’t sent a text or called.

  But then again, neither have I.

  Both Callie and Franklin think I’m blowing it. It’s all too obvious that we’ve had a fight and that I’m being stubborn, but I refuse to discuss it with them. They assume I’m just getting bored of him because that’s what I usually do. God, I wish I were bored of him.

  When I get home from the restaurant, I call my brother. He had sent an ominous text that simply said: Call me when you can.

  Shit, he’s breaking up with me. That’s the first thing that came to my mind when I read the text. My devilish brain almost believes that John has asked my brother to tell me that it’s over. Or—he told my brother about the agreement. If he told him about it t
hen it is over. If he didn’t then I guess there’s still hope. For what, I’m not sure.

  “Hey,” says my brother when he answers.

  “Hi,” I say hesitantly. “What’s up?”

  “I’m engaged.”

  “What?!”

  “Did you really not hear me?”

  “To Katie?!”

  “Yes, genius, I’m engaged to my girlfriend.”

  “Uh, she’s your fiancée now, genius.”

  “Right. She is.”

  He’s smiling. For the first time in days, I remember what happiness feels like.

  “Congratulations. I’m so happy for you. She’s really great.”

  “Yeah. She is.”

  “Mom and Dad must be thrilled.”

  “They are…”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I just talked to Johnny.”

  “Oh shit.” He’s breaking up with me. My brother just softened the blow with this engagement news.

  “What?”

  “You what—just tell me. Tell me why he called you, just get it over with.”

  “What are you—I called him. To tell him that I’m engaged.”

  “You called him before you called me?!”

  “Can you not…What is wrong with you right now?”

  “Nothing. Everything.”

  “John’s going to be my best man, I needed to ask him about his schedule. Just shut up and listen to me. He’s a mess right now.”

  “Who?”

  “Johnny Brandt.”

  “He’s never a mess.”

  “He tried to hide it, but I think he’s really sick. I’ve never heard him like this before.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He said he has the flu, but I think he’s messed up about you. He told me about the fake-fake relationship thing.”

  “Shit.” I can’t believe he told him.

  “I’m not saying it’s normal or even that it makes sense, I just get how it would make sense to Johnny. Shortest distance between two points and all that. It doesn’t make the point that he’s trying to get to any less important to him.”

  I sigh.

  “You’re being stubborn.”