Make Me Bad (Page 15)
He probably exchanges texts with actual supermodels, and I couldn’t manage to think of a single witty one-liner or teasing innuendo? I am deeply ashamed.
My solution to all of this is to just stop texting him altogether and shove my phone out of sight in my desk drawer. Well, kind of.
The pattern goes like this: I put a few books away, check my phone. Help a mom and her son find age-appropriate chapter books, check my phone. Set up for mommy-and-me story time, check my phone. I think I’ve checked it so many times, I’ve worn down the home button. It’s getting a little ridiculous, so when Eli comes down to retrieve me for our lunch break, I leave my phone behind and go without it. It’s nice, liberating. I sit in the restaurant and focus on my meal. Sure, my knees are bouncing under the table, and I seriously consider stealing Eli’s phone, logging into my iCloud, and checking my text messages—but I don’t! And that counts for something.
Fortunately for me, Eli doesn’t notice how weird I’m acting or the fact that my knee has bumped into his approximately 37 times. He has a lot on his plate. He and Kevin are trying to work with an adoption agency, and they’re hitting every single roadblock imaginable. The whole process is way more expensive than they realized. I feel terrible. He has actual problems. Even still, on our way back to the library, he finally remembers to ask me about Jake’s party.
“Was it fun?”
Keep it short, I tell myself.
Then, I proceed to tell him every single detail down to the brand of champagne I spilled on myself.
“Did your brother flip out when you disappeared?”
I let my head fall back against the seat and groan. “God, that was a fiasco.”
The minute Colten found me at the party, he yanked me right on out of there and insisted we go straight home. It didn’t matter that I had a pretty good lie for where I’d been for the past half-hour. First, I told him I’d accidentally spilled my drink on my dress and being too embarrassed to go back into the party, I’d gone down to the beach to have some time to myself. I thought that’d put the matter to rest, but it had the exact opposite effect. Colten told me in excruciating detail all the reasons that was a bad idea. Some guy from the party could have followed me out there. I could have bumped into a stranger on the beach and been _____. Fill in the blank with some kind of horrible thing: raped, stabbed, shot, kidnapped. I tried to point out that even though I recently had something bad happen to me, the crime rate in Clifton Cove is ridiculously low and the odds of me stumbling upon someone who wanted to do me any harm again are slim to none. He didn’t want to hear it, though. He told me I needed to take my safety more seriously. They haven’t found the guy yet. It wasn’t a joke.
Even worse, he got my dad involved.
The two of them rambled on about how I need to take extra precautions while the police investigate my case. I wanted to throw my hands up and tell them the truth: I was inside the house the whole time! Yup! I was inside, throwing myself at a guy you both hate who at best thinks I’m a weirdo and at worst thinks I’m pitiful. Now leave me alone!
After the incident, I’m not grounded per se because I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman and I did nothing wrong, but I did get an I’m disappointed in you glare from my father at the breakfast table the next morning. To break the ice, after I scrambled us some egg whites, I pushed a deck of cards toward him and suggested a few rounds of two-person Spades. By 10:00 AM, we were back to normal.
Let’s hope it goes as easily with Colten.
He’s coming over for dinner tonight.
I texted him earlier today, just to say hey, and he never responded. He’s still upset with me, and it’s probably because he knows I lied to him. I hate lying to him, but there was no way around it!
I can’t tell him where I was. I’m not ready for this illicit friendship with Ben Rosenberg to end, especially because when I return from lunch with Eli and all but leap at my desk drawer, I have a new text message from Mr. Off-Limits himself waiting for me.
Ben: I’ve been trying to think of what your next task should be…
I nibble on my bottom lip and reread it twice before the library phone rings and I remember I have actual work to do. Time gets away from me as the afternoon continues. The library is always the busiest after school lets out for the day. Families rush in to tackle homework and tutoring. Children run around, getting out their pre-dinner jitters. I’m pulled in one direction after another, trying to inform as many parents as possible about our spring literacy program. Children who read 100 books before May get to choose one thing from the prize cabinet: stickers, yo-yos, puzzles, board books. It’s cheap stuff, but it’s the idea behind it that’s so exciting, not to mention the little bonus I’ll receive if I get enough families to sign up. Needless to say, I shove books onto anyone I cross paths with.
During all of this, I don’t forget about Ben’s text message. Ha. No, no. A case of amnesia could not erase his words from my brain. The reason I don’t reply is because I don’t have a witty response, and I’ve yet to find the time to think of one. I run straight from work to the grocery store to pick up some last-minute items for dinner. I had to stay a little late to manage the chaos, and of course, the checkout lines are insane because it’s Monday and apparently everyone needs groceries on Monday.
I make it home twenty minutes before Colten is due to come over and my father warns me he’s working the night shift, so I’ll have to hurry if I don’t want to make him late.
My dad carries in the groceries and I unload them, noticing his pill case on the counter. I’m unpacking the milk and yogurt when I ask if he’s taken his blood thinner yet.
“Yes.”
“Statin?”
“Yes.”
“What about your aspirin?”
“All right, kid, you got me. I forgot the aspirin.”
I send him a searing gaze over my shoulder and he throws his hands up as if to say, What are ya gonna do?
“I’ll take it in a second. Now what are you going to make? I took that lunch you made me to work and those tater tots tasted off.”
“They should—they’re cauliflower tots.”
He reacts as if I’ve just admitted to poisoning him. Then he spots the pasta I’m unloading and his complaints increase tenfold. “What’s this? Looks like a science experiment gone wrong.”
“It’s veggie pasta.”
“Oh no. Now you’ve really done it.”
His ensuing groan is deep and heartfelt, but I’m not swayed.
I yank it out of his hand and shoo him away from the stove. “I’ll still cover it in spaghetti sauce and ground turkey. You said last week that you couldn’t even taste the difference.”
“I was humoring you!” he shouts from the other room as he flips on the football game.
This is our routine: I try to fix healthy food for a father who would rather fill his arteries with cheeseburgers and French fries, and he protests every step of the way. I’d be shocked if he ever sat down for dinner and actually wanted to eat what I made him.
Colten’s usually better about not complaining. He’s a fit guy, after all, so he enjoys my healthier options. This meal is his favorite, and it’s no coincidence that I’ve chosen to make it tonight. I’m still trying to get back in his good graces, which yes, I’ll admit is absolutely ridiculous because I really didn’t do anything wrong, but that’s the problem with our family. We’re a screwed-up bunch. We don’t have the normal brother-sister-dad dynamic. I see them almost every day. We’re in each other’s business. We bother and poke and pester because we care, and I’m not going to throw in the towel just because Colten’s a little overbearing. I’m going to push back, gently, and see if I can’t carve out some newfound freedom for myself. I’ll have to do it slowly. In fact, I should probably carve with a spoon rather than a shovel.
I’ve thought a lot about what I would do with more freedom. For one, I’d move out. I told Ben I couldn’t move out because of what rent would cost, but that was a lie…kind of. I have some money saved up, more so now that my student loans are paid off. I could probably find a one-bedroom apartment. I check my savings account a lot, dream about taking the leap. Actually, the last time I checked, I’d even have enough for a down payment on a very shabby, very rundown house if I played my cards right.
I laugh sardonically. The idea that I would ever do something as insane as purchasing a house is too crazy to even consider. I’m the girl who still lives at home, who hangs out with her dad on Friday nights. I’m the bookworm, the person easily forgotten by everyone outside of her own family.
The back door opens and Colten steps in wearing his uniform, looking very sharp and snazzy. He sees me at the stove and smiles gently. I’m surprised. I was ready for another stern talking to, but it appears he’s ready to make peace after all.
“Hey Colt.”
He lifts his chin in greeting. “Whatcha cookin’?”
I hold up the veggie pasta. “Your favorite. It’ll be ready soon. Dad’s in there watching the game.”
That’s all we say to each other, no apologies or drawn-out explanations, but I know things are back to normal now.