Love And Other Things I'm Bad At Part 17

I wonder what group he was from. Or was he sent by Dean S. to break up our protest? I've got to ask Wittenauer about it tomorrow at the party at Dean S.'s house. If he goes. If I go.

12/10.

Okay, so how many parties have I gone to that I shouldn't have?

Well, 1 good outcome. 1 very unsettling outcome.

First: Wittenauer and I tracked down Dean S. by the "nacho hot dish." Looked like nachos to me. He had lots of food and a giant bowl of cider on a table by the fireplace. Roaring fire, very cozy, festive, if you could ignore Wisconsin sports memorabilia clogging the living room.

Dean S. said he heard about the bookstore melee yesterday and that he wants to resolve this peacefully. "So do I!" I said. "So could we please set a date for us to talk to the administration?"

"You can bring all your concerns to the trustee meeting on January fifth," Dean S. offered.

"But cla.s.ses don't start until the eighth. You're only scheduling it then because most people don't get back until the seventh!" I said.

"You can come back early," Dean S. said. "Of course, if you're not really committed to this . . ." He looked very hopeful.

I picked up another nacho, sc.r.a.ped some beef off of it, and ate it. "Oh, I'm committed," I said. Or I should be.

Dean S. turned to serve another guest some punch, and Wittenauer started to get this really antsy look. "I have to tell him. I'm going to tell him," Wittenauer said.

"Don't!" I whispered. "It's better if you work behind the scenes. Behind the helmet, I mean."

"Why is that better?" he asked.

"Because you can, um, get closer to people," I said. That came out entirely wrong.

"I can?" Wittenauer asked.

"You could like, infiltrate conversations," I said. "Stay friends with Dean S. and figure out what the administration is planning."

"But that would make me a spy," he said.

"I know. Isn't it cool?" I said.

Just then Dean S. turned around. "Well, Walter? What are you planning for your vacation?"

"Not much. But there's something I want to tell you before we all leave for break," Wittenauer said.

"Don't!" I said as I grabbed his arm.

Wittenauer smiled. "I was only going to tell him what an excellent fund-raiser you are. She's made a real contribution to the group, you know, Dean Sobransky?"

"Er . . . yes." Dean Sobransky obsessively filling cups with the exact same amount of cider. 30 cups teetering on the table. He did not realize the cider was sort of beyond its date and had morphed into an alcoholic beverage. Within the hour carols were being sung and Dean S. was nervously and discreetly arranging rides home for all of us.

Wittenauer walked me back to Rankin. We were standing outside and laughing about the stuff in Dean S.'s house and about exams starting tomorrow and how we were sort of tipsy.

Mary Jo walked by on her way home from the science library and glared at us as she went by. Apparently didn't approve of partying on nights before exams. Probably right.

"So Courtney? Have a really good vacation," Wittenauer said. "Don't forget to work on our arguments for the trustee meeting, and call me if you need any help. It was great hanging out with you tonight. And thanks for keeping me from confessing to being Corny."

"Well. You're kind of blowing your cover right now. You're being very corny," I said.

Wittenauer rolled his eyes. "Ha ha. Good night." Then he kissed me on the cheek. Felt very sophisticated. And I thought, Cool! That's what friends do in college.

But then he kissed me again-on the lips. For real. And the kiss just, like, blew me away, because I haven't kissed anyone that intensely since Grant. And it seemed very romantic because it was sort of snowing, little ice crystals were falling on our cheeks, and we were leaving for vacation, and we were standing there smushed up against each other and it felt warm- Then I realized I was doing exactly what Grant did to me. Getting totally carried away by the proximity of a good-looking, opposite-s.e.x friend and a couple of cups of turned cider!

"So, okay, good night," I said, bolting for the safety of the dorm.

"Courtney, would you please stop that?" Mary Jo just asked, interrupting flow of thought here. She is still studying. "You're humming. Or glowing. Or something."

"Sorry," I said. "I was just thinking about something."

"Like how you and Walter were making out? And how you're going to tell Grant about it when you get home on Friday? Or maybe you should call him now, and get it over with-"

Whoa! "We weren't making out," I said. "It was a friendly kiss. A kiss between friends. And his name isn't Walter."

"Please. I could see you guys from up here," she said. "And if you're trying to get revenge on Grant or something by using Walter-"

"His name is Wittenauer!" I interrupted. "Only teachers are allowed to call him Walter."

"-then in a way you don't deserve Grant, who drove all the way out here to beg your forgiveness, and who's going to fail out of college if you don't totally forgive him soon-"

"So he fails?" I said. "So what?"

But the thought of Grant never becoming a D.V.M., never opening Superior Animal Hospital, is very upsetting. I don't want that. Don't want to make out with WW III again. I kissed a school mascot. Voluntarily. I really need to get out of here. Christmas can't come soon enough.

12/11.

Exams start today.

I go home on Friday.

Wish me luck.

See you then.

Yes, I should tell Grant what happened.

But am too busy worrying. I mean studying.

12/15.

On the plane right now. Direct from Milwaukee to Denver. Feeling very jittery. Spent last 3 nights awake due to 1) cramming for exams, 2) anxiety attacks, 3) camping out at library overnight last night so I wouldn't see Ed when he came to pick up Mary Jo for Christmas. Man does not take "no" for an answer, kept insisting I spend Christmas on the farm, Christmas riding horse and sleigh, Christmas as Mrs. Ed.

I'm writing to look busy because the 2 people next to me keep talking, trading "Best Christmas Ever" and "Worst Christmas Ever" stories. Since I'm thinking this year will be one or the other, I don't want to get involved.

Oh no. We're beginning our descent.

Funny, I thought I began my descent about a month ago. Ha ha ha.

I am so nervous. I can't even think about the fact I just took 4 finals and don't know how I did. I can't finish my soda and the flight attendant is getting really annoyed because he keeps coming by to get everyone's cups and I'm sorry but it's like too much pressure right now for me to finish my diet 7-Up.

All I can think about is that Grant is picking me up at the airport and I'm going to die when I see him.

LATER . . .

Home. In bed. Exhausted. Oscar's furry chin is resting on my s.h.i.+n.

Grant wasn't at the airport.

NOT AN OMEN NOT AN OMEN NOT AN OMEN.

Bryan was.

He said that Grant called in a panic because he couldn't get out of work due to the holiday crush/rush and could Bryan please pick me up, he was really sorry blah blah blah.

I was starting to get furious by the baggage carousel when Bryan handed me a present Grant had dropped by the house already as a "Welcome Home" gift (a/k/a Forgive Me). I opened this little box and inside was a pair of silver earrings with little amber stones that match my hair. Beautiful. But does he think earrings will fix everything? I wondered as I lugged my giant Army duffel of Christmas presents off the conveyor belt. If I'd never bought all this stuff for Grant when I was still in love with him, I wouldn't have bounced checks and maxed out new credit card.

Am I still in love with him? You can't have these thoughts at airports under fluorescent lights while avoiding Smarte Cartes and listening to overhead pages.

Anyway, Bryan asked if I was hungry, which I was, now that I wasn't worried about seeing Grant tonight, so we went to Perkins on the way home. An amazing thing happened there. Over a pitcher of coffee and way too many pancakes, we had our first real, actual conversation ever. Mind blowing. He told me about Mom and his theory of why she won't date the guy in the book club or the guy from the awards banquet and will only write flirty emails to men in cybers.p.a.ce. If they are actually men, and not a) 15-year-old boys or b) women.

He told me about this girl he's seeing now, Samantha, and his theory of why they're good together. Turns out he has many theories, even about me, Grant, and especially Beth. He isn't bitter at all. Not sure where he got that from.

But here is the mind-blowing fact of the evening: he broke up with Beth. Not the other way around. He said he was pretty sure she didn't see it coming, thought she could just treat him like he was always going to be there for her, no matter what. She was totally shocked and upset. So maybe that's why she made such a huge mistake with Grant.

I felt myself starting to forgive Beth, right then and there, in the middle of Perkins at 11 P.M. Or was it just the maple syrup going to my head?

"Are you guys ever going to get back together?" I asked. Because that would make everything a whole lot easier for me.

"We might," Bryan said. "But I doubt it. Not right now, anyway. I could see maybe in another year, you know . . ."

Danger. Little brother starting to sound like ex Dave, with time theories. Next thing you know he will want to be "free and clear."

Got home and really really wanted to call Grant. Everything here is about him, about us. Except Mom knocking on my door, constantly asking if I need anything else. Driving me crazy.

12/16.

Saw Grant for the first time this morning. Got so nervous, I tripped coming down the stairs. Not the impression I wanted to make. We hugged, then stood in the hallway for a minute or two. Very awkward. Still 100 percent attracted to Grant. Grant seems to think everything is A-okay between us, like isn't it great I'm home and now we can spend the next 23 weeks together? I'm just confused.

We went out to lunch and talked nonstop about school, cla.s.ses, exams, papers, anything but about us. Then out of the blue he said, "What do you want to do for our anniversary?"

Anniversary?

"Well, that won't be until, um . . ." Until I figure out whether you can count the last month or not, since weren't we technically not together???

"New Year's," Grant said. "Right? So do you want to go skiing at Breckenridge like last year, or . . ."

"Sure," I said quickly. "Sure. Breckenridge. Sounds great."

He gave me a funny look and then went ahead and ordered dessert. It was so good to be with him again, but I didn't know if I could sit through an apple cobbler without crying. Also, I kept thinking that I had to tell him that I fell off the wagon, too, kissing WW III.

Kissing WW III. Yet another great name for a band.

Should probably give up pursuit of poli sci degree and go into band management.

This working-things-out thing is so tedious. No wonder Dad just left, moved out of the house, started a new relations.h.i.+p without patching things up with Mom. Perhaps I don't give him enough credit for being smart.

12/18.

Talked to Mom today about her perennial singleness. Kept tossing out names of potential suitors. "Whatever happened with that nice single guy you met at the awards ceremony? The father of that girl Bryan likes? You guys really hit it off. So why won't you go out with him?"

She beat around the bush for like 20 minutes talking about Christmas week/tree tr.i.m.m.i.n.g/dinner plans. Then she finally said, "But he drives a Saturn. Two-door."

"So?" I asked.

"Well, I've never liked anyone who drove a coupe. Man or woman." She said this like it was logical.

Grrrr. She's going to spend the rest of her life all alone because she'd rather get involved with a sedan person? Or worse-another mini-van driver, to match her Caravan?

"So what are you looking for, Mom? An SUV?" I asked.

She wouldn't answer. She got all offended.

"Mom, come on, I'm worried about you," I said. "Alison and I are both in college, and Bryan's going to be soon-"

"So what are you saying? I'm old? Yes, I know I'm old, thanks for pointing that out."

"Mom, you're only . . . what? Forty-three?"

"Forty-seven."

"Oh." That seems old, but I didn't tell her that.

12/19.

Totally embarra.s.sing scene tonight.

Grant came over to get me so we could go Christmas shopping at the new giant mall in Broomfield. Went to our favorite stores but didn't buy anything. Felt really uncomfortable. Whenever he took my hand to hold it, I started thinking horrible things about how I kissed Wittenauer and hadn't 'fessed up yet. So there we were, strolling through the food court, when I heard someone yelling my name. Turned around and saw the Tom coming toward us. Agh! So humiliating. The last time I saw him was months ago, and the last time I talked to him, he was telling me how Grant and Beth hooked up. And like gloating about it.

The Tom came toward us doing his trademark saunter, like he didn't really care if we were there or not, even though he was shouting my name sort of desperately a couple of seconds ago. He had 2 girls with him, of course-never travels without at least 2. They looked like they might be high-school soph.o.m.ores. Maybe. So he gave me this hug that was verging on p.o.r.nographic, the girls looked mad, Grant looked p.i.s.sed, never mind there's never been anything between me and Tom and never will be. Then he stood back and said "Hey, Superior," and then he said, "So you are still together." Sounded very shocked. Not that it takes much to puzzle the Tom, but still. Had he heard otherwise?

12/20.

Stopped by T or D today to visit Gerry and bring him a block of Wisconsin brick cheese. Drove up to buffalo overlook first to visit old friends and prepare myself, just in case. Then I drove to Canyon Blvd. and sat outside in the car trying to establish that Beth was definitely not inside T or D, not in the storeroom, not in the bathroom, not out back smoking. . . . I must have been there 20 minutes. People kept going in and coming out with their smoothies and sundaes. They'd come back to their cars and see me sitting there, and I knew it was only a matter of time before 1 of them reported me for being a stalker.

Also I started to feel like a freak, sitting there parked outside my old workplace. Like I couldn't move on or something. Hey, I have moved on. I don't even live here anymore.