Love And Other Things I'm Bad At Part 41

"Um, did you write that 'I'll hold you, Court' comment?" I asked.

"What?" asked Grant.

"Nothing. Never mind." I tapped away. I was taking my best article down. This was a crime. But I'd do it for Grant. I'd probably do anything for Grant, if he asked.

Suddenly, there was a commotion upstairs: I heard DeathKitty screeching, and Oscar barking. The pets were killing each other.

"Just-stay out of my life, OK?" Grant asked. "Whenever you're around things get messed up."

"Fine, I will."

"In fact, maybe you shouldn't have transferred here," he went on.

"And maybe you shouldn't have had me move in next door!" I shot back.

Sparks were flying. Upstairs, fur was no doubt flying.

Through it all, found myself wanting to kiss Grant so badly. Which was a great and horrible feeling.

He stopped in the doorway and said, "Just for the record, I still haven't forgiven you. For the blog or anything else." And then he was gone.

11/21.

Woke up at home in Denver with a vague, blurry memory of Grant and me, lips locked. Did I dream that, or did that happen?

Then I remembered: That wasn't real life. In real life, Grant is furious at me, and I'm not so thrilled with him. I'm meeting Wittenauer in Nebraska on Wednesday night. That is what I'm excited about, not Grant.

However, in the meantime I have been accused of having an affair with Gerry. G-E-R-R-Y.

Had to talk to him. Drove over to Truth or Dairy, THE ORIGINAL, I don't mind saying. Put on my trademark wool ski hat and Mom's hideous pink down jacket for camouflage.

Business was slow. Gerry was sipping coffee and tapping his feet, looking very anxious. Talked to him about how we can defuse this situation.

"Gerry, look. You have to make another statement. You have to tell everyone that there's nothing between you and me. People are coming out of the woodwork with pictures and stories-"

"I've tried telling them, Courtney. But do you really think coming by here was the best idea?" He quickly blended a large Coconut Fantasy Dream for me and shooed me out the door as if I were just another customer. A poorly treated customer, at that.

As soon as I walked out of Truth or Dairy: snapping photos. Paparazzi!

OK, maybe it was only one guy and a large flash on his camera, but still. One is all it takes. Now my picture will be everywhere: in newspapers, online somewhere, fraternizing with Gerry AND wearing Mom's horrendous pink jacket.

Wonder if we can leave for Nebraska tonight.

I've never written that before.

11/22.

Went outside to get newspaper on the stoop.

Outside, Mr. Novotny had no leaves left to tend to. The trees were bare. He was sitting in his garage with the TV on.

Looked over at me. "So. That's why you came back?"

"What?" I asked.

"You and ice cream guy," he said.

"What? No!" I slammed the door.

Ice cream guy? Is this how everyone's going to know me now? Well. Maybe better than fruity guy, but still.

Opened Denver section and there was Gerry's face. "Smoothie War Blends into a Frenzy."

Blends. Ha-ha. So clever.

Hate journalism and all journalists.

Plus, I will never have, or make, a smoothie again in my entire life.

11/23.

Was in the car, picking up Alison at airport, when Grant sent me a text.

Look, that was weird Friday night. Sorry. Just worried about job. I don't want you to think . . . Anyway, so have a good Thanksgiving. Don't run off the road again.

I didn't! Argh! When is everyone going to forget about that?!?!

And what does Grant mean, "Have a good Thanksgiving?" Isn't he here in Denver and couldn't I talk to him before then? Or see him at Jane's party tomorrow night? Or is he still mad at me, or did he go somewhere else for Thanksgiving without telling me, but why would he do that?

All this was swirling in my head and I was trying to reply but I couldn't decide what to say. Then Wittenauer chimed, and then I was driving and texting and nearly smashed into a nice family of 4 standing outside baggage claim.

11/24.

Went to a party tonight at Jane's house. So happy to see her.

She had a party for the old bunch home from college for Thanksgiving break. Seemed like I should be safe from paparazzi and annoying questions there. Everyone knew me, really knew me, and also knew Gerry, and knew nothing would ever, ever happen between us.

Jane and I found a couple minutes where we could talk in private, and I told her about the fight with Grant and how he was furious at me again.

I thought Grant might show up, and I could apologize again for misquoting him, even though I didn't, and possibly getting him in trouble at work, but he wasn't there. Still hating me, apparently. Fair enough.

"There's something I don't get. Why doesn't he just ignore you?" Jane asked.

"Gee, thanks."

She laughed. "No, I mean-if someone really got under my skin as badly as you apparently get under his, wouldn't you just walk away from the whole thing? Leave the situation? Instead he lives next door, visits your dog daily, and comes over to talk to you-like, more than once." She shook her head. "He doesn't know what's good for him. But that's-that doesn't sound like Grant."

We were talking about her life in Madison when we were interrupted.

"Courtney." The Tom (last name Delaney, nicknamed after a tomcat) gave me a big hug.

Seeing him again, I was feeling glad that we'd run student council together senior year, but that it had been the extent of our relations.h.i.+p. "What's the deal with you and ice cream smoothie dude?"

"Nothing. Nothing. There's no deal," I said. "It's just-a long story. But we're definitely not involved in any way at all, except that I used to work there. Used to!"

"Tone it down, Court," Jane said. "You sound a little too defensive."

"OK. So he's not your sugar daddy. Then you're still single?" he asked, stepping back to give me a once-over. Or, more likely, knowing the Tom, a twice-over.

"What do you mean, still single? I have a boyfriend. Why, was I supposed to be married?" I joked.

"Some people settle down by now," he said, looking proud of himself.

I raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "You're not telling me you're married."

"No, but I'm engaged."

"Really." This I found hard to believe. From the person in our senior cla.s.s voted "Most Likely to Cheat"?

"Yeah. Great girl. Great, great girl."

I smiled. Also, invisible girl, it seemed. Imaginary, maybe?

We briefly exchanged stories-why was I home, what happened to being in Wisconsin, some details about my boyfriend, that the Tom was thinking about majoring in Econ (which is hilarious considering he once stole all the student council money)-and I was wondering if he'd actually kind of sort of reformed into not being a total player when he stepped closer to me again and said, "Courtney? Why did you and I . . . why did we never . . ." He sort of pointed to himself and then to me and then back again.

So much for being "engaged."

"The timing was off," I said. As in, you weren't the last man on earth. When you are, get back to me . . . or not. I looked around for a different, not-so-friendly face, and headed back over to Jane, my safety square. Was so wonderful to see her and hang out.

But it felt weird to be at a high school reunion thing without Beth there, or Grant there.

Of course, despite friendly text, Grant hates me now. He really does.

You know those "three strikes and you're out" programs for criminals? Well, I'm out.

Which is OK, I guess, because I'm going to be seeing Wittenauer in two days, and did I mention I can't wait to get out of town?

11/25.

On the road to Ogallala in Sterling's silver SUV. Me, Bryan, and Alison crammed into backseat. Sterling and Suzanne plus three.

Just your average family of five, with one very neurotic dog.

Oscar can't settle down in the back. Keeps doing that turning around three times, lying down, then gets up right away and turns around three times again.

Sterling keeps sneezing and wondering out loud if Oscar wouldn't do better in a kennel for the long weekend, and Mom keeps saying, no, Oscar wouldn't, and he should just be patient and wait for his Zyrtec to kick in.

Meanwhile, I can't quit making comments about the low gas mileage.

"If I could afford a hybrid, I'd get one," said Sterling. Then he sneezed.

"This is a very useful family car," Mom said. "And it has four-wheel drive so we won't get stuck if it snows. Remember two years ago?"

How could I forget? Stranded on the side of the road, and Oscar trying to run away.

"Courtney swerved into a s...o...b..nk," Mom told Sterling.

There goes my chance of ever driving this car. "It was a blizzard!" I called up to the front.

Beside me, Alison is composing music on her computer. Bryan has iPod on and is working on his college application essay. Me, I should be studying, but have middle seat and can't concentrate.

Isn't that always the way? The middle child gets the worst seat?

"Would anyone like some cheese?" Mom held up her infamous Ziploc bag of cubed Monterey Jack.

How. Many. Times. Do I have to tell her that I do not eat cheese anymore???

Ooh, text from Wittenauer.

Wittenauer: Did u leave yet?

Me: Oh yes. On 1-76. Windy. Bored.

Wittenauer: Lucky u.

Me: It's a nightmare. When do I see u.

Wittenauer: 2nite.

11/26 THANKSGIVING-5:00 A.M.

Just woke up with a start.

Where is Wittenauer? Why isn't he here yet? He was supposed to be here.

Ran down to the kitchen. Grandma was putting the turkey in the oven. At 5 A.M.

I was tiptoeing out when she saw me and asked me about my "beau," whether he really was coming or not, and complaining about men and their broken promises.

Found my cell on kitchen counter and there was a message from Wittenauer that his parents were forcing him to stay overnight but he'd be here by noon.

Went back to bed. Can't sleep though.

11/26 THANKSGIVING-8:00 A.M.

Mom, Sterling, and Bryan are dressed for the annual Ogallala Turkey Trot.

The turkeys don't trot. The people do.