“This is going to sound super judgy, but … he had shiny hair.” She shivers. “Also, he had a stupid name. Anton.” Her voice is a little snide. “I bet his real name is Tony, but he goes by that to be all pretentious.” She pauses. “And that shirt….”
“I didn’t notice.” I didn’t. All I saw was a guy about my size, maybe a bit smaller.
“Well, trust me. That shirt was horrendous.”
What the fuck does a shirt have to do with anything? Except I’m not about to say that to her. She’ll probably get pissed and jump out of my moving vehicle. So I pretend to agree. “Fashionisimportant.”
“Okay,” she snaps.
What the hell did I say now?
Whatever it was, it wasn’t the right thing, because her arms are crossed in front of her like that other time, and she’s pouting.
“Sorry I ruined the night.” Hopefully, by admitting that I’m to blame for the shift in the evening, it will get her to feel a little sorry for me. I need some sympathy.
“It’s okay.”
It’s okay?She’s okay with me ruining our date?
Jesus.
Women.
Sometimes, I just don’t get them.
Chapter Twenty
Bad To Worse
Six. Days. Later.
Yep. It’s been almost a week since thebest date everturned into the worst date in history. It ended with a whimper rather than a bang.
Nope. Definitely nobangthat night.
And now I’d say there was an intentional amount of avoidance on the part of my neighbor. Sure, I’ve seen him coming and going, but he hasn’t bothered to stop over. He waved once when he was on his way to his truck and I was going for my mail.
I guess that’s something.
The thing is, I have no idea what the hell happened. Yes, I was a brat after the thing with his ex-wife, but by the time we pulled into the driveway, it seemed okay. I mean, he walked me to my door, kissed me, and said, “Sorry about tonight. I’ll talk to you later.” And then he was gone. I watched him disappear into his side of the house, and that was it. I’m still wondering what I did wrong orifI did anything wrong and questioning whether I should do something about it. Should I be the one to approach him to see if there’s any chance for us, or should I just give him time to do it?
Guy stuff is so complicated and stupid. I hate it. For once I thought I was dating a man. A grown up. One who knows what the hell he wants out of life. I’m sad about it, but part of me is angry, too. This ghosting shit should have ended in high school.
I’ve spent a great deal of time going back over what was said after Amber appeared. I will take full responsibility for my overreaction to those events. I also feel a little bit bad for criticizing Anton for his name and appearance. I have no room to judge him. In my defense, I was trying to make Sam feel better. I thought if I said those things, Sam would realize how much better-looking and, well, just better Sam was compared to that guy. But all it did was make him snap back, which left me feeling like a fool.
And to think I was going to invite Sam to the next Sunday Funday. In retrospect, it’s probably a good thing I didn’t stroll into the event with Sam on my arm. I don’t think my family are ready for me and Sam Griffin, and obviously, Sam Griffin is not ready for any of it.
Tomorrow’s family get-together would have been my brother, Chris’s, turn to host, but since he’s no longer with us, our tradition is to skip a week. My mom feels like that’s one way we can honor him and remember him. I don’t necessarily agree with her, because I think we could do that together and still accomplish the goal of honoring my brother. This way, though, we pause in our ordinary routine for one day. I do tend to spend that day thinking about him. Sometimes I listen to his favorite band,The Who, or I pull out one of my old photo albums filled with photos of him and us and reminisce about him and what could have been. He had big dreams….
Chris was my best friend. I guess that was probably because we were twins. We spent a lot of time together. Because our older sisters drove us nuts, we’d hide out in his super-cool attic bedroom and listen to music and talk. I knew his secrets, well, some of them, and he knew mine. The night he died, part of me went with him—right along with our secrets.
Wiping away a tear, I decide to save my melancholy for tomorrow. I’ve got shit to do, like my laundry, which sucks because I despise the laundromat. That issue alone would be reason enough for me to move to a new place.
I’ve got other reasons to move as well. He lives next door. The avoidance thing is driving me crazy. It’s bullshit, really. I want to knock on his stupid door and tell him to grow the fuck up. But that’s not going to happen, because I’m a chicken. And because I know there’s more to this than his wife being pregnant. I just don’t know what it is.
With my quarters in hand, I grab the bottle of good detergent and throw it on top of my dirty clothes hamper. I yank open my front door and see him. He’s washing his stupid truck again. Shirtless.
“Well, isn’t that nice?”
