“According to Ollie,” I say, just to cite my sources.
“So stop fucking moping, and go full throttle,” Mickey urges. “One thing I’ve learned is that if you want something, you have to go after it.”
He gets a few shady glances because we’re well aware he hasn’t learned that lesson at all. He’s firmly locked in the friend zone even though he’s totally gone for Viv, but since Jenksy’s at the bar chatting up a couple of sorority sisters, nobody says anything.
Mickey drums his finger on the edge of my plastic slider basket, snagging my attention. “I’m serious, Blue. Since we’re basically related now, I feel like I can be honest with you.”
“How are we related?” I ask. “I mean, I guess I can see it. Dutton is my brother in all the ways that count, and since he’s dating your sister, I guess that makes us family.”
Mickey shakes his head at me, like he’s pitying me for being so damn clueless. “That, too, but I’m talking about the fact that we’re practically in-laws. I guess it’s not legal because Hazel and Doug haven’t tied the knot yet, but that doesn’t mean it’s not official. So, I’m going to give you some tough love from one cat grandpa to another. If you feel something for Liza and you know you can be the one she deserves, then you need to go for it.”
“But how?” Dime asks. “How does he get the girl? Because Liza is scary when she’s pissed.”
“He needs a grand gesture,” Ollie says, leaning back in his seat and cupping the back of his head with his hands. He considers himself a seasoned matchmaker, and he’s in his glory right now.
“Regionals is coming up,” Dime offers, his face lighting up. “Is that too long to wait? You could score the final goal and declare your love during your post-game interview.”
“It’s too bad the winter carnival is over,” Ollie laments. “We could have done a whole thing with ice sculptures. She’s not allergic to shellfish, is she? Because we could?—”
“Bridges!” Mickey exclaims. “Liza is really into bridges, right? You could build a bridge from your room to her room using only flowers. That’d be fucking symbolic.”
Dutton’s been quiet this time, but he can’t hold back any longer. “How would he build a bridge from the third floor to the first floor? Isn’t that just called a staircase? And don’t we already have one of those?”
“I do like the flowers, though,” Ollie says, rubbing his chin and scrolling through his phone. “You might be onto something with the flowers, Mick. Maybe a float. Do we need a zoningpermit for a small parade? The internet says swans are a symbols of commitment. I think we’ve just found our theme.”
“Nope,” I say, shaking my head because for the first time in almost a week, I can see things clearly.
“No flowers?” Mickey asks, looking dejected.
“No grand gestures,” I correct. Most of the guys are looking at me like I’m a dumb bastard who deserves both their pity and their help, but Dutton is nodding. “Liza won't be impressed by a parade of swans or a flower arch or whatever. And that’s not how I can show her that I’ve changed. I don’t need a grand gesture. I need a million little ones.”
OperationRedeem My Sorry Assstarts now. Because if nothing else, even if she tells me to fuck myself running, I want Liza to know she’s worth the effort, and that I’m not shy about putting the work in.
31
Liza
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Blue enter the kitchen. My first impulse is to leave. We’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding each other this past week. Unfortunately, I can’t leave the room right now or else my pancakes will burn. So, instead, I stare intently at the batter in my pan and wait for the bubbles to appear. Then I will flip them. And plate them. And butter them. And eat them.
One foot in front of the other. That’s how I’ve been getting through this week from hell.
“Mind if I help myself to some coffee?” Blue asks, crossing the room and standing way too close to me. Also not nearly close enough.
I want to tell him that he can’t have any of my coffee, and that he should go to a store designed for the sole purpose of selling coffee if that’s the beverage he desires, but I can’t do it. The guy looks exhausted, and I know it’s because Hazel gave birth to her kittens in the wee hours of the morning.
“Help yourself,” I answer, nodding my head toward the pot but not bothering to glance at the man who used to be my boyfriend.
You know, last week. For all of about five days.
That’s part of what’s so messed up about this whole situation. We were barely together before things fell apart, so why does it feel like Blue ripped my heart out and took it with him?
If I’m being honest with myself, it’s because my feelings for Blue didn’t start to become real when he won a silly carnival game. They didn’t materialize when he took me on a date. They’ve been building for weeks now, months even.
“This is really good. Thanks,” he says, lifting his cup in acknowledgement after he takes a sip.
I transfer my pancakes to a plate and slather them with butter as an awkward silence settles around us. “Congratulations,” I say, filling the void. “Ollie texted the group chat to say that Hazel had her kittens.”
“Yeah, they’re super cute. A little slimy, but adorable. You should go up and meet them later.”
