Kristin is a gem. So what if she tried to set me up with Derek; it’s my fault for being desperate and saying yes. A shower is necessary before calling her back, and I can’t help but groan at the reflection looking back at me in the hallway mirror. Not only does my hair scream, “homeless”, but my face is all blotchy from stress. I pull my long, dark hair from the ponytail and feel immediate relief. My hair is too thick to keep up for so long. It always ends up giving me headaches.
What was it about me that made Derek think I was easy prey? Vulnerable isn’t how people would describe me. High strung, outspoken, unladylike, those are usually ones I’m familiar with, but vulnerable? Easy? Never. Re-evaluating my dating strategy is a necessary conversation I need to have with Kristin.
The shower did nothing to wash off my shame from earlier, but did make me feel a lot more positive about the following day where I was planning on spilling my entire guts to my bible study group. It usually consisted of my best friend Kristin, my other crazy friend Lexy, and her sister Raine.
Although I do love being clean, staying in the shower turns me into a prune, and that happens to be a pet peeve of mine. While I’m being honest, I’m not fond of water. It has many uses. I love to drink it, but being wet makes me angry. Mrs. Butterworth is maybe rubbing off on me, but she’s all I could ever handle of the feline species.
Picking up my phone, I dial Kristin’s cell number, ten o’clock shouldn’t be too late. I hope. Ring, ring, voicemail. Her kids wake her up at the crack of dawn; sometimes I wonder if they’re somehow related to roosters. I tried to babysit them one time. It didn’t go well. Leaving their house at noon, I got home and fell asleep on my couch until nine pm. That girl deserves a medal.
Why voicemail? Poor Kristin. I feel like yelling and she probably knows it. Since the whole town is aware of what transpired today, what I need is a good solid sleep and some time at church. I walked over to the computer to turn off the monitor and laid my hungry eyes onto Mr. December.
So what if I stomped his foot, he deserved it. Looking at the monitor again, I click on “order now”. As I’m taken to the payment page, I justify actions, or try to. The money is going for a good cause. Our firemen are underpaid, and the donation to the local homeless shelter only sweetens the deal. Feeling fully justified, I groan as I see how long it will take to arrive. Two to four weeks!
Time for sleep. One last peak at Mr. December, and I shut down the computer. Tonight I’m testing the theory that people will dream of the last thing they thought of. Maybe in my dreams he won’t talk as much. He is more attractive with his mouth shut.
Unfortunately for me, the last thing I remember as I go to sleep is Derek’s pitiful face.
Chapter Three
Three am, four am, five am. Ring! Ring! Ring! Who in their right mind? Whoever they are will wish for death after I’m done with them. It’s Sunday! Church doesn’t even start until eleven. Who wakes up at this ungodly hour?
“Hi this is Amanda, leave a message.” BEEP.
“Amanda.” Silence. “This is Derek, I just wanted to tell you that I’m over you. You and your stupid cat. I hated your cat, by the way, it's the ugliest cat ever. And I didn’t really mean it when I said I loved you. So there. Go, talk to that stupid fireman again. See if I care. You are so—”
The machine cut him off, which is lucky for him. Because I was about ready to get out of my bed, get in my car, drive to wherever this psycho lives, and cut his hand off so he’ll stop dialing my number.
“When will it end?” I yell into my pillow.
Six am, seven am, and again the phone rings. “For the love of all that’s holy!” I scream as loud as possible. But it's not the phone, and the doorbell continues to ring. Running to open the door, baseball bat in hand of course, I’m ready to show I’m in no mood for conversation.
“Easy, killer,” Kristin says as she holds out a fresh Starbucks coffee. “I come in peace.”
As I smell the steaming aroma of caffeine, I could kiss her.
“Where are the kids?” I ask as I take the coffee from her and quickly down the hot contents. “And Brad, where’s Brad?” Waiting for her response, I sit down on the couch and continue my love affair with the grande latte.
“They had Sunday school remember? He teaches the three year old class once a month, so I decided to stop by and see how you were holding up.” She winks and takes her scarf off, revealing a low cut V-Neck dress.
“Inappropriate,” I cough, not making eye contact.
She rolls her eyes. “Please. That’s why I had the scarf on. Stop being so dramatic.” She looks at me and waits for me to spill. My lips are sealed. I’m not going to relive yesterday’s events. She would have to kill me first, which I might welcome after yesterday and last night’s dramatic happenings.
“I said I was sorry,” she scolds while inspecting her perfectly polished fingernails.
Huffing in an unlady-like manner, I pretend to examine mine as well.
“So, was it as bad as I heard?” Her face holds no emotion as she waits for me to respond.
“Worse.”
“I’m so sorry, panda. I had no idea.”
That’s her pet name for me, panda. It makes me want to gouge my eyes out. Comparing me to a fat bear that sits and eats bamboo all day doesn’t boost my self esteem. She only uses it when she knows she’s in trouble, forcing me to feel even worse for making her feel bad. Manipulative friend.
I throw open my arms and welcome her hug, then laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“In hindsight, it was a comical situation when you think about it; especially the part where Preston punched him in the face.”
“Preston?” Her eyes go wide. “You don’t mean the Preston from high school? Please don’t tell me it’s that Preston?”
“Okay, it’s not that Preston,” I say unconvincingly.
Her face goes red as she laughs then chokes on her own coffee. “The one you turned down in front of the entire school and lied to? That Preston?”
Nodding my head, I try to figure out a way to change the subject. This conversation could turn into dangerous territory quickly.
“Well, does he at least still have those glasses?” She takes a sip of coffee and smiles.
Shaking my head no, I lead her to the computer to see Mr. December. Her face goes pale as she looks at me then back at the computer then back at me.
“Oh, dear.” Her response says it all.
I nod my head in confirmation as she scrolls down the page. “Oh, Amanda, look. You can buy the calendar.”
“Oh, I didn’t see that. Look a bird.” I point out my window and quickly click off the web page.
“I don’t see a bird, Amanda. What are you talking about?”
Shrugging, I go into the bathroom to get ready. It was time for Bible study and for church; I needed both.
“Brad said they’re doing baptisms today. Isn’t that cool? I know how much you like watching those.” She calls from the living room.
It’s true. The only time my high-strung, totally in control demeanor crumbles is one, when watching baptisms; two, when seeing commercials for stray cats and dogs; and three, when Leo dies in Titanic. Other than that, I’m strong as steel. Sighing with anticipation, I have to admit the day is looking better. What a great way to start a week!
****
What a horrible day! This is the worst day ever. Wait for it. Just wait for it. The baptisms I was so excited about? They included none other than Mr. December. Trying not to cry when I hear him read his testimony about getting his life on track and joining the local church, I eventually cave. I use all the tricks in the book, waving at my eyes, staring at the light, thinking about funny jokes. Nothing works. In fact I was such an emotional wreck that I had to leave the service and go to the bathroom. Not only was I embarrassed beyond belief, but upon exiting the bathroom, I ran into Preston. He was just getting ready to go into the men’s restroom next door to change out of his wet clothes. Don’t ask me why they do baptisms without swimsuits, must be a decency thing.
He asked if I was okay. He saw my tears, and bless his little infuriating heart, he wanted to know if I was sane. The poor guy saw me go from anger to pain to passing out to crying. I can’t get away from this beast of a man.
Snorting, I wave him off, dismissing him in an inordinately impolite manner. He takes a step to follow me then stops. His eyes turn to steel before he rolls them and walks into the men’s room.
I decide there’d be no harm in doing a double take as he passes through the doors, his shirt was glued to his body. The view was everything I wanted it to be and more. Then to my chagrin, he whips around and says, “You can stop staring at me now.”
I want to die. Where is the chariot, Lord? Come get me! Instead, Preston left me, mouth open, in the middle of the foyer in a panic. I don’t remember how I got back to my seat. Naturally, I went catatonic for a few seconds after his comment. Never had I met a man who could make me want to punch his face while kissing it. I hate him for it. I want to destroy him. I want to—
“Amanda?” Kristin’s voice interrupts my thoughts.
“What,” I whisper loud enough for the row in front of me to turn around with scowls on their faces.
“You’re hurting my hand,” she scolds.
Apologizing, I look down and release my grip. I fear I need therapy considering how much anger I’m feeling toward myself and Preston.
In theory, many of our pastor’s sermons were life changing, and normally I listen attentively. But today my heart just isn’t in it. Annoyingly, I keep seeing flashes of what Preston’s wet clothes looked like as they pressed tightly to his body. It didn’t help that I was looking around for where Preston sat. Did he not return to service? Why would he not return? Why am I so worried? He’s not even around, and I’m frustrated with him.
“Ahem.” Some old man clears his throat behind me. I shake my head and try to concentrate on the pastor. He needs a haircut.
“Ahem.” The man behind me really needs to get a cough drop. What is this person’s problem? Looking in the direction of the offending person, I almost choke on my gum. “Preston!” I say rather loudly as I realize Mr. Old Man is not Mr. Old Man at all, but my irritating fireman, clearing his throat, so I’d move my body, so he could sit.
Scooting over, while trying to keep my mouth shut, I give him ample space to sit down with room to spare. However, he doesn’t take the hint to sit far away, but instead sits rather close. Too close. So there he is smirking, like he has something to be smirking about. So I decide, in true middle school fashion, to write him a note.
What are you doing?
Um, listening to the sermon? And seriously, why are you passing notes in church, we aren’t ten anymore. Plus what makes you think I even want notes from you?
I hate you.
Doubtful.
You make me want to scream.
I’m sure I do.
Um, not in excitement, you moron.
Ouch, are you always this mean to the guys you like?
LIKE?!? Have you completely lost your mind? It’s taking every ounce of self-control I have to not stab you with my pencil.