Jesus. And she started out so fun.
Now, thinking back on my exes is like looking at a flowerbed on the other side of a window. They’re beautiful, but you can’t touch them.
I have no regrets, though, no bitterness. I just wonder what the hell was going on inside their brains, inside their hearts, back in those days when we should’ve been getting closer and closer. Why did they want a different Sutter than the one they started out with? Why is it that now I’m friends with every single one of them and it’s always fun when we run into each other? Why is it that girls like me so much but never love me?
These are the thoughts flying through my head as I drive to Cassidy’s after work. I have every intention of apologizing like Bob suggested, but even though I’m sure it works like a charm for him, I don’t have a whole lot of faith in it working for me. And I’m already telling myself that’s all right—nothing lasts. Besides, there’s always Whitney Stowe, the drama star with the hot legs. Sure, she seems conceited, but I’ll loosen her up. I’ve got a way about me, in the opening stages at least.
On the way, I stop by my favorite liquor store to make sure I have enough fortification for the task at hand. The guy behind the counter in there looks like he could’ve been the world’s first Hell’s Angel, but he’s my buddy. Never asks for an ID, says I remind him of his long-lost son. Still, the closer I get to Cassidy’s house the more the butterflies start spinning around in my stomach, even after two straight shots of whisky.
It’s a little after 8:30 by the time I pull onto her street, and I’m still in my Mr. Leon’s outfit. Her parents seem to like me better in a tie. I guess it fools them into thinking I’m going somewhere with my life, so maybe now it’ll help convince them to let me inside—just in case Cassidy put the word out to banish me.
Her mom comes to the door, which is a good thing. I’m better with moms than dads. By that, I mean other people’s moms, not my own.
She looks surprised to see me, so obviously Cassidy’s broken the news to her about our split. That makes it pretty official, but still, I’m like, “Hi, Mrs. Roy, how’s everything going?” Real casual, like nothing’s happened, and I’m just over to see Cassidy like I’ve been doing this whole last six months.
She puts on a fake smile and goes, “Everything’s just fine, Sutter. I didn’t expect to see you.”
“Really? That’s okay. I just came over to chat with Cassidy for a little while, maybe go out and get a Coke.”
“I’m sorry, Cassidy’s not here.” No mention of the breakup.
I’m sure she really wants to say, “You know what, necktie boy? Cassidy’s in her room right now, but she never wants to see you again for all eternity, so why don’t you and your stupid-looking Mr. Leon slacks vamoose on out of here.” That’s parents for you. They won’t come right out and say something like that, even though everybody knows that’s what they’re thinking.
But I can play that game too. “Well, hmmm.” I look over my shoulder at the driveway. “I see her car’s here. Maybe she came back without you noticing.”
“No, I’m sure she’s not back yet. Kendra came and picked her up.” Right away, her bottom lip tenses. Obviously, she wasn’t supposed to divulge that top-secret information, but it’s too late now. So I’m like, “Okay, tell her I came by, see you later. I’ve got to get home in a couple of minutes anyway.”
But I’m sure—if Mrs. Roy is as smart as I think she is—she knows I’m not heading anywhere close to home right now.
Chapter 11
Kendra’s car isn’t parked in front of her house, but I go to the door anyway. Her mom’s more helpful, telling me the girls went over to Morgan McDonald’s house for the Christian jocks meeting. Morgan’s my old junior high girlfriend, but that was so long ago now it’s not like we were ever anything more than friends. The weird thing, though, is that Cassidy would even go to a meeting with a bunch of religious jocks. She’s neither. In fact, she usually scorns them and their ilk.
Ilk. I love that word.
By the time I get to Morgan’s neighborhood on the north side of town, I’ve had several more shots of whisky so I don’t have the butterflies anymore. Instead, it’s more like rusty bolts banging around in a tin can.
You should see all the cars parked up and down the block for this Christian jock thing. You’d think they must be handing out get-out-of-hell-free coupons. But don’t go getting the idea that this is some kind of wholesome, clean-cut, vanilla-wafers-and-milk extravaganza. You don’t even really have to be an athlete to come. No. Ninety-nine percent of the people who show up at these meetings are here for one simple reason—to hook up. And that accounts for the heft of those bolts rattling in my belly. Who is Cassidy planning on hooking up with?
I park at the end of the line of cars and start toward Morgan’s house, mulling over what I’m going to say when I see Cassidy. I need something lighthearted to begin with, something fun and colorful like, “Imagine meeting you at a place like this. Did you ride over with Jesus or is he taking that donkey again?” Then, once I have her smiling, I’ll launch right into the apology. “I was wrong,” I’ll say. “I wasn’t thinking. But you know me, thinking isn’t my specialty. I’m a moron at long-term romance. I need a special ed teacher to coach me. Someone like you.”
Ahead, I see the silhouette of a couple against the streetlight glow. By the height of the guy, I can tell it’s Marcus West, the basketball stud, but the girl is leaning so close into him that I can’t tell much more about her than that she has fairly short hair. “So,” I say to myself, “Marcus has himself a new girl. That must mean LaShonda Williams is free. I always did like her.” But as soon as that idea pops into my head, I shut it down. I’m not here looking for new girls.