Addison Blakely: Confessions of A PK (35 page)

Whistling, Dad hung his coat on the rack by the door and dropped his keys on the foyer table, his standard coming-home routine. “You girls sure are up late.”

“You sure were out late.” I couldn’t help the automatic retort, and I bit my lip, not wanting to start this conversation on the wrong foot.

“Touché.” Dad smiled, albeit awkwardly. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “How was the ice cream?”

My stomach gurgled on cue, and I pressed my hands against it, grateful I’d changed into sweats before we ate. I doubted my snug black dress could have stood up to that second helping. “Too good.”

“I really am proud of your success tonight. I know the Let Them Read Foundation will be very impressed.” Dad patted my shoulder and started to move around me. “It’s definitely a night of celebration.”

“Wait.” I swallowed hard. “There’s, uh—something you need to know.”

He raised one eyebrow at me, and if I hadn’t been about to confess a secret, I’d have giggled at his imitation of my signature move. But if I was going to be serious about this for-real Christian thing, I needed to start on the right foot—no more lies or stretching the truth. “I, uh—Luke didn’t walk me home tonight.”

“You walked alone?” Dad frowned, crossing his arms over his button-down. “That’s not a good idea, Addison.”

“I wasn’t alone. I was with Wes.”

A shadow flickered across Dad’s face, giving the impression he thought that was worse than walking alone. If he knew what had happened at our so-called picnic last week, he’d have probably come out and said it—along with some other things. But I wasn’t going to confess everything. That incident lived in the past, and I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Besides, I didn’t think Dad could handle that level of honesty in one night.

I watched him carefully, steeling myself for a lecture, a punishment, a disappointed sigh. All the “usuals” that had kept me so well behaved all those years.

“Oh well.” Dad waved one hand in the air, brushing off my indiscretion. “You’re home safe, and you were honest.”

What? No droning talk about danger? No reminder of his list of dating rules? My mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“I don’t want to argue. I have some news to share.” Dad rubbed his chin, a smile peeking from behind his fingers.

“Okay. I had hoped we could talk, too.” I twisted my fingers together, still unsure how to start the conversation that’d been a decade in the making.

“Me first.” Dad actually bounced on the balls of his feet a little as a solid grin overtook his features. “I can’t hold it in anymore.”

“What? Did you get nominated for preacher of the year?” I joked—badly. So much for playing it cool. My stomach twisted in anticipation. Hopefully he’d hurry with his news so I could somehow blurt out this revelation I’d had about church. And God. And Wes. And myself. And him. Okay, so the convo might take longer than I’d thought.

“Don’t be silly.” He grabbed my shoulders and gave me a happy little shake—the most excitement I’d seen out of him in months. No, years. Wait—ever?

“I asked Kathy to marry me tonight.”

All the air rushed out of the room as a bowling ball plopped into my already-full stomach. I reeled backward and would have fallen if Dad hadn’t pulled me forward into an impromptu hug.

A million different thoughts and questions—mostly negative—flooded my mind and jammed in my mouth. All I could squeak out was a pathetic, “What?”

Marta appeared at the end of the hallway, a towel wrapped turban-style around her hair. She echoed my sentiment, mumbling in German. Shock radiated in her wide eyes, and she clutched her robe like a life preserver.

I shakily looked back at Dad, who had finally released me and beamed as if he truly had no idea the bomb he’d dropped. “We haven’t set a date yet, but she said yes!” His gaze bounced back and forth between me and Marta. “Isn’t God good?”

Well, He had a good sense of humor at least.

I steadied myself with one hand against the wall and inhaled deeply, as Dad headed off—still whistling—to the kitchen without waiting for an answer.

“Are you all right?” Marta approached me cautiously, as one might a wild animal stuck in a trap.

I nodded, focusing on my breathing.
This is okay. This is okay
. I repeated the mantra, desperate for a sense of control, a sense of peace.
I can do this. Dad is happy
. That’s whatmattered, right? And Ms. Hawthorne was nice. Maybe she wore the same size shoe as me, and we could share some of those awesome boots.

Then I saw the framed photo of Mom on the end table by the lamp and burst into tears.

D
espite the early morning sunshine streaming through my bedroom window, Saturday looked bleak.
I’d tossed and turned for hours the night before while Marta snored on the blow-up mattress beside my bed. But the lack of sleep wasn’t my nasally friend’s fault—I couldn’t stop replaying the past twenty-four hours in my head. Dad’s decision to get married. My spiritual revelation I had no clue what to do with. The pending talk with Dad I didn’t want to have.

And the inevitable answer to Wes’s question that I still couldn’t make myself give.

I stuck six powdered doughnuts on a plate and snuck it upstairs to Marta while Dad sipped coffee in front of the TV. This day required fortification, and I was out of mocha money. I waved the plate beneath Marta’s nose then thought better of it in case she inhaled the powder and sneezed.

“Get up. I’m having a crisis.” I nudged her with my toe. Marta grunted and rolled over and then sat up and brushed her blond hair out of her face with one hand. “Good morning to you, too.” Then she spied the doughnuts and crammed one in her mouth without further comment.

I hid my smile, wondering if Marta’s family would blame America for her bad table manners upon her return home.

Then my grin faded. I didn’t want Marta to go home. Winter would be over before I knew it, ushering my best friend out with it come spring. Who would I vent to? Who would bring me sugar when I had a bad day?

“What is the crisis this time?” She nibbled her next doughnut. “Haven’t you reached your quota?”

I grabbed a doughnut, too, as I sat cross-legged on the other end of her inflatable bed, tucking my Hello Kitty house boots underneath me. The sight of them brought back the night I’d ridden Wes’s motorcycle for approximately ten yards, and a knot formed in my throat. “Same stuff. Just more overwhelming in the daylight.”

“I thought that was supposed to be the reverse?” She raised flaxen eyebrows at me.

I shrugged as I ate. “In fairy tales and sitcoms, yes. My life? Not so much.”

“Is this about your dad? Or Wes?” Marta reached for a third doughnut at the same time I did, leaving behind a sugar-sprinkled plate. “What is it
really
about, Addison?”

“It’s everything. But right now …” I wrinkled my nose. “Wes.” As usual. Would I ever lose the tie he had on me? Would telling him I couldn’t be with him even help anything?

“Do you know what you have to tell him?”

I nodded, though how to put my feelings into words was still beyond me. How to look him in the eye while doing so seemed even more out of reach. Time to put my newly solid faith into action.
God, You’re listening now, right? It seems like it. So, uh, I’m going to need some advice. And quickly
.

“Then start small.” Marta gestured with her doughnut, sending a spray of crumbs across the purple blanket on her lap. “Tell Luke first.”

“Luke?” I licked powdered sugar off my lips and frowned.

“What does he have to do with anything?”

“You need to be honest with him. He’s still bringing you flowers—often—and while you haven’t been encouraging, you still haven’t told him you are not interested, either.” Marta brushed off her fingers over the empty plate. “It’s only fair.”

“So you can make a move?” I winked at her, though my heart wasn’t in it.

“As if.” Marta rolled her eyes then sat up straight. “Hey, I sounded really American then.”

“I’m so proud.” I pointed at her. “But you like Luke. Admit it.”

She nodded slowly. “I do. But it doesn’t matter. I will be leaving in a few months, and if we stay friends only, it will be easier. Besides, I doubt he will recover from your rejection that quickly.” She smiled. “Ms. Heartbreaker.”

“Whatever. He’ll be fine.” He’d better be. I couldn’t handle any more drama right now. But Marta was right—Luke deserved honesty from me, and maybe that conversation would be good practice for the one I needed to have afterward with Wes.

My stomach clenched, and my thoughts backpedaled. Maybe there was still a chance for me and Wes. Maybe he wouldn’t distract me from the path I’d set myself on last night. Maybe I’d be a good influence on him, and my dad would come around, and Wes would change—

And maybe Lady Gaga would wear jeans and a T-shirt to the next Grammys.

I pressed my fingers against my forehead and groaned. This had to be done, and the sooner, the better. The holidays were coming—Thanksgiving was next week—and I didn’t want all this ugliness looming above me during my favorite time of the year. It’d be weird enough this season with Ms. Hawthorne hanging around—I didn’t need any extra tension between the few friends I had. Maybe if I came clean with Luke, we could still be friends. As for Wes …

Yeah right. Somehow I knew it would be all or nothing with him.

And I just couldn’t make my lips form that dreaded word.

C
ALL ME WHEN U CAN
. N
O RUSH
.

I sent the text to Luke then sat down on the top step of my nearly frozen front porch to wait. Cold seeped through my jeans and jacket, but the chill kept me focused. Determined. The sooner I had this conversation, the sooner I could go inside and warm up with hot chocolate.

My phone blared and I jumped, staring at the caller ID as it flashed Luke’s number. That was fast. Too fast. Maybe he wasn’t going to take this as easily as I hoped.

I squeezed my eyes shut then pressed the button to answer. “Bored much?”

Luke’s warm laugh echoed in my ear. Man, I didn’t want to do this. But I couldn’t lead him on, and enough flowers had already died for this pathetic attempt at a relationship. Time to spare the rest.

“I just thought calling you back seemed more entertaining than the Cartoon Network.” Luke yawned into the phone. “You girls are up early.”

Wait a minute. I frowned. “How’d you know Marta was here?”

“She texted me last night on her way over.”

Figured. I sort of doubted Marta’s whole “long distance” spiel earlier. The sneaky girl was texting him mere hours before her whole “we’re just friends” rant. I glanced over my shoulder toward the house, where she was supposedly getting dressed. “Do you have a minute?” I shivered as the cold wrapped around me.

“For you? Of course.” Luke turned on the charm, and for the tenth time I wished I could change my feelings and go for the guy who said all the right things and spewed romance like he had cue cards in the wings.

“You’re great. And the flower at the show last night was sweet.” I hesitated. “All of the flowers you’ve sent me over the past few weeks, actually. But …” I drew a deep breath, unsure how to continue.

Luke filled in my blank. “But you want me to stop.”

“Yes. No!” I sucked in my breath. “Yes. You’re just …”

He let out a sigh. “I’m not Wes.”

“Right.” My eyes widened, and I slapped my hand over my mouth, my next words muffled. “No! That’s not it. I can’t be with him either. I mean—” Oh, I needed another doughnut stuffed in my face, pronto. Why was I blabbing my feelings for Wes to Luke? I was the worst breaker-upper ever—and this wasn’t even a relationship. Good grief.

“I get it, Addison.” Luke laughed, the sound far less cheery than it had been three minutes before. “I knew this was coming. It’s nice of you to actually tell me flat out.”

Is that what I’d somehow managed to do around all the babbling? I breathed a little easier, though the knot in my stomach had yet to fully unravel. “I’m glad you understand. If I could change things, I would.” And I meant that. I hoped he believed me.

“I know.” A blaring horn sounded from the cartoon in the background, followed by the familiar
meep meep
of the Looney Tunes Road Runner. “Guess I’ll have to end my discount club card at the florist.”

Oh my gosh. I sat up straight on the porch stairs, my frozen rear end forgotten. “You didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” His laugh sounded more genuine this time. “Got you.”

He was going to be fine. I leaned forward, hoping my smile showed in my voice. “As corny as this sounds, can we still—”

“Be friends? We better.” The flirty edge to his voice suddenly made me doubt the progress of the entire past five minutes of conversation. Was he thinking if we stayed friends he’d have a better chance of pursuing me later?

No. I shook it off. How conceited was that? He probably just didn’t want to let things end badly any more than I did. It seemed a lot easier to save face and move on past the initial awkwardness if we stayed friendly, rather than having to avoid each other at school and make people guess. “Great. So … I’ll see ya?”