Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (42 page)

12/10

Working on project. Want to put all personal-life crap out of my mind and just focus on getting an A.

You know how in September they put a wrecked car outside, on the plaza, to show everyone how drinking and driving kills? Which it does. And which is a much worse problem, heartbreaking, serious problem, than what we’re doing.

But we’re using a similar theme: drinking and dis-
carding.

Everyone who takes a plastic or paper cup out of Lory Student Center will get a sticker on their back (or backpack): neon orange, but made with recycled stuff:

The sticker says:
I (GOT) WASTED TODAY!

Naturally, we’re too late to order stickers, so we’re writing and/or printing them all out ourselves. We each have hundreds of sheets of neon stickers to prepare.

Unfortunately, our printer is out of ink. Fortunately, Shawna and Dara are helping me.

12/11

Today we staged our Env. Activism protest in front of Lory.

Anyone who used a reusable coffee tumbler or water bottle got a gold star.

Anyone who didn’t got the
I (GOT) WASTED TODAY
sticker on their shirt, back, or cup.

All the disposable cups were tossed into a giant Dumpster that we rented, and by the end of the day the Dumpster was nearly full. We took pictures to post online to increase awareness—I just put up some on my blog, actually. A reporter from the
Coloradoan
was on campus for another reason and snapped some photos, too. (Naturally, I kept out of them, hiding behind Dumpster.)

The event was a major success, in that some people got really insulted and yelled at us. Which means our message was getting through.

Dr. Bigelow congratulated us many times, said he is giving the class an A for final project. Said he’s excited about working with me on my thesis when the time comes.

Afterward, I called Dean S. and told him I’m not coming back. He wasn’t in the office. I took the easy way out and left a message.

That is so like me.

Feel strangely calm about my decision.

That is so
un
like me.

Time to make some more decisions.

12/12

Just when we had given up all hope, DeathKitty is back!

And guess what? She’s not alone.

Her so-called weight gain from eating Oscar’s food? A myth. She was pregnant and has returned to the house with 3 kittens.

DeathKitten 1, DeathKitten 2, and the runt of the litter, DeathCutie.

Dara swears she will give up those temporary names and let us help name them. So far she calls one Sylvia, short for Sylvia Plath, one of her fave poets.

She’s so wrapped up in those adorable kittens that I had the window of opportunity to sneak out and put a note in Grant’s car.

Yes, I could call him (but I am 100 percent chicken, remember), and yes, I have texted him, but he hasn’t gotten back to me. Decided to do something old-fashionedly romantic.

The old note was
still
above the visor, which made me think he had never used the visor. So, I put my note on the driver’s seat.

Dear G,

Thanks for the Oscar tags and thanks for making me laugh in Bigelow’s class that day, and giving me confidence to do project. Did you see it yesterday? What did you think? Please call me, or come by, I really need to talk to you!

—C.

When I went back inside, kittens were all crawling on Oscar and he was licking them like a good mom cat would, while DeathKitty ate.

12/13

No call from Grant. He has to have seen the note. He has to. So what is the deal?

Finally tracked him down, via info from his housemates, at the vet science library. Walking in, I thought I saw the ferret owner from the class Oscar and I went to. He gave me the evil eye. Also, I thought I saw Kelli. Kept walking. Finally found Grant sitting at a desk by a window. When he looked up at me, I saw sheer panic in his face.

Tell me about it.

I pulled up a chair and sat down. “I really have to talk to you. Why are you avoiding me?”

“Look, I really need to study. Don’t you?”

“Yeah, but . . . this is important. Potentially life changing.”

“Sorry. So are my grades.”

“I know, I know. I really have to talk to you, though.”

“OK.” He sighed. “So talk.”

“So, um.” And all of a sudden I had no idea how to begin, or what to say. I bumbled into some explanation of what happened at Thanksgiving. How I didn’t tell him because I didn’t know what to say, how I’d been trying to figure out what to do.

“I didn’t know what to say—I was so surprised—but I don’t want Wittenauer to move out here, much less live together. I mean, I think we’re kind of, well . . . I just don’t think we should.”

“Why not?”

“Because of you.”
I’m back in love with you.
I couldn’t say that, though.

“Me? And what did you say to him about . . . me?” Grant asked.

“Well, nothing, yet,” I admitted. “I wanted to talk to you first.”

He seemed to be getting more aggravated by the minute. “Listen, Courtney. Don’t hedge your bets.”

“What?”

“It means—”

“I know what it means!” I cried.

“Shhh!” somebody said.

“But I’m not doing that,” I said in a whisper. “I’m not hedging anything.”

“Aren’t you?” He raised his eyebrow in this attractive arch that I seriously don’t think any human female could resist. “I mean, why are you even telling me about this? What are you asking me, exactly?”

I felt like I was in the glare of a police detective’s light. This was it. My moment to confess. And I couldn’t.

“I don’t know. I—I have to go.” I grabbed my book bag and bolted for home. By the time I got there, I was freezing cold and wet. It wasn’t raining or snowing. I’d been crying the whole way.

I blubbered the story to Shawna, who is, like, ALWAYS there for me and also for Dara, and never brings any of her own drama to the table, which is so damned likable. Anyway.

“Hold it, hold it,” she said. “Why would you have one of the most important conversations of your
life
at the
library
? Like he’s going to talk there.”

“And he probably loves Dara anyway, and he doesn’t want to tell me,” I sobbed.

“He doesn’t. She asked him out and he said no.”

“Oh? Really?”

Suddenly, my phone chimed with a message.

U drive me insane.

It was Grant.

Me: Sounds intriguing. Do tell.

Grant: Y would u have such a big convo @ library? Not the place.

Me: So name the place.

Grant: Not now. Not finals week! Anyway, it’s your decision to make first, not mine.

Me: Y me?

Grant: You’re with someone. I’m not.

When he’s right, he’s right. How come I never get to be right?

12/14 FIRST DAY OF FINALS WEEK

Finals finals finals . . .

Good-bye for the next few days, journal.

On second thought. Don’t leave me. Stick around. I will need a place to vent after I fail my exams.

Oh crap, someone’s knocking at my window.

It’s Grant.

LATER

Recovering now. Sort of.

First thing he said was that he’s known for days that Wittenauer and I were going to move in together in June. Days! Dara told him at the Humane Society last Sunday. EIGHT DAYS AGO!

And he was so mad at me because he was waiting for me to tell him, but I just acted like nothing had changed, nothing was different.

Well, it wasn’t—yet! And none of this was my idea!

Second thing he said is that it’s crazy for me to talk to him about me and Wittenauer and ask what I should do.

“I’ve grown up, I’ve changed. After what happened with you . . . when I temporarily lost my mind and kissed Beth that one time, I decided I’d never do that to someone again. So when you moved back here and I started having feelings for you again, I broke things off with Kelli.”

“I thought she broke up with you,” I said.

“No. Wrong. And since you obviously have feelings for me, too, you could do that. But no. You refuse to make up your mind. You just avoid things and people and hope the problem will go away. And then you tell me you’re moving in together and you don’t want to be—what am I supposed to do with that? Do you want me to call him for you? Why would you say yes?”

“OK, but, Grant, you don’t understand.”

“Clearly.”

“He didn’t
ask me
, ask me. He just started saying we should do it, that it would be cool, and logical, and a good plan. The plan! I never said that was the plan.”

“It takes two to . . . plan,” said Grant.

I couldn’t argue there. I mean, I could have told Wittenauer no, right away. So why didn’t I?
Was
it the stuffing in my veins?

“And now you’re leaving me notes trying to get me to tell you how I feel, when you won’t tell me how you feel? I mean, seriously. What are you going to do, wait until he’s almost finished packing the U-Haul and then tell him? The way you treated me at spring break? I’m not going to be part of that. I hardly know him but I wouldn’t let you do that.” He shook his head. “Man. How can you be so mature when it comes to certain things, and so immature when it comes to others?”

He looked at me like I would have an answer for that. Am I suddenly a Psych major? “Uh . . . Grant. Look. I . . .”

“Are you ready to say how you feel, or aren’t you?”

“The thing is . . . I . . .”

“See, I knew it. You’re not sure you want to choose. Even though you know how great we are together and how—”

“We are great together. But I’m scared. Is that so wrong? I mean, look at what happened last time.”

“Yeah. But we’re older now, we could handle it better. Or at least, I could.”

Can’t stand his superior Superior attitude!

“You know what? I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’ve got two finals tomorrow.”

He was about to leave, and then all of a sudden he turned around and came back.

Then we had this really passionate, absolutely hot kiss that I was still seeing stars from when he headed for the door again, saying, “Call me when you get it figured out. But not before. Don’t leave me any more cute notes, don’t text me, don’t visit me at work! Don’t even eat at the Pyth, OK? That was my lunch place before you came to town.”

So what does that even mean? My heart is still pounding and it was, like, half an hour ago.

Why was he talking like a western sheriff in an old movie?

Oh, and
he
has two finals? What about me? I do, too.

12/15, 12/16, 12/17 AN ETERNITY OF FINALS

My love life has been temporarily suspended.

Must pass all of my classes.

Still, can’t stop thinking about Grant.

Am I ready to be with him again? Am I ready to break up with Wittenauer? The fact he’s been strangely quiet, and everyone is in finals hell, means I may have a few days to just do nothing. Which I’m very good at, so, cool.

I mean if I tell Wittenauer now and he’s upset . . . it’ll be just like how I ruined Grant’s A in Chem, or whatever that was.

If I tell him now and he’s
not
upset . . . I’ll probably be upset.

And if I even think about seeing Grant, I’ll be too distracted to find the building for Final #1.

Agh! Focus. Not here for the love connection. Here for the bachelor’s degree.

Sexist term. Bachelor’s degree.

12/18

Done. I am done. I have handed in my 2 papers and taken my 3 finals.

I am done with school until the middle of January.

I don’t have a job.

I am headed home to Denver to be in Mom’s wedding.

I’ve broken up with Wittenauer—

Oh, wait. Knew there was something major left on my to-do list.

Everyone is doing it by Twitter these days.

Can’t I just do that?

No. OK. Try to be brave, like Grant said.

I was kind of waiting until we were ALL done with finals. Now I have no excuse. And that’s too bad, because I so love excuses.

Well, things could be worse. I could be driving to Seattle with DeathKitty, Sylvia Plath, and DeathCutie in a cat carrier. (The white one has been adopted by a poet friend and named Frosty, for Robert Frost.)

LATER

I did it. I’ve done it.

I drove up to the buffalo overlook, my calming place up on I-70. Called Wittenauer, who was in the midst of Christmas shopping with his folks. He slipped off into a coffee shop so he could have some privacy. From his parents, anyway.

I hated to have to break his heart like this over the phone. During the Christmas season, no less.

“So, uh . . . there’s something I have to tell you,” I said.

“Oh, me, too, me, too,” he said, sounding all excited.

Started feeling like world’s worst person, or at least, Colorado’s. “I’ll go first,” I said. Because if he was going to tell me he was coming out earlier than for Mom’s wedding, or had bought
me
a ticket to visit him over the long winter break, I wanted to squash those ideas ASAP.

“I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t think you should move out here after you graduate, and I definitely don’t think we should live together,” I said.

“Really?” he asked. He didn’t sound crushed. He didn’t sound thrilled, either.

“Yeah. I don’t think we’re ready. And actually, I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. The thing is, Wittenauer, I love you, but . . . well . . . I guess I need to break up with you. Actually. Because I think I’m kind of
in
love with someone else.”

My heart was pounding a million times a minute, hands shaking, etc. Meanwhile, complete and utter silence on other end.

Then he finally said, “You’re not.”

“Well, maybe. I mean . . . yes,” I said, trying to be a little clearer. “Evidence suggests.”

He laughed.

Laughed?

“Grant?” he asked.

“I’m really, really sor—”

“That’s OK, Courtney. That’s
totally
OK. Because, um, I think maybe . . . I’m in love with someone else, too. Or at least I have a serious crush.”

“What?” After the anguish he’d put me through, insisting we make a commitment when I wasn’t ready, now HE wasn’t ready and wanted to break up, too?

“Remember Baby Corn?” he said. Then he laughed. “She’s my apprentice. I spend a lot of time with her.”

“Yeah, but—that’s crazy. Why did you talk about moving in together at Thanksgiving if you were already falling for her?”

“Did I talk about that?”

“Yeah, you said it was the plan,” I said. “The logical plan.”

“I thought we were just kicking around ideas. Weren’t we?”

“
Just kicking around ideas?
I want to kill you,” I said.

“So probably we shouldn’t live together,” he joked.

And then I started laughing so hard that I was doubled over. I could tell he was, too.

“I just thought—you know, that’s what you’re supposed to do when you graduate,” Wittenauer said. “And you were so far away and so unhappy that I wanted to save you.”

“But I wasn’t,” I said. “Unhappy.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I was then,” he said. “I missed you a lot. And I really like Colorado, and I’m still going to apply to law school at Boulder. But, like, the minute we talked about it, and I went back to campus, I knew I couldn’t do it; I’m not ready. That’s why I’ve been avoiding you. I felt so guilty for, like, leading you on.”

“You didn’t have to feel guilty,” I said. “I was just as confused.”

“The thing is that I’m probably not ready to settle down because I seem to have this awful habit of falling for someone new every November. Did, uh, Mary Jo tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She saw us. Holding hands. We acted like it was nothing, but I thought she knew.”

“Oh. She might have tried to tell me,” I said. “So, um, do I know Baby Corn? What’s her name, anyway?”

“Let’s not go down that road. I mean, you’ve moved on and all.”

“What’s the big deal? I’m not going to
call
her,” I said. “Just tell me.”

He let out a loud sigh. “Her name’s Courtney, OK? But it starts with a
K
. And don’t give me a hard time about it, just
don’t.
”

We talked a lot longer—more serious stuff, not joking around, about how much we meant to each other and how we wouldn’t regret anything and how much fun we had. I knew I should mention the part about Dean S. calling to offer me the chance to come back, but it just didn’t seem relevant. Whether I got the offer or not, I still wouldn’t be going back.

So weird. I’m free and clear. And the first person I want to tell is Grant, but I can’t. Not yet.