I’ve heard people, mostly my parents, complain that the internet has made my generation lazy. My mother refers to the “special snowflakes” as the lost generation. Lost on human contact, lost on real work, and lost on responsibility. If my mother knew how much work I’ve put into my plan to get Whitney back, well, get her at all, she’d be proud. Hell, the amount of time I’ve spent researching the fine line between courting and stalking has been a part-time job.
Speaking of part-time job, I’ve talked with my manager, and he’s agreed for me to start working with the guys to choreograph new routines that put some of them in the forefront and pull me from the main focus. He wasn’t pleased but conceded when I told him the alternative was me quitting. It was a bluff, and it worked. I wish I had the luxury of quitting, but that’s not possible right now. Also off the table are private parties.
This morning, I’m putting together the next package I need to have delivered to her. It’s been two weeks since I mailed the CD to her. That was no easy feat either. How’s that for real work. Thankfully, Jonah has an old desk top computer with a CD drive so I was able to burn the CD. Of course, he had to help me because I’d never done that before. When he was done helping me, he said something about agreeing with my mother. He’s called me “snowflake” for two weeks since.
The flower on her car prior to that was easy enough to handle on my own since I convinced Jessi to be my accomplice and make sure I had her schedule. But this, I want this delivered. Jonah volunteered last night after Carmen had a few glasses of wine. I doubt he is as excited about this as she was offering up his services.
“Luke, let me see that, you are horrible with ribbon.”
I slide the pile of ribbon and scissors Carmen’s way and watch as she twists, turns, and ties the ribbon into an elaborate flower instead of the plain bow I was trying to do. Mesmerized by how quickly she creates the masterpiece, I grab the box it goes with from the counter.
“Explain these,” she says, holding up a heart shaped sucker.
“When we were in high school, they would do these random fundraisers for the senior class. The money was supposed to be for prom and the graduation night party. The one event that was always consistent was the Valentine’s Day suckers. You could purchase a sucker for your Valentine and have it delivered. Some were anonymous and others had note cards.”
Carmen grabs a few of the suckers and holds them in one hand while adding to the bundle, creating a bouquet. She looks to me and raises a brow for me to continue.
“Anyway, I was too chickenshit to ever buy one for Whit. I actually bought six the year we were lab partners. I was going to ask her to a dance. But, then she stopped talking to me.”
“That was when you were a douchenozzle?” she asks.
“I didn’t know I was a douchenozzle,” I scoff. She laughs. I continue, “But, yes. Anyway, when she wasn’t talking to me, I went to one of my buddies and sold him the suckers for half the price so he could send them to his girlfriend.”
“I think it’s cute you want to recreate that gesture.”
“You said woo her. Do you think this falls in that category?”
“I’d say it’s adorable and sweet. If I were her, I’d be smitten for sure. But, what’s next?”
“What do you mean?” I ask, taking the sucker bouquet from her hand and placing it gently in the box filled with bright pink tissue paper.
“What’s after this? At some point, don’t you think you should just call her? Send the girl a text message at the very least?”
Shrugging, I place the card I’ve written inside the box and place the lid on top. Jessi promised to find out when Whitney would be home so Jonah could deliver the package so until then, we wait.
“I don’t know, Carmen. I feel like I have to do something huge. None of this seems like enough.”
Rising from the table, Carmen walks to the refrigerator and snaps up two water bottles, handing one to me before unscrewing the top from her own. After a sip of water, she stands with her hip cocked and her head tilted, staring at me. It’s unnerving. She’s assessing. This cannot go well for me.
“How long have you been in love with this girl?” she asks.
There’s no need in pretending with Carmen. She was awake when I stumbled in from Whitney’s with my heart ripped to shreds. I guess in some ways, she got the payback she wanted as a teenager.
“Ten years.”
“Right. Luke you’re twenty-five years old. You’ve spent almost half your life in love with a woman who, as far as I can tell, just may love you back. Don’t you think you’ve both wasted enough time playing games? Aren’t you ready to start something real? Lay your cards on the table.”
Without another word, Carmen walks away, leaving me to my own thoughts. The box of suckers taunts me from across the table.
Playing games. It doesn’t feel like a game, and if it is, it’s one I’m losing in the most epic way.
After our night together, I thought we’d fall into something real. That’s why the words slipped out. I meant them but had no intention of saying them. Hell, I’d stopped myself numerous times up to that point. I wanted to tell her in Portland and each night we talked on the phone in the weeks to follow.
When she told me how jealous and hurt she was seeing me at work, the emotions poured out of me. I put them into every kiss, lick, and taste of her. When I spilled everything I had inside her, leaving my heart laid out for her on a silver platter, the words fell from my lips without a second thought.
The look of horror on her face was a kick in the nuts. With a pointed boot that had spikes. Basically, it hurt. Really fucking badly. How I reacted was not my finest moment. I was hurt and humiliated. And pissed. So pissed.
Part of me was angry at myself for putting her in that position. I don’t regret sleeping with her, but it shouldn’t have been fueled by my need to show her how much she means to me. It shouldn’t have been to smother the hurt she suffered because of me. I was also angry at her. Angry that she could think so little of me. To believe I would ever hurt her. I would ever cheat on her.
As the days went by, my anger and frustration grew. Then I missed her. I miss her.
Maybe Carmen is right. Maybe I need to nip this gift thing in the bud and talk to her. Just lay it all out on the line to her. Explain the changes I’m making with my job. Work through it together.
I shoot a text to Jonah letting him know there’s been a slight change in plans and to hold tight for further directions. My next text message is to Jessi for Whitney’s schedule.
Jessi: Sorry, pal. Your girl has been pulling 12 hour days. I haven’t seen her in a few days. She’s probably at the office.
I guess that high profile wedding is taking more of her time than Jessi originally thought.
Me: Okay. How many people work there?
Jessi: Dude, how would I know?
Me: Estimate. Help me out.
Jessi: She’s mentioned like 4 people. So at least that many. Why?
Me: Just curious. Thanks!
I immediately start tapping on my phone, finding a restaurant I know Whitney loves. I hit the call button. After ordering enough food for half a dozen people I make one more request of the woman on the phone. She seems less than impressed with my request for a note to be included in the order. By the time I finish dictating the note, she’s offering me her phone number in case the person receiving the order doesn’t call me.
Flattered, I thank her but decline. She’ll call.