Wedged
On Monday morning, Kiki and I went to breakfast and vented about all the bullshit that’d gone down on Saturday night. She’d been lectured by her parents about the lake thing, too, even though she didn’t even drink.
“Here’s the deal, Carter.” Kiki dumped a heaping spoonful of sugar into her coffee. “We need to fast-forward our apartment situation. The food on campus is heinous, my closet is the size of a rat hole, and my roommate and her boyfriend think our dorm is a porno studio that’s open 24/7.”
“Sounds like you’re jealous,” I laughed and scooped a bite of oatmeal and bananas into my mouth.
“Absolutely. I need a boyfriend—or a fuck buddy.”
I cracked up. “What’s happening with Toby?”
“God, he’s big and beautiful. I want to strip down, curl up on his chest, and settle in for a catnap right there in chem lab.”
I laughed so hard I snorted.
“For real, his belly sticks out perfectly like a warm lump of bread dough rising in a bowl, waiting for me to knead it and pound it into shape.” Kiki wiped imaginary drool from her chin.
“He’s obviously intimidated by your hotness. Help a brother out and casually mention you’re craving Thai food and lure him to that cozy place across the street.”
“Oh, that’s good. I will, but let’s get back on track. I made an appointment for us to take a tour of an apartment complex off Calhoun Street. They have a unit coming available mid-January. That gives us about a month to get ready. We need to put down a deposit and first month’s rent today to hold it. You in?”
Mentally, I tallied my financial situation. I had enough in my savings, thanks to my generous boss and from all the money I’d saved working at the club. “In.”
“Really?” Kiki asked.
“Way in.”
We squealed. Finally, I had secured my ticket to freedom. I could do whatever I wanted, come home when I felt like it, and start living my real adult life.
We signed the rental agreement, put down our deposit, and stopped at Homegoods to get some decorating ideas. Then we went to lunch at Panera and made a list of all the stuff we needed to get started. I hated to end our strategic planning session, but I had to go to tennis. I went through the motions at practice, but I was so nervous—the excited kind of nervous—I couldn’t think about anything except Vladimir and my newfound freedom.
When I slid into the Caddy, I avoided Boris’s omniscient eyes and rambled on about our tennis tournament, which was taking place on Thursday. His advice: Teach your opponents a lesson early in the match. He brushed the side of his cheek where Coach had whacked me.
I was hoping Vladimir would be home waiting to greet me, so I could share my news—which I hoped would turn into a romantic, celebratory dinner somewhere fabulous. Instead, I found a blooming bouquet of red and pink two-tone roses along with a card on the bar. I tore open the envelope and pulled out an elegantly scrolled note:
My dearest Carter,
In preparation for your match, Boris will go over your game stats so you may understand your high and low percentage shots. Listen to him. He is a good coach.
Regards, Vladimir
That night, Vladimir worked late. Boris sent out for pizza from my favorite restaurant and together we came up with a game plan for my match. I’d kept a couple slices warm for Vladimir in the toaster oven, but he never came home, never called, never texted. Not exactly the romantic evening I’d hoped for.
On Tuesday, another bouquet of roses and another note.
My dearest Carter,
Find your way to the bedroom. I have arranged for a masseuse to help relax your muscles. I regret I will be working late again this evening.
Regards, Vladimir
On Wednesday, the eve of the tournament:
My dearest Carter,
Overthinking your game is the kiss of death. Get ready for a relaxing evening at home. Meet me in the living room. I am waiting for you.
Regards, Vladimir
I tossed the note in the trash. Since our moment on Sunday, the boss had strategically kept his distance and set up diversions so he didn’t have to face me.
Hint: my passion was unrequited.
“Can you please take me home?” I asked Boris.
“Nyet.” He flung open the swinging door and nudged me out of the kitchen. Vladimir was seated on the sofa, sipping a golden drink on the rocks.
“Join me, Carter.”
I plopped down on the couch, keeping a cushion of distance between us.
“Feeling shy?” He swirled his drink. Ice cubes clinked against the glass.
I averted my gaze to a trio of candles glowing on the coffee table.
“About the other day—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I ripped a page out of his playbook and kept my emotional distance, too.
“Carter, if things were different—”
“Please stop. You don’t have to explain. I don’t need this right now—the tournament.” I picked up the remote. “Let’s watch a movie.” As I browsed the comedy list, I wrapped up in a throw blanket and wedged a pillow in the open spot between us.
I am such an idiot. Why didn’t I take the hint the first time he rejected me? How fucking humiliating…
He touched my shoulder and whispered my name. I pretended not to notice.