Chapter Twenty-Six
Allie
On Friday morning, I awoke at Lindsay’s house about an hour before work. Through the living room window, I could see gray light breaking through the thickening cloud tops and washing over the misty fields. Lindsay stood in the kitchen frying breakfast enchiladas and rice in a cast-iron skillet.
“Hey, beautiful,” she said as I sat up. “Did you sleep good?”
“Decently,” I said, clutching my forehead. “I still have a massive headache. I don’t know if it’s because of the weather or because I haven’t been feeling well the last couple of days.”
“Sometimes my head hurts when I’m depressed,” said Lindsay. “I think because when I get anxious, I grind down on my teeth. I’ll bring you some Tylenol.”
“Thanks, love.”
Lindsay brought over a plate full of enchiladas, a couple of Tylenol tablets, and a can of Fresca. “Sorry, it’s all I have.” She pulled up the rocking chair next to me. “I didn’t realize I was running so low on pancake mix. I’ve been meaning to go to the store, but I’ve been up late grading papers all week.”
“You know you can order your groceries online now and have them delivered to your front door? That’s what I used to do in Boston when it was too cold to go anywhere.”
“I’d like that, but there are so few places out here that deliver. It would be one thing if we lived in Dallas or Fort Worth, but this is about as far out in the boons as you can get. I’m honestly amazed you’ve stayed as long as you have.”
I smiled through a mouthful of rice. “Why’s that?”
“Because you’re a big city girl. And no one who’s tasted the pleasures of life in a big city would want to waste their twenties living in some hick, one-horse town. If I thought I could afford it, I would quit my job at the end of the year and set out for Portland or Seattle.”
“Big city living is great, don’t get me wrong,” I said. “But the people aren’t nearly as friendly. Texas has some of the friendliest people I’ve ever met, and it’s true what they say about leaving your doors unlocked at night because no one’s worried about getting robbed. At least out here in the country. Plus, back in Boston, no one ever made me these terrific breakfasts that you and Curtis’ mom are always making.”
Lindsay smiled modestly, as if pleased to be mentioned in the same breath as the legendary Mrs. Savery about whom she had heard so much. “Anyway,” she said, “are you ready to talk about why you stayed here instead of over there last night?”
I cracked open the can of Fresca; the bubbles rose to the top with a satisfying hiss. Avoiding her gaze, I said quietly, “Curtis and I, we had our first fight.”
“I figured that,” said Lindsay. “You wouldn’t have been over here otherwise. Was he mad because you wanted to name your son Lando and he doesn’t know who that is?”
I gave her a puzzled look. “Okay, as much as I would love to read the fan fiction you’ve been writing about us, that’s not what this is about.” I told her the story of how I had been woken by gunfire and gone outside to find him shooting the hogs, and how when I confronted him he had made fun of me.
“I don’t think he was making fun of your weight,” said Lindsay when I had finished. “You’re about as skinny as a bean pole anyway, so I don’t know what good that would do. It sounds like he was just saying you come over and eat a lot.”
“That’s not much better,” I said coldly. “He’s implying that I’m taking advantage of his family’s hospitality, that I’m too lazy or selfish to cook for myself.”
“That’s probably closer to what he meant,” said Lindsay. “But here’s the thing: I don’t think he actually meant it.”
I folded my arms skeptically. It was just like Lindsay to take my boyfriend’s side over mine in a fight.
“The thing you have to understand about being in a relationship,” said Lindsay, “is that sometimes when two people are pissed at each other, they say things they don’t mean. That’s even true, or especially true, if they’re in love. Your partner, who knows you better than anyone else, will say things that are designed to hurt you in the hopes of winning the argument. No one else could get under your skin like that because no one else knows you so well.”
“Do all couples do that?”
“Most of ‘em,” said Lindsay. “You’ll probably do it, too, given enough time.”
I made a disgusted face. “I’d just as soon not be in a relationship if that’s how we’re going to treat each other.”
“But the point I’m getting at is that Curtis probably didn’t mean any of those things, and he probably wishes he hadn’t said them. I bet if you talked to him, he would apologize. Y’all had a good thing. Don’t let it end just because of this one fight.”
I poured the last of the Fresca into a glass and downed it in one gulp. “It’s not just the horrible things he said about me,” I said. “I don’t like seeing animals killed. And I realize he’s a farmer, and that’s part of the job, but he knows I’m sensitive and he knows I love animals and he could have done it somewhere else, away from my house, rather than blasting his gun outside my window in the middle of the night.” I could feel myself getting angry again as I talked about it; my neck tensed and my stomach ached.
“Well, there’s something to be said for that,” said Lindsay. “If the treatment of animals is really that important to you, maybe you should consider dating someone else. Hasn’t Dave asked you out a couple of times now?”
“He has. But I turned him down because things with me and Curtis were going so well. At least today is a half-day, so we only have to sit awkwardly next to each other for a few hours.”
“You ought to ask him again.” Lindsay rose from the chair, her eyes radiant with expectation. “You might find you have more in common than you realize. I’m willing to bet he’s the only man in this town who’s never shot another animal.”
“Well, I’ve been consistently put off by him since I started working in the clinic,” I said with a sigh of exasperation. “Why would I do something so out of character and unlike me?”
“Because he really likes you,” said Lindsay.
“I don’t think that’s a very good reason,” I replied. “But I’ll humor him if it means he’ll stop asking me.”
***
That night, Dave and I ate dinner at Texas Roadhouse. As we sat together looking over the menu, which mostly consisted of steaks and barbecue, a waiter wearing a black apron walked past us sweeping peanut shells off the floor with a long broom.
“I don’t know what I want,” I said sadly. I was tired from having to wrestle an alpaca and beginning to remember why I hadn’t wanted to go out with Dave in the first place. “Every time I go to a restaurant with a lot of options on the menu, I get overwhelmed and end up just ordering a plain burger no mustard.”
“I guess you could say you never mustered the strength to try something new,” said Dave, chuckling at his own joke. He laughed wheezily, through his nostrils, reminding me of a boy I knew in junior high who used to jack off through his pants pockets in the middle of class.
“You could say that,” I said, adding under my breath, “I don’t know why you would…”
I was still deliberating when Cheryl, our waitress, came back over carrying a notepad in one hand.
“I think I’ll have the buffalo burger with wedge fries,” he said, folding up his menu and handing it back to the waitress. “And the lady here doesn’t know what she wants yet. We might need a few minutes.”
I flashed Cheryl an apologetic smile. She turned on her heels and retreated into the back room.
“I’m thinking about getting a salad,” I said slowly as I came to the end of the menu. “I always feel bad for eating meat, even though I’ll be the first to admit it tastes good. It’s hard being a semi-vegetarian in Texas because everyone here eats so much meat. Back when I lived in Boston, I was a full pescatarian, but I haven’t been able to keep it up here because the pressure is too great.”
“I’m reminded of the words of Oscar Wilde,” said Dave: “‘I can resist everything except temptation.’” He wheeze-laughed again.
It was one of those situations where I was regretting more and more with every passing moment that I had gotten myself into it. I knew once I figured out what I wanted, I would be obliged to stay through the end of the meal, and maybe that’s the reason I kept putting off making a decision.
“Listen, Dave,” I said finally, setting down my menu and drawing a deep breath. “I really appreciate your agreeing to come out with me, and I hate to ditch you before your food gets here.”
“Are you leaving?” Dave’s face fell, and a miserable look came into his eyes, which made it hard to finish saying what I had to say.
“It’s not you. Well, it sort of is. I’m not feeling well, and I’m not particularly hungry, and I’m probably going to go home and heat up some leftover lasagna. But also, I think maybe it was a mistake to ask you out in the first place. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. You’re great, and you’ve been really sweet, but I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. I’m still seeing someone, and I only ever meant for this to be a friendly dinner.”
“Did I ever suggest it was otherwise?” asked Dave.
“Well, no…” It was impossible to say what I was thinking, which was that he had been behaving that way, with a certain schoolboy eagerness, ever since we entered the building.
“Honestly,” I said, “it would be great if we just stayed friends. Or, whatever our professional relationship is. Employer and employee. I’m not looking for anything more out of you than that. I hope this doesn’t make working together awkward.” Though I couldn’t imagine it being much more awkward than it already was.
Or at least that was what I thought before I saw Dave wiping a stray tear from his eye. “It’s fine,” he said, chuckling to himself in that way people do when they’re embarrassed. “It’s nothing, really. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
At the tables around us, couples turned to look, whispering, pointing, occasionally sniggering behind their hands. I stood there for a moment wishing I could sink into the earth.
In a remarkable case of bad timing, Cheryl chose that moment to return for my order.
“And have you made up your mind yet?” she asked with a slight edge in her voice.
“I think I have, yes,” I said, handing her back the menu. “I’m going home.” I threw a loose wad of cash down at the table. I hadn’t counted it, but I knew it was at least twenty dollars. “Use this to pay for your meal, since I made you drive all the way out here.”
Dave glanced at the money without touching it. “Guess I’ll see you at work,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, guess so.” I picked up my purse off the back of the chair and stalked out of the room, stepping on peanut shells as I went.
Knowing I couldn’t spend another night at Lindsay’s, I begrudgingly drove back to the tiny house. Curtis’ truck wasn’t in his driveway or his parents’ driveway, which I thought was just as well. As much as I knew I needed to do it, I didn’t feel ready to forgive him just yet.