"Trust me, if I'd known you were going to be here I wouldn't have agreed to it."
"I wouldn't have either if I'd known you would be here." She grabs her purse. "I'm leaving."
She storms past my mom and me to the door.
"Agnes Birdie Finkels!" my dad roars from the staircase.
She freezes, startled by his loud voice and probably frightened that he used her whole name. He treats her like a daughter so if he uses her whole name, she knows she's in trouble.
He comes down the stairs. "Come back here right now. You are NOT leaving this house."
She slowly turns around. "I'm really sorry but I can't stay. I just remembered I have a ton of homework to do."
"You suddenly remembered this at the same time Cal showed up?" My dad plants his hands on his hips, making himself look larger and more intimidating. "You can do your homework tomorrow. You're staying."
"I can't. I lost my appetite as soon as HE walked in." She glares at me.
"Why don't I just make this easy and leave?" I go to the door.
"Callaway George Tuckerman! You get back here this instant!"
"Why?" I turn to him. "You really think putting Birdie and me in the same room is going to fix things? How did you even know we were fighting?"
"Taylor mentioned it," my mom says. "She said something about a boy being involved?"
"What boy?" my dad asks, his eyes going between Birdie and me.
Birdie folds her arms over her chest. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Me either," I say, mimicking her stance.
My dad walks over to the couch and points to it. "Both of you sit down."
Neither of us moves.
"Right now!" His voice is loud and commanding. Birdie and I know if he uses that tone, he's not messing around.
Birdie sighs and sits on the end of the couch.
"Cal!" my dad barks.
I slowly walk over and sit on the end of the couch opposite Birdie.
My dad stands in the middle, his arms crossed. "Who is this boy that caused this fight between you two?"
"Fake Steve," Birdie mutters.
"You need to speak up," my dad says. "Did you say the boy's name is Steve?"
"Fake Steve," she says, louder this time.
"The boy from summer camp?" my mom asks, walking over to stand by my dad.
Back at camp, Birdie made such a big deal about Fake Steve that my whole family knew about it. And then she kept bringing it up, so even all these years later they still remember him, except for my dad.
"Who the hell is Fake Steve?" he asks.
"Honey, you remember," my mom says. "The boy who went to golf camp with Cal years ago? Birdie came with us to drop him off and talked to some boy and they exchanged numbers but she found out he'd used a fake name."
Birdie narrows her eyes at me. "But it WASN'T fake. Was it, Cal?"
"His name is Salvatore," I explain to my parents. "He goes by Steve. But I didn't know that until I actually met him. When I told Birdie there was no Steve at the camp I was telling the truth. His name on the roster was Salvatore."
"Why didn't you tell her when you found out?" my mom asks.
"Exactly!" Birdie yells.
"Why would I tell her?" I say to my mom. "I knew they'd never date. The guy lived in Oregon. And Birdie wasn't even allowed to date back then."
"You still could've told me," Birdie snaps. "After that I could never trust another guy."
"Seriously?" I look at her. "Some guy you met one time had that big of an effect on you?"
"I was only 14! I was young and impressionable!"
"Cal, you really should've told her," my mom scolds.
My dad's eyes bounce between Birdie and me. "Are you telling me this feud you two are having is over something that happened five years ago?"
"We're fighting because I found out the truth just last week," Birdie says. "Fake Steve showed up at a restaurant Cal and I were at and that's when I found out his name is actually Steve. If we hadn't run into him, I still wouldn't know the truth."
"What difference would it make?" I say to Birdie. "It was five years ago. Steve's moved on and so have you."
"You lied to me!" she yells. "You lied to me for five years! You don't see anything wrong with that? How could you—"
"Okay, that's enough," my dad says, interrupting her. "Cal, you need to apologize."
"I already did," I insist. "More than once. And she still won't talk to me."
"Is that true?" my dad asks Birdie. "Did he apologize?"
"Yes, but that doesn't make what he did just go away. He still shouldn't have done it."
"No, but unfortunately he can't go back and correct his mistake. Remaining angry with him isn't going to fix anything."
"Nothing needs to be fixed," Birdie says. "Cal and I are done being friends."
"Lou, you need to check on the ribs," my mom says. "You don't want them to burn."
He points to Birdie and me. "I expect you two to have this worked out by the time dinner is served."
He leaves and goes to the kitchen.
"Would you two like anything to drink?" my mom asks.
"No," Birdie and I say at the same time.
We're both staring straight ahead, arms crossed as we sit on the couch.
"Okay, then," my mom says. "I'll go finish making dinner."
When she's gone the room is silent, neither of us wanting to talk first. After a few minutes, I can't take any more silence.
"What do you expect me to do?" I say. "Like my dad said, I can't go back and change what I did."
More silence.
"So this is how it's going to be?" I ask. "You're just going to give me the silent treatment forever?"
She doesn't respond.
"Fine." I get up. "Then I'm just gonna go up to my room until dinner."
"Tell me why you did it."
I slowly sit back down. "I already told you. I knew it wouldn't work between you two so I didn't think it'd matter if I told you. I thought you'd forget about him."
"But you know that I didn't. I've been talking about him for years, saying how he hurt me when he lied to me. And that whole time, you were the one lying." She finally looks at me. "Do you know how much that hurts?"
I sigh. "Birdie, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to hurt you. I wasn't even sure if you were serious when you'd say you were still mad at Fake Steve. I didn't know it affected you that much. If I did, I would've told you."
"You still haven't told me why you did it. I don't believe that crap about it not working out between Steve and me. That's not why you did it. So what's the real reason? Tell me the truth, Cal."
Shit. I was really hoping she'd let this go. I don't want her knowing why I did it. How I had a huge crush on her and wanted her for myself. There's a good chance she wouldn't believe me and if she did, she'd say I was being selfish, which I was, but I was only 16. I didn't make the best decisions back then.
"Cal, I want the truth."
I lean forward, resting my arms on my knees as I look down at the floor.
"I didn't think he was right for you."
It's the truth but only part of it.
"Why? Because he lived far away?"
"Because he wasn't good enough." I turn and look at her. "I knew you could do better."
"Oh, please," she says. "You're just saying that to end the fight. You didn't even know Steve well enough to know if he was right for me or not."
"I got to know him at camp, and yeah, he was a nice guy, but nothing great. I didn't want you settling for a guy when you could do so much better. You always do that, Birdie. You go for guys who are nowhere near good enough for you."
"And how would you know? You don't know any of the guys I've dated."
"I've heard you talk about them."
"Yeah? So?"
"You're never excited about any of them."
"What do you want me to do? Jump up and down?"
"No, but I'd expect at least a little enthusi
asm if you really liked the guy. You got more excited about the new colors for spring than any of your past boyfriends."
"That's not true. Ask Taylor. She's seen me get excited about a guy."
"You also pick guys that don't treat you well."
"You have no idea how a guy treats me. You're just making all this up to justify why you lied about Fake Steve. But no matter what you say, what you did was wrong."
"And I apologized. So can we end this now?"
My mom walks in. "Dinner is ready. It's such a nice evening we're going to eat out on the patio. Are you two ready?"
Birdie gets up. "We're ready."
We go outside to the patio. My parents sit at each end of the table and Birdie and I sit across from each other.
"Did you two work things out?" my dad asks as he puts a scoop of potato salad on his plate.
"I don't know," I say, helping myself to some ribs. "You'll have to ask Birdie."
"Everything's fine," she mutters, handing my dad the basket of cornbread.
"Good!" He smiles at us. "Now that we've settled that, tell me how school is going. Birdie, you first."
"There's not much to tell. I still don't like my movie class but I'm somehow getting a B in it."
"Cal, how about you?" my dad asks. "How are your classes?"
"Fine, except for stats. I hate that class."
"Birdie, have you decided what you want to do yet?" my mom asks.
"Probably be an actuary. It pays well and there's high demand."
"She really wants to get a job in fashion," I say as I slather my cornbread with butter.
"That was a joke," Birdie says, glancing at me across the table.
"You do love fashion," my mom says to her. "Have you ever considered a career in it?"
"No, but I'm guessing there aren't many fashion jobs, and the few that exist probably don't pay well."
"I have a friend from college who does extremely well," my mom says. "She's a buyer for one of the department stores in the Midwest. She absolutely loves her job. She gets to travel all over the world to fashion shows and conventions."
"Let me guess, she looks like a model?"
My mom laughs. "A model? Not at all. She's probably five feet tall, and that's in heels."
"Birdie thinks to work in fashion you have to be tall and skinny and look like a model," I say.
"Maybe she could talk to your friend," my dad says to my mom.
"Oh, no, that's okay," Birdie says. "I'm really not considering fashion for a job. I'm going to be an actuary."
"It wouldn't hurt to just talk to her," my dad says to Birdie.
"Yeah, okay," Birdie says, knowing my dad will keep pushing it until she agrees to do it. "Cal's thinking of running a golf course."
I drop my fork, shocked that she'd just announce that. I haven't talked to my dad about it, and didn't want to until I told him I wasn't returning to professional golf.
"Running or owning?" my dad asks.
"I wasn't serious," I say, digging into my ribs, hoping he'll just drop it.
The table is silent. My eyes are on my food because I don't want to see my dad's reaction. Even joking about owning a course could mean I don't see myself continuing in professional golf, which would destroy my dad's dream to see me succeed in golf the way he and my grandpa did.
The silence is killing me. I force myself to look up at my dad. He's looking at my mom. My eyes go to her, then back to my dad. They're doing that thing parents do where they communicate without words. I hate it when they do that. I can never figure out what they're thinking.
"I think he'd do great running his own course," Birdie says, breaking the silence.
I kick her foot under the table and give her a look to keep quiet.
She just smiles, then continues eating.
"How long have you been considering this?" my dad asks.
"I haven't considered it. Like I said, it was a joke." I shovel potato salad in my mouth so he'll stop asking me questions.
"The right course in the right location could be a good investment," he says. "I've thought of buying one myself someday. I just wasn't sure who I could trust to run it."
"Does managing a course require a special degree?" my mom asks.
"They have golf course management degrees," I say. "Some are four year degrees. Some two. And I think they have certificate programs. I can't remember."
My parents do that thing again where they look at each other, talking in some wordless code.
"So you've looked into this," my dad says to me.
I shrug. "A little. I was just curious if it was a real degree."
Everyone's staring at me, even Birdie. Why did she have to bring this up? To get back at me for saying she wanted to go into fashion? Why would she be mad about that? My parents don't care if she goes into fashion.
"What are you doing this Friday?" my dad asks.
"I have class until noon. Why?"
"I was wondering if you'd like to come with me to look at a course."
"Are we golfing?"
"We can, but I'm more interested in seeing if this particular course would make a good investment."
"You're seriously thinking of buying a course?"
"If it fits my criteria, then yes. The one I'm considering just went on the market. Why don't we go look at it on Friday?"
"We can, but I know which one you're talking about and I don't think it has much growth potential."
My dad's watching me. He knows I've researched this, which means he knows I wasn't joking about running a course. The secret is out.
"Are there others you'd recommend?" he asks.
"I'd have to look," I say. "It's been a while since I did the research."
Actually, I did it last week. I've been doing it for months. I keep a spreadsheet of all the courses I'd consider buying if I had the money, then analyze their growth potential based on a number of factors.
"Why don't we still go on Friday?" my dad says. "We'll check out the course then play a round."
I nod, knowing this outing on Friday is meant to get me to talk. He wants to know if I'm going back to professional golf. How am I going to tell him the truth? All he's ever wanted is for me to follow in his footsteps. To achieve the same level of success he did, or surpass it.
But I couldn't do it. I tried and failed. And now I don't want to go back to it.
How do I tell my dad that? How can I disappoint him like that?
This is all Birdie's fault. Why did she have to tell him I wanted to run a golf course? Why couldn't she keep quiet?
Chapter Eighteen
Birdie
"Nice setup," I say to Taylor when I finally get her on the phone. She's been avoiding me since the dinner I had at her parents' house last Saturday. The dinner she made her parents set up in order to get me to make up with Cal.
It's now Tuesday and she finally answered her phone. She must think enough time has passed for me to get over being mad at her, which I am, but I'm still annoyed.
"You couldn't give him the silent treatment forever," she says.
"Why not? I don't need to talk to him."
"You're my best friend. I can't have my best friend not talking to my brother. Just think how awkward that would be at holidays. And you need to keep taking swimming lessons. I don't want you drowning on spring break just because you had a fight with Cal."
"I don't like being forced to do things," I say, sitting on the bench outside the math building. My stats class is in a few minutes but I don't want to get there early and have to talk to Cal.
"I wasn't forcing you," Taylor says. "I just wanted to get you both in the same room in case either one of you had something to say."
"There was nothing to say. Cal lied. It's as simple as that."
"But he apologized, right?"
"Yeah, but that doesn't make it better."
"Did he say why he did it?"
"He said it never would've worked with Steve because he lived too far away, as if
that justifies him lying. Then he had the nerve to comment on the guys I date. He said I always date the wrong guys. He doesn't even know anything about them!"
"You do kind of pick the wrong guys."
"Seriously? Whose side are you on here?"
"I'm not taking sides. I've just observed over the years that you date guys you're not really excited about."
"Did Cal tell you to say that?"
"No. Why?"
"He said the same thing. He said I never get excited about the guys I date."
"You don't."
"Taylor! Stop agreeing with your stupid brother!"
"Were you excited about John?"
"No, which is why we only went on one date."
"What about Lenny?"
Lenny was a guy I dated last spring. I met him at a monster truck show. He wore cowboy boots and a cowboy hat, and since I'd never dated a cowboy before, I figured it was worth a shot. I went up and asked him out and we dated for a month.
"Lenny was an experiment," I say. "He doesn't count."
"What kind of experiment?"
"To see if I liked cowboys."
"I thought he was a mailman."
"He was, so it turned out to be an invalid experiment."
"How about Rick?"
Rick was another guy I met at the monster truck show, but not the same one where I met Lenny.
"I got excited about Rick."
"You were excited that he knew one of the monster truck drivers. You weren't excited about Rick as a person, or a boyfriend."
"I was too! What do I have to do to prove I'm excited about a guy? Jump up and down, yelling how great he is?"
"It's more subtle than that. Remember when you first realized how much I liked Luke?"
"Yeah."
"How'd you know?"
"I could tell by your smile, and the way your face lit up when you talked about him."
"That's the type of excitement I'm talking about. It was subtle but you could tell how excited I was about him. And I wasn't even dating him then. I'm just saying, I haven't seen you look that way with any of the guys you've dated."
I check the time on my phone. "Taylor I have to go. Class starts in two minutes and I'm not even in the building."
"This is stats, right?"
"Yeah. My easiest class."
Kinda Hate You: An Enemies to Lovers College Romance Page 18
