As soon as Dr. Harper finishes speaking, I pack up to leave and then head home.
Very busy schedule tonight. I complete my night routine. I mentally go through my list of lies, trying to pick out the best one but not succeeding. Then I spend some time feeling guilty about my lying premeditation. I also play a few rounds of Words with Friends with Melanie…and Tony.
Eventually, I head to bed…once again in many, many, many-days-old pajamas.
FRIDAY MORNING. I’M NOT VERY far into my morning routine when the house phone rings. And it’s Annie. Seriously? Why did he tell her to call this early? His office isn’t even open yet. I bet Dr. Grove’s office isn’t open yet either. I wouldn’t even have had time to call and schedule that appointment with Dr. Grove if I had wanted to (and I don’t want to…and I’m not going to…but that is beside the point). And I thought the plan was for Dr. Blake to call Dr. Grove’s office this morning to see if I had scheduled the appointment…
He’s not following his plan. But that’s not Annie’s fault. She probably doesn’t know what is going on. So I try to be nice to her. I talk to her calmly. I sort of tell the truth and I more than sort of lie. Thank God confession is tomorrow.
I tell Annie why I can’t go to the appointment next Friday—because I’m scheduled to attend a conference. I don’t tell her that I’m actively seeking a way to get out of the conference (Lie #1—a lie of omission since I just don’t bring up this information). I do tell her that I plan to schedule an appointment with Dr. Grove as soon as my schedule clears (Lie #2—a big fat blatant lie). And to get her off the phone, I thank her and say that I’m glad she called to check on me (Lie #3—the most gigantasaur lie yet).
Finally, she lets me go. We hang up, and I resume my morning schedule. As I clean the living room, I get back into deep thought about what I’m going to say to Dr. Gabriel…how I’m going to talk my way out of the conference…when I see him in only a few short hours.
I continue my morning routine, not ever figuring out a solution for my Dr. Gabriel problem. After I eventually get out of the shower and get ready for the day, I go to my dresser to check my phone. I swear I heard it making noises while I was in the bathroom.
It was making noises, apparently. I have some Words with Friends notifications and a new text from a certain Unknown Number.
Text first. Count. Open.
What conference are you attending?
Ugh.
I click out of his message. First of all, I am NOT attending the conference. Secondly, it goes beyond his doctor/patient responsibility to seek this information. And third…just UGH.
I click on the little Words with Friends icon. It’s my turn in three games…but I’m only playing two of them. I’ve thought about deleting that third game (which was really my first game), but I haven’t been able to make myself do it yet. It’s a situation that bears more than a little resemblance to the problem of a set of overly-worn pajamas not making its way into the washer…
{Damien starts to—}
NO!
I quickly open my games with Melanie and Tony and take my turns. Melanie is still killing me—how can she be so good at this? Tony is only seven points ahead of me, though.
Speaking of Tony, he’s sent me a message through our game. Wow. Our first actual communication in years.
Count. Open.
Hey, Angel.
Angel. His little nickname for me when we were dating. A little inappropriate to use right now, I think…
I read on, and he gets more inappropriate.
Are you going to your parents’ house for Sunday dinner this weekend?
Do you still do that?
Seriously? What the hell?
I can’t respond to this right now. I don’t want to even think about this right now. I turn my phone to silent, put it in my purse, and start my leaving-the-house routine. Soon, I’m in my car and on my way to class…still with no concrete plan for my conversation with Dr. Gabriel…
{The Pretenders sing “Angel of the Morning” for half of the car ride. Shaggy and Rayvon sing “Angel” for the other half.}
Dr. Gabriel meets me seconds after I enter the classroom. He walks entirely too close to me as he has me go with him to his desk. He doesn’t seem to notice my discomfort. I’m sure he doesn’t care. When we arrive behind his desk, I try to shake off that discomfort, and my irritation, so I can spit out some lies, some excuses about why I can’t make it to the conference. I don’t get the chance to speak, though.
Dr. Gabriel says he has an email he wants me to see, and he directs me to look at his laptop. He sounds really excited.
I close my eyes for a quick count of three and then focus on his computer screen.
And what I see is awful. Dreadful.
It’s an email from my advisor, Dr. Hause. It’s also a death sentence—a nail in a Callie, you now have to go to the conference coffin. I carefully read the email, my eyes getting more and more blurry and more and more damp with each new word I read.
Dr. Gabriel,
I just received a call from the conference chair in Florida. She is organizing a special three-day feature story line up with local newspapers, and she wants a representative from our school to contribute. I think Calista Royce will be the perfect person to represent our university.
I know you’ll see her in class today. Could you talk to her about this? As a representative, she’ll attend many lectures, presentations, and discussions. Then she’ll be expected to write short articles about her experiences. She’ll write three articles—one for each day of the conference. I’m sure you won’t have to tell her what an amazing opportunity this is—quite a résumé builder!
Please email me after you’ve spoken with Calista.
Thank you,
Lila Hause
Awesome. Freaking awesome.
There go all chances of getting out of this. There go all of my lies. {Engelbert chimes in with “There Goes My Everything.”}
I stare at the computer screen much longer than necessary, trying to blink away the fuzzy dampness in my eyes.
Dr. Gabriel eventually interrupts my staring to congratulate me for being selected. I try to mumble an “mmhmm” in response, but that really isn’t what comes out of my mouth. It sounds to me like more of a high-pitched hum.
Dr. Gabriel doesn’t notice. He begins to babble about different seminars we should attend and different times when I’ll be able to sneak away to write my articles.
No. Choice. I have no choice. Damn. It.
Soon, Dr. Gabriel pauses his stream of conference chatter to tell me that it’s time to start class…and to say that he’ll email Dr. Hause to confirm this arrangement and then talk to me later about our travel plans.
I don’t even respond. I peel my eyes off of his laptop screen and pull my feet off of the ground so I can move slowly back to my seat.
I don’t really see or hear anything that happens in class. I just pick off my nail polish and try not to think.
When I get home, I have two messages—one, a text message and the other, a Words with Friends message. Both of the messages are from guys who have left me due to my problems…
So why are they writing to me now? Especially when I haven’t replied to either of their last messages…
I tackle Unknown Number first.
Count. Open.
Wait—this isn’t the conference in Florida—the one Dr. Harper mentioned to me, is it?
Count. Reply.
Yes.
Count. Send.
Yes—I’m going to Florida. Yes—I’m going to have to get on a plane. Yes—I’m going to have to sleep at a hotel. No—I don’t know how the hell I’m going to do it. And no—it isn’t any of your business.
Now, for my other message. My Words with Friends message. Count. Open.
If you are heading to Pittsburgh on Sunday, I want to see you. I have some things I need to give you. I’m going to be flying in on Friday and staying until Monday.
Re
ply.
What do you need to give me?
Send. I don’t bother to ask him where he is flying in from…where he is living now…who he is living with…
I’m not sure that I even really care.
I put my phone on my dresser and spend a little time with Anna Karenina, a pencil, and a notebook. I don’t really get anything done, though…too busy thinking about Florida and plane crashes and hotel bathrooms…oh, and also too busy checking my phone for new messages. None come, though.
Eventually, I stop not working on my paper and begin getting ready for Girls’ Night. As I clean the house, my phone remains completely silent. It makes no noises until I get into the shower—then it starts going off like crazy.
I make myself wait until I am scrubbed and shaved and shampooed and dried and dressed (in fresh, clean pajamas), and then I head over to my phone.
I have multiple messages from Tony. I open the first one.
Here are the items I want to return to you:
1.) Pink Pierce hoodie
Yep. He took that with him one of the first times he came up for a weekend at Pierce. He said he wanted to have something at home that smelled like me. I don’t really want that back now. It will just remind me of him. And it will probably smell like him.
Interestingly, my eyes flicker over to the top of my hamper for a brief second. No need to think about that…about him…right now, though.
Back to my list of old forgotten stuff. Message two.
2.) Friends Season 1
Yep. I remember him taking that too. He never could understand why my sisters and I like to watch old episodes over and over again, so I let him borrow Season 1 a few months before the breakup. He watched like half of an episode, I think, and didn’t say much about it. He never returned the DVDs, though. And he just continued to get annoyed every time I said we were watching Friends on Girls’ Nights.
I don’t need my copy of Season 1 back. I re-bought it about a week after the breakup.
I don’t tell him that, though. I don’t type anything back. I just go back to reading. Time for message three.
3.) Professional prom portrait
Seriously? Throw it out, asshole. Why haven’t you done that already?
I take a list reading break and get rid of the nail polish I applied after class. I’ll just have to reapply it before I go downstairs.
Speaking of downstairs, Melanie will be here (and downstairs, in the living room) soon. Better hurry up. Back to reading. Message four.
4.) Cell phone charger
Yes…I remember that charger. It works for the phone I bought half a decade ago (and have since thrown out). Don’t need that back.
Message five.
5.) Clear nail polish
Really old nail polish. Nope—don’t need that either.
I look for a sixth message, a sixth item (a third item in my second set of three), but there isn’t one.
Naturally.
Ah, but wait. Now my phone is buzzing again. Another message. Open.
Oh—and can you bring my spare car keys? Gonna sell the old Stratus next week, and the guy who is buying it wants both original sets of keys. Thanks, Angel.
Close message. Roll eyes. There it is. His reason for wanting to meet. Sounds about right. He could’ve just asked me to mail the keys…OR he could’ve told the car buyer guy that he lost the other set…OR he could’ve gotten another set made or something. But those options would’ve been reasonable…unselfish…not like Tony at all.
I begin to wonder what he would’ve done if I hadn’t opened Facebook this week and accepted his friend request, if I hadn’t agreed to play Words with Friends with him.
Then my phone buzzes. Tony again.
So…Sunday?
Reply.
Can’t I just mail you the keys?
Can’t you just go away?
Buzz.
Well, I already told the guy I’d be getting the other set this weekend. I arranged to meet him on Monday when I get back home from my weekend trip to Pittsburgh.
Of course you did.
Buzz again.
So how about we meet before your dinner. 4:00 p.m., maybe? Dawson’s Grille?
Wow. What an ass.
Buzz again.
I’d really like to see you. It’s been so long, and it ended so bad…
UGH. I don’t know if I’m more irritated by his message itself or the fact that he wrote “bad” instead of “badly.” I’m also starting to get irritated at another person. At Father Patrick, whose last sermon was all about forgiving even when you don’t want to…all about how giving forgiveness is soul cleansing or whatever.
And I do like things to be clean…
Count. Reply.
Fine. I’ll be there.
Send.
Buzz. Open.
Thanks, Angel.
{Denis Leary begins to sing “Asshole” loudly—he focuses on the part where he spells the title of the song over and over.}
Okay. No time to think about this right now. Almost time for Girls’ Night.
Chapter 9
weekend
TONIGHT SEEMS TO BE ALL about bottles and diapers and showers. Melanie has babies on her mind…but she’s not pregnant yet.
This baby infatuation is actually proving to be quite beneficial for me—academically speaking. Tonight, we are watching various episodes of Teen Mom (it’s Melanie’s night to pick what we watch). We have already watched two episodes and, so far, there has really been no talk of blood or diseases. It’s wonderful. I’m totally using the episodes as research for my teen pregnancy paper. I’m going to watch them again on a non-Girls’ Night when I can focus totally on the show (tonight, we have talked through a lot of the potentially important dialogue). I’ll probably even buy some of the earlier seasons of the show and watch them too. Hopefully Dr. Harper will see all of this as authentic research for my paper. I don’t see why he wouldn’t…
Right now, Melanie is taking a shower, and Mandy is talking to Josh. And I…I am sitting on the couch and regretting my decision to see Tony, panicking over my upcoming trip with Dr. Gabriel, and staring at my latest text from Unknown Number, the one that came about an hour ago.
Are you really going to go?
I haven’t responded. I’d like to write back with “I’m working on getting out of it.”
And I am working on getting out of going to the conference…and also other upcoming events…I just don’t know how I’m going to accomplish it (any of it) yet.
If I could just come up with a solid series of lies—to get out of seeing Tony…to get out of going to the conference…to get out of any upcoming appointments with doctors—that would be awesome. Hmm…perhaps what I need is one big mother of a lie to get out of all of this at once. That would be pretty amazing.
Still staring at my phone, at his text, I spend about ten minutes trying to come up with one big lie that will fix all of my problems. Then, having no luck, I spend ten more minutes attempting to create three separate lies. After that (and still with no progress), I spend around ten minutes feeling guilty and reminding myself just how lengthy my confession list will be tomorrow. Then, after all of these minutes, all of these mental activities, Melanie comes back into the living room in a cloud of shower gel and Herbal Essences. She sits beside me and grabs my phone before I can even think to stop her. She reads my text, his text, aloud.
“Are you really going to go? From…Unknown Number. Who’s that?”
“Oh, just a girl from class.” Honestly, I didn’t always lie as much as I seem to now.
Melanie hands me back my phone. “And where are you going?”
I decide not to lie again (for now, anyway). “Um…this conference thing in Florida next week.”
Melanie looks over at me, her eyes all kinds of scrunched together. She seems to be speechless for a moment. Then she gets out a few words. “And how is that going to work exactly?”
I just shake my head. “I don’t know, Me
l. Still trying to figure that out.”
Melanie is still looking at me with scrunchy eyes as Mandy comes back into the room and joins us on the couch. Melanie fills her in and now they both want to talk about the conference.
I don’t want to. But I kind of have to—they won’t let the subject drop otherwise.
I quickly spit out some details about how this all came about, how I have to go to write some articles, and how I’m going to have to live through both a plane ride AND a hotel stay…
Both of them offer to come with me. But they can’t—that would look ridiculous…me taking babysitters to a graduate conference…
And what if there is a plane crash? Then one of them might die just because of me and—
Nope. It’s not going to work. Not going to work.
Before I tell them both that I don’t want to talk about the conference anymore, Melanie brings up alcohol—she suggests that I have a few drinks on the plane and hopefully pass out.
Not a bad idea.
Ew—unless I fall asleep in my plane seat and somehow end up with my head on Dr. Gabriel’s shoulder. Gross.
Somehow, I eventually manage to end the conversation about the conference. I know they’ll bring it up tomorrow…and then they’ll tell Mom, who will also bring it up with me…but I’m going to just enjoy my little reprieve for now.
I even put my phone away, back in my pajama pocket, deciding to just not respond to his text. Because I don’t want to talk about the conference…or type about the conference…or think about it…at all right now.
Checked Again (Checked Series) Page 8
