“Oh, By-The-Book-Brooke is alive and well. Again, why have you never told me how gorgeous he is? Seriously, I don’t know how you do it. But I damn sure get why you come running when he calls. He’s a serious eyegasm if I’ve ever seen one. Now I get why you never go out with me anymore. Seeing him once or three times a week is plenty of material for your fantasy hookups.”
I grip the steering wheel tightly, “Alex, stop. I just can…. don’t see him that way. He’s my client, period.”
I can feel her irritated gaze on me, “Brooke, come on. Any other time we would be laughing about this. Why are you so angry?”
“Okay, he’s fucking hot, does that make you happy? But he’s one hundred percent, off limits. He’s a client, and if anything happened between us, I could lose my job. End of story.”
“What do you mean, ‘if anything happened between you two’? I wasn’t suggesting you get together, it was a drink, you know, kind of like all those dinners you cook together.” There is a moment of silence, and then she says, “So be straight with me, have you thought of being with him?” I continue staring out the windshield, and my silence is more telling than anything I could say. She persists. “Brooke, have you?”
“No,” I say emphatically.
“Then why are you acting so defensive? Don’t think I didn’t notice how excited you were to get there, and it all evaporated, just like that,” she snaps her fingers to emphasize.
“He has a hickey,” my voice is barely a whisper.
“No, he has several hickeys. He’s a player, so what.”
The saying that ‘silence speaks volumes’ is not lost on my best friend. It doesn’t help the fact that she knows me so well. “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry, honey. I get he’s gorgeous and being around him has to be torture, but to have a crush on him? You know that….”
“A crush? Really, Alex? That’s so high school, and this is not fucking high school, damn it. This is adulthood, and it sucks. Yeah, I find him attractive, and yeah, I’ve thought about it more times than I care to, but we’ve never actually crossed the line. I just need to forget this.”
“So this attraction isn’t just one sided? What are you not telling me?”
“No, not one sided. He’s asked me to stay and eat with them. Tuesday night he asked over and over again, but I kept telling him no. I wanted to Alex. It’s gotten so damn hard to keep up this professional barrier week after week. And when he pulled me back against him and kissed my neck I almost did give in. It’s just getting so damn hard to keep fighting this anymore. And what, because I said, no, he just goes off and gets laid?”
“Wait, hold the fuck up. He kissed you?”
“On the neck, while we were cooking,” I clarify.
“Whatever. That doesn’t even matter. The point is he kissed you, knowing the trouble you could get in…..”
“Yeah, but I didn’t pull away.”
“Not the point, well okay, it kind of is, but he kissed you, and what, did he say, that he wanted to fuck you?”
“No, but it was obvious when he held me, what he wants….wanted….whatever. He kissed me and tried to convince me to stay, and he was mad or hurt….I don’t even know, maybe both, but he wouldn’t even tell me bye when I left. Two days later he has hickeys on his neck. Obviously, that moment in time meant shit to him, huh?”
Maybe he was just horny, and I was convenient I mean right there in his house week after week. My thoughts are interrupted by Alex.
“So, you’re saying that you want it to have meant something.” That wasn’t a question because she knows the answer.
“I don’t even know anymore. I don’t even know if I have the right to feel anything about it. I turned him down. We’re not a couple. He had every right to……”
“Stop fucking defending him, Brooke. Obviously, he’s a pig. Just forget this shit and put distance between you and the Monroes. Here’s what we’re going to do. We’re getting your ass out of the house. From now on, you’re not going to set around the apartment and hope that asshole calls with some stupid emergency. He’s a grown fucking man, let him figure it out. We’re getting you back out there, and we’re going to find you the perfect distraction from this bullshit. It would have only been a disaster anyway. We should probably find the woman he slept with and then thank her for leaving all the evidence in plain fucking sight. Seriously, what kind of man asks you to hang out with hickeys on his neck, when he had just hit on you two days before?”
I glance over at her. She’s insane. “No. I mean as much fun as finding a total stranger to take home sounds,” I say sarcastically, “I have a ton of work to do.”
She laughs, “I wasn’t suggesting bringing anyone home tonight, just someone to maybe go out on a date with and then eventually maybe bring him home. I know you don’t do casual sex.”
I roll my eyes. Alex talks a big game, but she’s not that promiscuous either. She has a very strict three date rule that as far as I know she has never broken. She’s never had a one night stand; that’s not to say, however, that she hasn’t had some very short relationships that don’t last very long past the third date.
I pull my car into my designated parking space and head into our apartment. I go straight to my room and work on some paperwork that I have been avoiding. At a little after eleven, I get a text from Cassie.
Cassie: OMG!!! I had so much fun tonight! What did you think of Brent? Isn’t he cute? He was so nice.
I smile, I love this girl. She sounds so damn happy. I definitely know why some lines have blurred. Cassie’s enthusiasm for life is too infectious to ignore. Now I wonder if giving her my personal cell number was smart, well not really. I know several of the social workers give their clients their numbers. But I know I’m going to have to create some distance. I can’t be her best friend and keep Dylan at a distance as well, and I need that distance. But Cassie is my biggest ally when it comes to the Monroes, and we still have a long time to go until this is over. I know I have to be careful in pulling back so that she doesn’t feel abandoned all of a sudden.
Me: I’m glad you had fun. Are you home safe?
Cassie: Yep. He dropped me off, and guess what?
Me: What?
Cassie: He kissed me! My first real kiss!
See, here’s the thing. Before tonight, I would probably have shared Cassie’s excitement because your first kiss is important. But I have let things slide too close to the line of personal, and I just don’t know if this is what people normally tell their social workers? And what the hell do you say to that? Congrats? For God’s sake, Brooke, why weren’t you this concerned when you helped her pick out a dress or talked to her about going out on her first date? I need to keep this politely distant.
Me: He seems like a nice boy. Are you going to go out again?
Cassie: Yes, next Friday after the game. But he asked me to have lunch with him this week.
I smile because I remember that first big infatuation, the excitement of having a boyfriend.
Me: That’s so exciting, and I’m happy for you. Just remember what we talked about, and be careful. Don’t ever do anything you aren’t comfortable with just to please him.
Cassie: I won’t! I promise. Talk to you soon!
Me: Night, Cassie.
I settle in to get some sleep but end up tossing and turning the whole night. I can’t seem to think of anything but Dylan. I go from him holding me and kissing me to seeing those hickeys on his neck, and the hurt I felt like he had betrayed me, which is such a stupid train of thought. I don’t know a lot about Dylan’s private life, except what Luke had told me, but I ignored that and chalked what he said up to his angry attitude and trying to shock his social worker. God, that seems so long ago. At that time, I just noticed how insanely good looking Dylan was. Now, it’s not just about his looks. It’s about all of him, or what he’s shown me.
My mind goes to Cassie. There’s so much I wanted to say to her. So much I wanted to ask her. But I can’t. Not anymore. I need to remind myself I’m not j
ust Dylan’s social worker, so really I shouldn’t let lines blur with any of them. I need to fix my sight firmly back toward professionalism, despite all that’s happened with them in the last couple of months. I can’t afford to keep heading toward personal territory, not without breaking my own heart that is.
I get distracted when I get a call on my cell phone at four in the morning. Janice is on the other end and needs me to pick a kid up at the police station. Nice. Well, it’s not like I was sleeping. Time to rescue another troubled teen.
This is what I need to be concentrating on, my career as a social worker. It’s something that I’ve dreamed of for so long, and I’ve lost sight of why I worked so hard to get where I am. Somewhere in the last couple of months, I’ve put all my focus on Dylan and his family. Everyone else who crosses my path during the day is just busy work. My thoughts swirl with Tuesdays and cooking lessons and being around Dylan and the kids. Which reminds me, I need to cancel cooking lessons. Like Alex said, he’s a grown man, and he can figure it out.
Monday comes too early. It means another work week, and a day closer to Tuesday at the Monroe house. I’m worried, I won’t lie. Dylan has sent a couple of texts, and he even called once and left voicemails asking me to answer. I just don’t know why. Why is it so important that I listen to him? And then there’s Cassie. She texts me after every conversation with Brent, and I have to force myself to keep my enthusiasm to a minimum to keep the professional distance that I’m determined to get back. It just makes me sad to do it. I feel like I’m letting her down, and I don’t like it.
It's noon, and I’ve been dealing with a 15-year-old girl addicted to meth for the last four hours. After taking her to a rehab facility that I busted my ass to find, I’m exhausted. Now my thoughts turn to the Dylan. This is about the time he sends me a text about tomorrow night’s menu.
Now I know that Tuesday night’s meal isn’t the only time cooking has been going in that house. This Monday text about the menu for Tuesday night had way back turned into just an excuse to reach out. As I’m sitting here thinking about that, I realize I need to text Dylan and let him know that I won’t be staying for cooking lessons. My plan is simply to check in and get out. I’m not sure if I want to hear what Dylan has to say. Right now I know it would do nothing but mess with the all the other out-of-control thought processes taking up head space.
I reach for my phone to get this done. I can’t put it off any longer. Since I only answered one text with simple answers of, ‘I’m busy,' I’m hoping he gets the message and backs off. I want to answer back, but I can’t. As raw as I’m feeling it wouldn’t take much for me to fall right back into looking forward to every text or call. And without a doubt, that would lead to reasons to help with this or come over for that. It’s just too dangerous. I need to stay focused on keeping my distance and firmly on my career. I begin typing my text to Dylan when my phone vibrates with an incoming message. I should have known. I open it and read:
Dylan: Tomorrow’s meal is a surprise. I have everything covered.
Short and sweet, I have to figure out what to say here because it sounds like he might be planning something big, and I was…am….fixing to cancel his plans. He’s pulling and pushing my emotions in a million different directions at once. I’m looking for every conceivable reason to create as mush distance as I can from him, and he reels me in with something like this. But I can’t fall back in, or all my good intentions will be for shit.
I hit reply with no idea how to answer, so I’m just hoping to let him down easy, for reasons I don’t understand. There was absolutely nothing easy about seeing a string of hickeys around his neck. I’m holding a double-edged sword, one side wants to slice his feelings open like mine are while the other wants to make sure I treat his feelings gently. So I reply:
Me: Hey, tomorrow I won’t be able to stay. Plans with Alex at five, so visit will be short. I’m sorry. See you tomorrow.
Honestly, I can safely say I’m a coward. I get no answer, but I wonder what he could be thinking. Can he feel my distance, because I can? And it sucks.
I finish my day pretty quietly, mostly paperwork, but it keeps me busy. When my phone buzzes or rings I get the butterfly effect in my stomach wondering if it will be him, but it never is, and this both comforts me as well as saddens me. How is that for some fucked up feelings?
At home that evening, Alex seems to be watching me carefully. I know something is on her mind, but she won’t come out and ask, so I make it easy. “What, Alex? Just say whatever it is you’re tiptoeing around.”
“How do you feel about tomorrow night?” she asks carefully.
Ahhh, is cooking school going to be in session? That’s what she’s asking. “How should I be feeling? I’m going to do a quick visit and come home.”
“Okay, so how do you feel about seeing him?”
“I’m not going to feel anything. So we had a moment of flirtation. It’s over. I don’t even know why I was so worked up about it all. I’m not in love with him, and I know what would happen to my job if I wanted to be stupid. I’ve thought about it, and it was all harmless. The end. Now let’s eat dinner because I’m starving.” She stares at me a beat; I suppose she’s looking for the truth in my lie. Finally, she looks satisfied, and we order dinner. I’m not feeling much in the cooking mood.
“So, I was thinking about Friday, and I think we need to go out, and please say yes, Brooke. I want to get out and cut loose for a night. We’ve had too many Friday nights stuck in this apartment drinking cheap wine and watching shit movies, and I need a night out.”
“Dramatic much? Okay, fine. Friday it's girl’s night, and we’re going out. You’re right. It’s been too long.”
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”
“You’re welcome, dork.”
We eat our dinner while watching crap TV and drinking our cheap wine, but it’s a work night, and spending this time with her keeps me from thinking too much about tomorrow because thankfully she doesn’t bring it up again.
By the end of the next day, the nerves have once again taken over. Getting the visit over is my only objective. I’m going in with a list of questions I need to ask, then heading home as quickly as possible. I don’t want confrontation. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want conversation other than what I have prepared. I need to keep this visit on track the whole time.
When I pull into the drive, I have my doubts that I can pull off professional, because the door is thrown open and Cassie is running toward me at breakneck speed. “Brooke, you won’t believe what happened yesterday and today!”
I’m a sucker for this girl, “Well tell me, I can’t stand the suspense.” I tease.
“Brent met me at my locker before first period yesterday and walked me to every single one of my classes. He did the same thing today. And then today he walked me out to meet Dylan, and asked me to be his girlfriend.” I’m sure I resemble a bobble-head doll because I’m following her movements while she bounces up and down in her excitement.
“I’m so happy for you, Cass. He seems like a nice guy.” I wonder if I sound as politely distant as I think I do because she kind of deflates at my lack of enthusiasm. I immediately feel bad, but I need to get over these guilty feelings. I link my arm through hers and turn her toward the house, “Come on, let’s see the others.”
That’s when I see him. He’s standing there watching us. No happy greeting for me today, it almost reminds me of the first visit. Dylan is cold and distant. Before I get too close, he turns and heads inside, and that little brush off saddens me. When I step in the house, I notice he’s already headed for the dining table. I’m guessing there aren’t going to be any more comfortable meetings around the coffee table.
Everyone but Cassie and me has already gathered around. I take my seat and immediately begin asking about everyone’s week. When I chance a peek at Dylan, he seems to be studying something fascinating on the table because he won’t raise his head or engage. After everyone has share
d one fascinating tale or another, I finally ask, “How about you, Dylan?”
“How about me what?”
“You’re week so far. Are there any concerns?”
He looks at me like I’m stupid, and he’s clearly pissed about me not talking to him. “Seriously?”
“Dylan, I….” I’m about to plead for some understanding.
“No, Brooke. Everything’s fine. I get it. So, is that it? Are we done?” His dismissal hurts, and my hand goes unconsciously to my chest to massage away the pain.
A look around the table shows four confused faces that jump from me to Dylan. I’m sure they have questions about what’s going on that they don’t even know how to ask, and if they did, I’m not sure that Dylan or I either one could explain. I thought forcing us back toward the professional level of conduct would be some magical fix for all this craziness. Now, well, I’m not so sure that the waters aren’t getting more muddied. There’s so much to say, but no real valid reason to give it voice.
Dylan’s studying whatever is holding his attention in the grain designs on the table. It’s time to go. I say my goodbyes, and make my way to the front door. This time, no one follows me, not even Cassie, who I was expecting to jump up and hug me. This bugs me, because not even when I began these visits with them was I ever subjected to this type of unsocial behavior.
“So, what is it you do, beautiful?” God, I swear if this drunk idiot asks me that question again I’m going to dump my beer on his head, and if he grabs my thigh again I’m going to rack him with my bottle.
“Social. Worker.” I say it slowly, this time, hoping he gets it and shuts the hell up.
I had been enjoying myself until Alex returned from the bathroom with these two guys in tow. I don’t know what the hell she was thinking. The one she’s with isn’t anyone she would go for. He screams frat boy from across the room, and she hates frat boys. It was always something that drove her crazy about Will when we were dating.
“I’m a civil engineer for Kansas City,” he tells me, again. I should ask him what projects he’s worked on so I can avoid them at all cost.
Unsocial Page 14
