Things I Can't Forget

Page 16

One thing I’ve always loved about my parents is that no matter what they’re doing, they like being in the same room. So if Daddy is doing paperwork on the patio, Mom is usually sitting there beside him with a pitcher of iced tea and a home decorating guide or the Bible. Today she’s flipping through a brochure because Daddy is taking her on a cruise to Spain in a few weeks for their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary.
“Don’t forget we’re doing food baskets tomorrow after services,” Mom says to Daddy.
“You know you won’t let me forget,” he says, smiling at her. I swear, she could ask him to enter a beauty pageant and he’d slap a big grin on his face and go forth and conquer. Mom and Daddy have always been big churchgoers and care about God, just like I do. Mom leads a weekly Bible study for elderly people at church and Daddy plans (and usually wins) the annual Chili Cook-off.
“I saw that the Belmont registration booklet came today,” Daddy says, licking his finger before turning a page in his case file.
“Yup,” I reply.
“Do you want to go over it together? Pick out some classes?”
Technically I have another three weeks to register. I need that time because I have no idea what I want to study. Law, like my family? Physical therapy? Psychology? Art? When Emily came back from D.C., she told me she had met a girl there who was planning to major in The Simpsons.
Maybe if God doesn’t give me a sign about forgiving me for helping Emily, he will at least tell me what to do with my life. “Can you let me go through the catalog a few more times first?” I ask.
“It makes sense to be well-prepared. Good girl.” Daddy puts his pen back in his mouth and pores over his paperwork. It amazes me that he really enjoys reading all that mumbo jumbo. It’s so…black and white? Where’s the color?
I open my sketchbook and draw the tulips that Mom can’t seem to get situated. She keeps adjusting the vase and arranging the flowers. How does Daddy handle all that racket Mom makes while he’s trying to work?
If you hang out with a person for a long, long time, do you just get used to the differences?
“I ran into Bill Mansfield down at Foothills this morning,” he says. Foothills is this diner where he reads the paper every Saturday morning.
Bill Mansfield is Emily’s dad.
“Did he mention Emily?” Mom asks.
“Not a word,” Daddy says, putting his pen back in his mouth.
Mom turns to me. “Have you talked to her?”
I bow my head and shake it.
“Are you ready to tell us what happened?” Mom asks me. All my parents know is that Emily had a fight with her parents and that she moved out. They know we had a fight too, but I can’t say anything without betraying Emily.
Without telling my parents what a horrible person I am.
“No, thank you,” I say quietly. The shame erases the excitement I had about my date.
My parents look at each other.
“I’ll keep praying for her,” Mom says, and I focus on filling the paper in front of me with tulips until the doorbell rings.
Daddy leaps to his feet with a pen in his mouth and a case file in his hand, and rushes to the front door. I groan inwardly. From the hallway, I listen as Matt introduces himself to Daddy, then I shuffle over to find Matt standing there with hands in his pockets. He has on flip-flops! This is the first time I’ve seen him in shoes since he was thirteen. He’s wearing holey jeans and a wrinkled, weathered, white polo. The leather cord holding a silver cross hangs around his neck.
“Hi,” he mouths at me.
“Hey,” I mouth back, giving him a wave.
He grins and it’s so cute, I have to catch my breath.
But I wish he’d dressed up more to meet my parents. And for me, for that matter. Maybe I’ve got this all wrong? Maybe he only wants to be friends? Why would I be so boastful as to think he’d want something more with a girl like me anyway?
He glances around at our marble foyer and swallows.
Before I can even say hi, Mom is brushing past me to shake Matt’s hand.
“Tell your mother I said hello,” she says to him.
“Yes, ma’am,” Matt replies. His eyes flash to the moose head on the wall (Daddy shot it last year), then he focuses on me again. “Are you ready to go to dinner now? Or did you want to hang out here for a bit?”
“Whatever’s best for you,” I say, wringing my fingers together. Should I go change out of this dress into something more casual? Should I call Parker to ask? How could I have been so stupid as to think this was a date? He didn’t even bring flowers.
“I’m starved,” he says with a laugh.
“Y’all have fun,” Daddy says, kissing my forehead.
“What time should I have her home, sir?” Matt asks.
“Kate doesn’t have a curfew. We trust her.”
“We have church in the morning,” Mom says.
“Just call if you’re gonna be real late,” Dad adds.
“Okay,” I reply, and give Mom a kiss bye. Matt leads me outside and I laugh. “You put the doors on your Jeep?”
He smiles. “I didn’t figure your mom and dad would appreciate it if I put you in danger.”
Him putting the doors on his Jeep is kind of like giving me flowers.
“You look really pretty, by the way,” he says, jingling his keys.
“You look pretty too,” I say, smiling.
He looks over his shoulder toward my porch. I think our house with its eight white Corinthian columns freaks him out. “Where does your dad work?”
“He’s an attorney.”
“He must be cutthroat, eh?”
“Depends on the situation, I guess.”
“That would explain Vincent Moose on the wall in there.”
“Vincent Moose?” I smile.
“Yeah, I just named him Vincent.”
He opens my door for me and I climb in, trying not to flash my undies at him. Parker’s dress is way short. But I loved seeing myself in the mirror, and I wanted Matt to love the way I look too.
Three things stick out in the Jeep: (1) it smells like cinnamon, (2) the ripped seats have been patched up with duct tape, and (3) when I pull down the visor to shield my eyes from the setting sun, I lift the mirror to check my makeup and a picture of Matt and a girl floats into my lap. She’s beautiful. Brown curls. Perfectly white straight teeth. He’s kissing her cheek.
He jumps into the driver’s seat and thrusts his keys into the ignition. I bite my lip, trying not to tear up. He has a girlfriend? He said he was a one-girl kind of guy. He said nothing’s going on with Andrea. Is it because he has this other girl?
As he pulls out of my driveway, I slap a hand on the door handle. “Wait.”
“What’s wrong?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.
“Maybe we shouldn’t go to dinner,” I say, breathing slowly. I touch my forehead.
He slams on the brakes. “Are you sick?”
“No. Yeah. Kinda.”
He looks concerned. “Which is it?”
“Who’s the girl?” I ask, handing him the picture, suddenly feeling courageous. “It fell out from behind the mirror in your sun visor.”
Matt puts the Jeep in park. He stares at the picture for a sec, then passes it back over.
I cradle the photo in my hands. “You love her.”
“I did,” he says, turning to face me. He tucks a foot under his other leg. “Honestly? I forgot about the picture. It’s been there forever.”
“How long is forever?”
He stares through the windshield. “We dated for three years… from when we were fifteen until we were eighteen.”
“What’s her name?”
“Sarah.”
“You broke up?”
Matt drums his fingers on the steering wheel. “You really want to hear all this? Before our first date even starts?”
“This is a date?”
His mouth edges into a smile and he gives me a withering look. “No, it’s not a date. You’re gonna be my wingman when we go out clubbing later.”
“What?”
“Of course it’s a date.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand, but I remove it from his grasp.
“I still don’t understand who Sarah is,” I say quietly.
He lifts a shoulder. “She was my first girlfriend. My only girlfriend. After high school, she wanted to see other people for a while so she could make sure I was the one. I figured we’d get married.”
“And?”
“She’s going to marry my best friend, Tom, instead. Well, my former best friend.” Pain creases his face as he plays with his guitar keychain.
We sit in silence. I don’t get the feeling he wants my sympathy. I get the feeling he wants to get this explanation out of the way so we can go on our date already. Andrea wondered why he hadn’t gotten over this, right? That must’ve been it. But he asked me out. Maybe he wants to get over Sarah.
I slip the photo back where it was, in its spot under the sun visor. I quickly squeeze Matt’s hand.
He gazes over at me for several seconds. “I’m thinking Chili’s.”
“We’re not going to Just Tacos?”
“I guess we could.” He puts the car in drive. “I bet Just Tacos has everything that Chili’s serves anyway.”
The minute we step into Chili’s, I’m worried again.
“Matt!” the hostess squeals, skipping into his arms.
“Haircut, huh?” he says, fluffing the tiny girl’s blond bob. She’s a real-life Tinkerbell.
I’m on a date with a guy who’s fluffing another girl’s hair. He’s such a flirt, it’s really hard to believe he’s a one-girl kind of guy. Really hard.
He releases her, then turns to me. “Ellie, this is Kate. Kate, this is Ellie, one of my best friends.”
I shake hands with the girl, who seems very surprised to see me. She glances up at Matt in shock.
“Want your table?” Ellie asks him, grabbing two menus.
“Yeah,” he says, rubbing his palms together. Matt explains that he comes here all the time as we follow Ellie to a table right next to the kitchen.
“Nice meeting you,” she tells me, handing me my menu. She points at Matt. “You. Me. We’re talking later. Call me.”
Matt shakes his head, laughing, and stares down at his menu. “Fine. Now go away.”
She grins and skips off.
“I don’t even know why I’m looking at this.” He tosses his menu to the other side of the table. “I always get the same thing.”
“Oh yeah? I usually get the bacon cheeseburger.”
“I like the ranch burger. I think ranch has nicotine in it, you know?”
“Nasty. You smoke?”
He sips his water. “Naw. But there’s gotta be something in the ranch that makes me so addicted. It’s either that or cocaine.”
“You’d better not be doing cocaine.”
“You ordering me around?” He lifts an eyebrow, smiling coyly.
“Maybe.”
“You can’t order me around.”