view when I have to slow down for a cattle crossing, I drum my fingers on the steering wheel, mumbling threats if they don’t pick up their hooves and get a move on. As though driving faster would make it possible to outrun the doubts in my head.
Doubts put there by Britta and Georgia, even though neither one of them knows Carly. Not really, anyway. Especially Georgia. She’s only met Carly one time. She can’t even remember her name most days.
I’ve always trusted Georgia. She’s never steered me wrong when it comes to girls. Or most other things, for that matter. Which makes it so hard to dismiss what she said about moving too fast.
But she’s wrong. I need to trust myself on this. I don’t want to lose Carly.
I don’t want to lose Georgia either. That’s the problem. I feel caught between the two of them, but it’s Georgia who I know will stand by my side, no matter what. We’ll get over this disagreement today. She’ll see Carly is good for me, and everything will go back to the way it’s always been. Georgia and I will always be friends.
At least that’s what I have to convince myself of. If I don’t, I’ll never propose to Carly, because I may hate the thought of losing Georgia even more than I hate the thought of losing Carly.
Which is crazy because it’s Carly I’m in love with…
Isn’t it?
I turn up the volume on my stereo to drown out the stupid questions spinning through my head. Carly loves Marshmello and I’m trying to for her, but after five minutes of listening, I’m even more agitated than before. So, I turn on Haim. Georgia introduced me to them in high school, and I go back to their first album any time I need to clear my head.
It almost works, but not quite. My legs bounce uncontrollably when I park in front of Carly’s apartment. I run my hands down them, but every nerve in my body is pinging with excitement. With a deep breath, I open my car door, then pat my jacket pocket. The ring is still there. Just in case this is the right time.
I’m still a ball of nerves when I knock on her door, and it doesn’t help that she takes so long to answer that I have to knock again. We share our location with each other, so I know she’s home. Plus, I hear voices inside.
Finally, she opens the door, looking more surprised than excited to see me there.
“Zach,” she says loudly with a quick glance over her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to apologize, because you’re right. I should have made time to see you this week.” I step closer to her, and she moves toward me, shutting the door behind her.
“You should have told me you were coming.” She doesn’t sound mad. More nervous than anything. And even though she moves nearer to me, she feels very far away. When I reach my arm around her waist, she pulls back.
“Everything okay?” I let my hand fall to my side. Alarm bells are going off, and Georgia and Britta’s voice are ringing in my head. “I mean, I know you’re upset with me—you haven’t answered any of my calls. But that’s why I’m here. To explain.”
Even as the words spill out, I wish I could call them back. The more I say, the more her eyes fill with something that isn’t forgiveness, and definitely not love. More like pity.
She glances over her shoulder, then grabs my arm and pulls me further down the hallway. “Why don’t we go somewhere else to talk?”
I stop. I’ve heard that tone she used when she said, “to talk.” I’ve used that same tone, that same phrase, at least a dozen times. “Are you breaking up with me?”
Carly looks toward her apartment again, then back at me. “Please, let’s just go somewhere else to do this.”
“You are, aren’t you?” The low hum of the hallway lights buzzes in my ears. The walls are a dingy gray and smell of cigarette smoke and Lysol; the industrial grade carpet can’t hide the stains accumulated over years of college student abuse.
This is where I’m getting dumped.
“Is this because of the reel with me and Georgia? We worked so hard this week to make sure Georgia’s followers know we’re just friends. That’s what the video was supposed to be about, but it went wrong.” My voice rises, and I hate the undertone of panic in it.
“Please, Zach. Let’s go talk in your truck.” She pulls on my arm as a door clicks behind us. I turn my head at the same time a punk kid with a Lebron jersey and a stupid hat steps out of Carly’s apartment.
“Everything okay out here, Car?” The question is for her, but he narrows his eyes at me.
He narrows his eyes. At. ME.
I take one step toward him, and he backs into the apartment.
“Everything’s fine, Brad.” Carly pulls on my arm again, and while I’m tempted to shake her off, the guy already looks scared enough to run. That’s all I want. Him to regret threatening me, even if it was only a look.
I turn my back on him, but not all the way. He needs to know I can still pivot and charge without warning.
“Brad?” I say to Carly. “Really? You’re dumping me for someone namedBradwho likes theLakers?”