Fred. I’m just not there yet.”
I feel my face redden, and I clamp my eyes shut. I didn’t know how else to answer him. I’m terrified of his reaction. But I won’t be one of those people who say it just to say it. Unlike last year, I actually have a modicum of respect for love.
I wink open an eye. Miraculously, Fred is still here.
“Okay,” he says. He’s down, but not out. He shakes me to look at him. “Becca, it’s okay. I understand. I know it’s sorta soon, and I just threw it out there.”
“I really do like you a lot. I’m just not there yet.”
“Okay.” He wraps me in a hug. I glance up at him, and while he’s being supportive, I can tell he’s been dinged. By me.
It’s totally normal to have awkwardness after your boyfriend tells you he loves you, right? It’s the equivalent to being in pain after cashing in your V-card, or so I’ve heard. I know most girls in my situation would hug him until his head popped off and happy-cry, but it’s not mandatory, is it? I love being with Fred. I love looking at Fred and smelling Fred. Does that mean I love him? I wish I had a guide.
Maybe I just need time to process.
***
“What you need to do is get serviced more often.”
That’s Brock, the mechanic currently yelling at my sister Diane for never getting her oil changed.
I decided to accompany her to the mechanic as a way to clear my mind on this sunny Saturday afternoon. While Diane’s advice isn’t always friendly or welcome, it’s honest.
“It’s not my fault,” Diane says of her car. “That light thing never came on.”
Brock takes us behind the register, past the observation window, and into the heart of the auto shop. Diane’s car sits, hood open, and a part of me feels bad that it’s so exposed. “Every 3,000 miles. Oil change. Don’t wait for the light.”
“Well, I’ll know that for next time.”
Despite the unflattering gray jumpsuit, Brock isn’t so bad to look at. From the neck down, he’s all rugged handsomeness and hands that say hard labor. But his face is boyish, especially with that wildly curly hair. If I’m going to be stuck at an auto shop on a Saturday, I may as well find some eye candy. Brock points to a bunch of black parts under the hood of her car.
“See your engine?” he tells Diane. “Do you notice how dry it is, all those scuff marks against the parts? That’s why your car is making all those weird noises. Because you didn’t get your oil changed. Make sense?”
Diane nods. “Wait. Which part is the engine?”
Brock throws back his head, and his laugh echoes throughout the shop. “Man, Diane, were you this out of it in high school?”
“Wait. You went to Ashland?”
“We were in the same grade. My hair, and me, were much shorter back then.”
Her eyes flash in recognition. “Wait! Brock Landers! No way!” They exchange some chitchat about their lives and old teachers and who got arrested for drug possession. My sister tells him all about her fantastic job at an ad agency in New York, planning multimillion-dollar campaigns. She leaves out the part about getting left at the altar and slumping into a yearlong depression. That’s so yesterday!
“So, what happens now?” Diane asks him.
He makes notes on his clipboard. “Wait.”
“What now?”
“No. I mean you gotta wait. This should be fixed in about an hour or so.”
Diane and I fritter away the time at the Panera in the opposite end of the strip mall. She multitasks listening to my Fred drama and checking out potential mates on this mobile dating app.
“I really like him. I really care about him. But love? I don’t know.”
“And I said that’s okay. People fall in love at different times,” Diane says. “I said I love you before Sankresh did, and he said he wasn’t there yet, but then he said it a few weeks later. It’s happens more often than you think.”
I really wanted Diane’s words to cheer me up, but knowing that her relationship with Sankresh ended, shall we say, poorly doesn’t bolster my confidence. She senses it, too.
It’s times like these that I wish I was stupid and ditzy, and figuring out love wouldn’t be complicated.
“It’s not a race, though,” Diane says. She runs her nails through my hair, which always has a calming effect on me. “Do you like being with Fred?”
“Yes. Things are great. I never felt