peace.
“What are you going to do about it?”
“Nothing.”
She’s quiet for a few moments, pensive. “Why not? Don’t you like her?”
“I do.”
“So why would you just hurt her by not being honest?”
Hurt her?
I frown. Hurt her? Is that what I did? First Chandler was mad about the publicity stunt a few weeks back, and then she did a complete one-eighty to me not being able to open up. Feelings and sharing is caring and all that dumb bullshit.
Did that hurt her feelings?
My brow furrows, forehead wrinkles so deep I can feel them.
“‘Is your ego so huge you can’t tell me how you feel about me?’” I say out loud, looking up at Molly to gauge her reaction. “That’s what Chandler said last night.”
“And what did you say?”
I rack my brain, cringing as I recall. “‘If it’s not obvious, then I can’t help you with that.’”
Molly’s eyes damn near bug out of her skull. “You did not say that!” Chewy nudges her with his wet nose when she removes her hand from his belly. “Then what did she say?”
“After I told her the night fucking sucked? She said something like ‘I’m sorry you lost tonight.’”
“And what did you say?”
“Jesus Molly, I don’t know! It was shitty, okay? Adult stuff, I don’t remember.”
My outburst sounds childish—like a man who knows he’s fucked up but that won’t admit it—and I’m panting.
“I’m sorry. That was out of line.” Why am I such a prick?
She snorts. “Duh, yeah it was.” Molly continues petting Chewy. “That explosion was your feelings coming out—you can’t help yourself.”
Explosion? Where is she getting this from?
“That was not my feelings coming out.”
“Yes it was. You’re not used to it so you had an outburst. Emotions are feelings—we talked about this. You’re scared of losing her, but you aren’t sure how to express yourself because you haven’t had to before. No one has held you accountable. These women let you get away with all that bad behavior because they were using you.”
I stare, dumbfounded. “Uh, how do you know all this?”
“I asked my mom why you were such a bad boyfriend and she said most of that, but I also googled it.”
Jesus Christ. She’s talking to her mom about this shit? Does the whole neighborhood know what a fuckup I am?
“If you’re wondering if she’s talking about it with the other moms in town, the answer is yes. I heard her telling Crystal Yont on the phone yesterday that you’d rather date your dog than have a girlfriend.”
Crystal and her husband Paul live on the next block and I only know this because when I first moved in, Chewy got loose and ran down the street, into their yard. I found him humping the leg of their Great Dane.
“I would not rather date my dog.” What kind of a loser do they think I am? How friggin’ embarrassing. “I’m not completely helpless when it comes to women.”
Molly snorts. “So let me ask you again—what are you going to do about the Chandler situation?”
“I…” I don’t know. Crap, I really am terrible at this. “What do you think I should do?”
I can’t believe I’m asking a fifteen-year-old for advice, but this is what my life has come to right now. I can’t call Hollis and lord knows I cannot call my mother because then I would have to explain the situation and my guess is Mom has no idea she set off an avalanche.
“For starters, you should shower. Your bedhead is horrible.”
I pat the back of my head, feeling around for a cowlick. “What else?”
“Well, you shouldn’t go another day without contacting her, that’s for dang sure.”
“What else?”
“You’re going to have to lay it out there for her, dude. Be vulnerable and stuff.”
“What, just charge into her place and start spilling my guts?”
“I mean, ring the doorbell first, duh.” Another eye roll. “You’re being super dramatic about this.”
“No I’m not! I’m seriously asking!”
Molly stands and walks around the couch, to the kitchen, pulling open the fridge and standing in front of it. “Then yeah, I’m being serious. Dig deep and tell her you’re starting to have feelings for her.”
“I’m not in love with her.” Is it just me or do I sound a little too defensive?
I’m not in love with her. I can’t be.
It’s been a few weeks and I might be a lot of things, but I am not my brother—the guy who gets himself engaged after dating someone for less than a month.
That will never be me.
She’s taking down a package of