Because You're the Love of My Life Page 7

  “Good evening, what can I do for you?” The pharmacist greeted me at the counter.

  “I . . . um . . . need a laxative,” I said embarrassed. I would’ve preferred to pick one on my own, but I didn’t have a clue which was best, so I went straight to the pharmacist.

  “How long have you been constipated?” she asked, unfazed.

  “About three days.”

  She nodded. “Are you drinking enough fluids? Do you exercise and eat a healthy diet?”

  “Yes,” my voice was becoming stiff, “normally my digestion works just fine.” Couldn’t she just go and get the stuff? I didn’t feel like discussing my bowel movements with her. This was downright humiliating.

  “Well, for acute constipation, the drugs for that should only be taken over a short—”

  “Just give me something that’ll help me go to the bathroom by tomorrow morning.”

  “Fine,” the pharmacist answered and went off to get my laxative. At that moment, I heard a strange clicking sound. I turned around. It was Holden, on crutches, and he had a big white cast on his left leg.

  “Hi,” he said with a big smile. At least he seemed happy to see me.

  “Hi,” I forced a smile. “How’s your leg? It looked pretty bad during the game last Saturday.”

  “Clean break,” he said, gesturing toward his leg. “The good news is,” he continued with a sly grin while pulling a crumpled-up prescription from his jeans pocket, “my doctor prescribed the works for my pain.”

  Just then the pharmacist returned with a box of Dulcolax in her hand.

  “Have you used this before?”

  Oh no . . .

  “Yes,” I answered quickly, hoping she’d shut her damn trap and let me pay before Holden saw what I was buying. My wish was not granted.

  “Just take one tablet this evening. That’ll soften your stool overnight. After six to eight hours, the constipation will have loosened up.”

  Oh God! Take me now!

  While I blushed beet red, I could see Holden looking at me from the corner of my eye—with the broadest grin you could imagine.

  I’m gonna die!

  “If this is a particularly bad case of constipation,” the pharmacist continued mercilessly, “you can take two tablets. Don’t take more or you’ll have diarrhea.”

  What the fuck was wrong with this woman? She wasn’t a doctor, and this wasn’t a goddamn doctor’s appointment!

  She packed the little box into a small plastic bag. I dared to hope it was finally over—but, no, she started right up again. “Your intestines will void completely after intake, so don’t expect another bowel movement for two to three days.”

  What have I done to deserve this?

  Since I couldn’t think of anything to say in the face of this humiliation—especially in front of him—I just nodded silently while my ears were burning.

  The pharmacist rang me up and handed me the bag with a cheery “Have a good evening.” Then she turned to Holden. “What can I do for you?”

  I didn’t dare look at him. I mumbled a goodbye, squeezed by him as quickly as I could, and headed for the door.

  “Bye, we’ll get together sometime,” he replied, while clearly trying to suppress a grin. “Oh, Annie,” he called after me before I could complete my escape from this hell.

  I stopped on the spot but didn’t turn around. “Yes?” my voice was trembling with shame. I shut my eyes.

  “Good luck!”

  Chapter 7

  As if I hadn’t suffered enough, this horribly embarrassing scene played in my head again and again the next few days. What a nightmare! Grace didn’t help by breaking out into uncontrollable laughing fits when I told her. Fortunately, I didn’t see Holden for several days. He was probably home nursing his leg.

  Thursday evening, I was curled up with Grace on the couch, laptop on my knees and a bag of pretzels between us. With a sigh of relief, I mentally wrote The End at the bottom of the journal article, clicked “Save” one last time, and closed the document. Now I was ready for summer break. I opened Facebook. A small 1 on the “Friend Requests” icon stood out. When I clicked on it I read the message: Holden Crane has sent you a friend request. As if Mark Zuckerberg wanted to personally mock me. My eyes widened with horror.

  “What’s the matter?” Grace asked when she saw me turn white. I turned the screen toward her without saying a word, letting her see for herself. As soon as she saw Holden’s friend request, she started laughing so hard she choked on some pretzel pieces.

  Rolling my eyes, I patted her back until she stopped coughing.

  “Maybe . . . ,” she began but burst into another laughing fit. It took some time before she could continue. “Maybe that’s his thing.”

  “Very funny,” I replied drily and turned the screen back to me so the joker couldn’t see it.

  “Show me!” she protested, grabbing the laptop and turning it back toward her. Her mouth twitched dangerously in the corners until—despite all her efforts to hold it in—she burst out laughing again.

  “Or he just wanted to wait . . . until the air had cleared.” Grace laughed hysterically at her own joke.

  “Final warning,” I threatened. “Stop it or I’ll slap you.”

  “OK, OK,” she gave in, rubbing the tears out of her eyes while still giggling. “Are you going to accept it?”

  “Are you nuts? “I wouldn’t even be able to look at him without remembering how embarrassing that was.”

  “Let’s see,” Grace said, overly serious, and grabbed the computer from my lap.

  “No! What are you doing?” I lunged for my laptop, which we pulled back and forth in a tug-of-war until I finally wrested it from her. The little 1 was gone from the screen.

  Grace who was looking at the TV with a broad grin.

  “You didn’t!” I frantically clicked on my profile. Annie Blazon and Holden Crane have become friends.

  “I’ll kill you!” I screamed at Grace. She saw I was about to pounce on her, so she dropped to the floor. I straddled her belly, pressing her arms down with my knees while she struggled wildly with her legs to throw me off.

  “Stop it . . . ,” she pleaded as I mercilessly tickled her. “Stop it . . . please . . . I’m going to . . . pee myself!”

  “Would serve you right,” I shot back, thoroughly working over her ribs. The first high bing from my computer released Grace. I jumped up to look. Holden had sent a message. I sat down again, computer on my lap. Grace took off silently, only to come back a few moments later in a different pair of pants. I looked at her with raised eyebrows, feeling the corners of my mouth turning upward.

  “Did you really . . .?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” Grace said in a regal tone, extending her chin. It was my turn to laugh out loud.

  “Show me,” she demanded as she sidled up to me. “What’s he saying?”

  “Hi,” I said.

  She frowned. “Just hi?”

  “Yup.”

  “Well, send back a hi.”

  “No!”

  “Why not?” she asked in disbelief. “He’s into you, if you haven’t already figured that out! Why are you being like this? Don’t you like him?”

  “I do,” I admitted. “But it’s so embarrassing. I’m just glad I haven’t run into him since the drugstore. I hope he stays away a bit longer. Or changes schools and moves away altogether.”

  “Um,” Grace hesitated. “I ran into him today, at the grocery store.”

  “Really. I thought he . . .” I stopped. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “I talked to him,” she conceded.

  “About me?”

  Grace raised her hands defensively. “I couldn’t help it. He asked about you.”

  “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I just did.” She sounded guilty.

  “What did you talk about?”

  “He asked how you were doing. I told him you’re good . . .”

  “Wha
t else?”

  “I may have told him to get in touch with you.”

  “Are you nuts? You know how embarrassed I am!” I moved a bit away and glowered at her.

  “Don’t be such a buzzkill.”

  “You’re impossible, Grace!” I shot up from the couch and stomped off.

  I barely crawled out of bed the next morning. I snorted. Hiding in my room wouldn’t make things better. Sooner or later I’d have to confront my demons. Get it over with. Fast. Like tearing off a Band-Aid. And, I had to discuss the journal article with my prof. I threw the covers aside with a sigh, leapt to my feet, showered for a long time, blow-dried my hair, and hid my embarrassed self behind a lot of mascara and a touch of lip gloss.

  Sometime around noon, resolve took over. Just do it! I told myself and decided to grab a bite at Finagle a Bagel on Cambridge Street. Grace had become addicted to their whole-wheat bagel with tuna and onion. I’d noticed Holden there a few times, and this was the real reason I went with Grace. Even if it meant living with her tuna and onion breath for the rest of the day.

  I’d barely opened the door when a blonde pushed past me mumbling a lukewarm “Sorry.”

  She said “Sorry” again when she turned to her girlfriends who were waiting for her. “I’m totally running behind today. Have you ordered?” She looked around. “Oh, there’s Holden. Give me a sec to say hi to him.”

  I turned. Oh yeah. There he stood. Propped up on crutches, with his friends. It was about to get interesting. I was only a few steps in from the door, so I decided to hang back for the time being.

  The blonde went straight for him, spread her arms out, and wrapped them around him. To my horror, I saw him returning the intimate hug and kissing her on the cheek.

  “What on earth are you doing?” she asked, pointing at the cast on his leg. “You’ve got to take better care of yourself, Holdie.”

  Holdie? I couldn’t believe my eyes and ears. They were more than just casual friends. Watching them, something strange wound itself around my chest, constricting it. I swallowed strenuously. I inadvertently took a step back and left the shop. Well, I’d really been wrong.

  Thanks a lot, Grace! Without her, I’d have never gotten so deep into this Holden business. I’d made such a big deal out of him sending me a friend request and messaging me. Who didn’t have hundreds of Facebook friends they’d never exchanged a word with? Did I really think Holden was into me just because he looked at me once or twice at a party?

  I’d lost my appetite, so I headed straight home. I was going to take a bath, but Grace was hogging the bathroom to do her hair.

  After about forty minutes, I knocked. “Are you just about done? I need to get in.”

  Grace opened the door and looked at me astonished. “Just come in,” she said, looking me over. “What’s with you?”

  “Nothing. I need to get into the bath,” I answered testily.

  I didn’t usually mind, but just then I couldn’t bear it that Grace had taken over the bathroom for her makeup, hair styling, and eyebrow-plucking marathon. Bullshit superficiality!

  “OK,” Grace quietly said, leaving the bathroom with half-done hair. But not without giving me another once over. Were her eyes moist?

  Although I’d started to regret it, I was still too angry to apologize. But I wasn’t even angry at her. I was angry at myself, at Holden, at the whole frigging world. I locked the door, filled the bathtub, and sank into the water. My grandma always said, “Nothing is so bad that a hot bath won’t make it better.” I breathed in deeply, leaned back, and stared out the window. The sky was unusually dark for this time of day. A storm was brewing. Gray-green clouds were looming. The air was bristling. As if it were waiting for the right moment, the tension unleashed, and a gust of wind set the leaves dancing in the trees. The sky opened, letting loose lightning, thunder, hail, and sheets of rain. As I watched the apocalypse outside, I began to feel better—the storm also released my internal tension.

  Thunderstorms sent Grace into a state of panic, so I got out of the tub, dried off, put on my jogging pants and an old T-shirt, then knocked on her door.

  There was a subdued squeak, “Yes?”

  She was lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head.

  “Oh, Grace,” I pitied her and slipped under the covers with her. She held on to me. “Sorry about just now,” I said.

  “Never mind,” she whispered. Grace didn’t crawl out from under her covers until well after the storm had passed, and bits of blue sky peeked through the dark clouds. “What was the matter?” she asked.

  I sighed. “I saw Holden with someone else.”

  “Really?” She looked truly surprised.

  I nodded. “They hugged, and he kissed her on the cheek.”

  Grace sat up, frowning. She thought for a moment, grabbed her laptop, opened Holden’s Facebook page, and scrolled down his friend list. “Tell me when you recognize her.”

  “Why bother?”

  “I checked him out. Do you seriously think I’d set you up with someone without knowing if he had a girlfriend and wasn’t really into you?”

  “No one posts everything on Facebook,” I objected. “Maybe they just got together. Or it’s an ex he’s not quite over yet.”

  She gave me a questioning look, then pointed at the screen. “Do you honestly think this is my only source? I have informers everywhere.” Grace gave me a conspiratorial grin. “Say when you recognize her.”

  We scrolled together through the list with Grace paying painstaking attention to make sure I really looked at every face. At least every female face.

  “Stop. Wait. Back.”

  “Her?”

  “Yes, I think that’s her. Click on her profile. Enlarge the photo a bit . . . yup, that’s her.”

  Grace clicked through to search her profile. Suddenly, she laughed out loud.

  “What?” I asked.

  “There,” she pointed at the blonde’s “Family” tab with the small note Holden Crane, Cousin.

  “She’s his cousin!” Grace laughed, slapping her thigh.

  “You’ve got a big mouth for someone who was hiding under her covers a moment ago.” I grumbled even though I felt relieved by this turn of events.

  “No more excuses. Get to it and message him back.”

  I pulled up the left corner of my mouth. “D’you think?”

  “Yesss!”

  I shut my eyes and face-palmed as I let our last encounter run through my head for what probably was the thousandth time.

  “Oh, come on.” Grace sounded encouraging and irritated all at once. “Stop obsessing. You’ll laugh about it in a few weeks.” She grinned. “Imagine how cool it’ll be to tell your grandkids that story someday. It’s a pretty funny first-meeting story!”

  “You’ve got a point.”

  We went to sit in the living room. Me with a strained facial expression and the laptop on my knees, Grace with half-curled hair and a Pizza Pop in her hand.

  My eyes were on the Messenger chat window from which Holden’s Hi stared at me. I took a deep breath and typed back Hi.

  Not ten seconds later he was online. Three dots in the box jolted me.

  Hi. How are you? ;-)

  A winking smiley?!

  Good. How’s your leg?

  Getting better every day. But I’m stuck with this cast for another three weeks.

  Will you be able to play baseball again?

  My doc says it’s healing well. It’s a clean break. When the cast is off, I’ll start PT to rebuild my muscles. Coach isn’t happy, but what can I do?

  Health comes first.

  Grace moaned. “Get to the point!”

  I got up with the laptop, went into my room, and shut the door behind me.

  “Oh, come on!” Grace came running after me but stopped outside the door.

  Ever since I’d walked in on her with some stubble-beard between her legs, which probably embarrassed me more than her, we had an agreement that closed doors would only be
opened after a clear invitation.

  “Annie!” she scolded me one last time before stomping off in a huff. I made myself comfortable on my bed.

  I was hoping you’d . . .

  Holden had written in the meantime. I was startled.

  What?

  Maybe come to my games more often.

  My face flushed. Oh my God, he’s flirting with me!

  Seconds passed. I should have already written an answer, but my fingers were hovering indecisively over the keyboard. I was relieved when I saw the three dots. I held my breath.

  I mean, if I hadn’t gotten hurt, would you come more often?

  I could almost hear the doubt in his words. Was he thinking he’d pushed too far?

  Yes.

  In the moment I typed my answer, I knew it to be true.

  For me?

  I swallowed. Did he want to make sure or was he continuing to flirt?

  Yes.

  I won’t be able to play until next season. You’ll have to find some other way to stalk me. ;-)

  I laughed. Yup, he was flirting, and I was slowly catching the mood, too.

  What were you thinking of?

  Over dinner, maybe. You eat, don’t you?

  Every once in a while.

  I couldn’t help grinning.

  Are you planning to eat something tomorrow?

  I think so, yes. :-)

  This should be when I say I’ll pick you up at seven but with the cast I can’t drive, so restaurants are out. Do you want to come over here and we’ll order in?

  To his place?

  Don’t worry, my intentions are honorable. I’m not a serial killer either, should you have concerns.

  Eerie. I was a little disturbed by the words serial killer coming up during the first conversation with someone I hardly knew. But the speed with which he’d brought it up probably meant he was afraid I’d say no.

  Isn’t that exactly what a serial killer would say?

  Probably yes. But look at it this way: How fast would I be on one leg? I couldn’t catch you even if I wanted to.

  Catch me? Now you’re frightening me.

  What about you? You haven’t said a single word about your intentions yet. Your chances of catching me are better for sure.

  I grinned. He was digging himself a hole and trying to be funny all the time. I had rattled him. And I liked that.