Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) (6 page)

Kathryn exits the Seaside Literary Agency, earlier than expected, 5:21 p.m. to be exact. She’s laughing with a male co-worker as they approach me on the sidewalk. When Kathryn sees me, her face falls immediately, a frown forming on her face.

“Dre! Oh God, I totally forgot,” she says, dropping her head and lowering her shoulders. “Theodore, Dre, Dre, Theodore,” she nods, batting our names back and forth, introducing us as we stare at her in confusion.

“Dre, I completely forgot that Theodore was coming into town for the night. We made plans for dinner and drinks,” Kathryn explains. “I’m so sorry.”

I nod, not knowing what I’m supposed to say here. She forgot? No woman has ever forgotten she had plans with me before. I’m shocked. No, not shocked. I’m … I’m … shit … I’m hurt.

Realizing I need to say something, I say, “Oh yeah, no problem, some other time.” I shove my hands in my damn pockets, because, well, because I have no idea what else to do.

Then Theodore offers, “Hey man, it’s cool. Why don’t you come with Katie and me?” Theodore, fucking Theodore, thinks he’s doing me a favor, throwing me a bone? Uh, no thanks, Teddy. Fucking Theodore. What kind of goddamn name is that?

“No, no, you two have fun. I’ll catch ya later, Katie. Maybe some time next week or something,” I say as aloof as I can. Ha! Take that, Katie!

As soon as I say it, and I see the reaction on her face, I realize I’ve hurt her and wish so badly I could retract it. That’s the thing about pain, you only realize how bad it is when you actually see the hurt it’s caused. Man, I’m a prick. I knew I should’ve stayed away from her—and we haven’t even really gotten started.

“Yeah sure, Dre,” she says. “Some other time.”

Kathryn half-heartedly waves at me, and loops her arm through the crook in his. As they walk away, I can’t take my eyes off of them. Who is this guy? Just as I begin to leave, Kathryn turns back to look at me and whispers something to him, motioning for him to wait. Then, she walks back to me.

“Dre, I’m sorry that I forgot about my plans with Theodore; I really am,” she says. “I forgot about my plans with him—not with you.”

I shrug, not knowing what else to say. Admittedly, I’m slightly relieved that she hadn’t forgotten about me. It still sucks that Kathryn’s going out with him though. This is a first for me. I’ve never been turned down, stood up, or picked last.

“And, I told you not to call me, ‘Katie.’ Don’t do it again … I also told you that I don’t play games,” Kathryn reiterates.

“I said it’s no big—”

“It is a big deal. It’s a big deal to me, because I wanted to see you tonight,” she affirms. Kathryn is so straightforward, so honest. I’m not used to this from a woman, from anyone for that matter. “Dre, are you free tomorrow night?”

“Are you asking me out?” I ask, grinning.

“Do you need a handwritten invitation or will an oral—I mean—verbal do?” Kathryn asks, chuckling at her innuendo.

“Nah, I think I’m good—verbal or oral—it’s all good. Tomorrow works,” I laugh.

“Oh it does, does it?” she jokes, shaking her head. “Same time. Right after work.”

I nod. I can’t wait. Shit. I like this girl. As she starts to walk away, I lightly touch her arm and turn her back toward me. “I know I shouldn’t ask this, but … but … fuck it … who is he? Theodore?”

I hate showing envy, but damn it, I’m jealous. I cannot believe we haven’t gone on a real date, kissed, touched, or anything, and I’m jealous of some douchebag in pastel yellow shorts and boat shoes.

Frowning, she nods her head, and says, “My ex.”

“Oh that’s just—”

“Stop,” she says. “It’s over. We’re friends. Just friends. Read. My. Lips. I don’t play games, Dre,” she confirms.

Kathryn Howell winks at me and begins walking backward toward Teddy, not taking her eyes off of me. This woman is something else. Then, she yells, “Oh Thee-adorable, are you ready for some grub? I’ve got the grumbellies.”

Thee-adorable? There goes that green-eyed monster yet again. I haven’t even as much as brushed up against Kathryn, touched her hand, or kissed her … her … cheek, and already I’m as jealous as fuck over a guy, referred to as “Thee-adorable?” He’s the epitome of someone I’d beat the fuck out of in high school or college—in my past. A long time ago. But seriously, the dude’s wearing yellow shorts. Come on.

I can’t believe it. I cannot even begin to believe it. I actually forgot that I had plans with Theodore Baker. My Teddy Baker. There was a time when I never thought that I’d be able to forget him, never be able to move on, and most certainly never be able to love anyone else.

Theodore and I were the perfect couple; “were” being the operative word. I met him when I went to college orientation at Georgetown University. He was one of the tour guides. Upon sight, I was smitten and convinced there was no other college—or college guy for me. I kind of have a thing for the nerdy type. A 4.0 grade point average is an aphrodisiac for me. I love a man with a mind. My friends used to gag and groan whenever I said some chemistry genius or marching band boy was hot. I always laughed it off, pretending that I was only kidding. Truth was, I have a type, a type that was social suicide to pursue.

Finally, the summer after senior year, at college orientation, I decided that high school Katie and college Katie were going to be two different people. If I wanted something, then I was going to get it. I was going to stop caring what everyone else thought, and I was going to do what I wanted to do without fear of ridicule. I remember telling Sydney that I was crushing on Theodore, and she started in on me with the teasing and eye rolling. When she realized that I was serious and that he’d really gotten to me, Syd helped me get his attention.

Truthfully, it didn’t take much. Theodore wasn’t really in high demand, so the competition wasn’t too steep. Basically, on the second day of orientation, I wore a tight-fitting tank top, short shorts, and flip-flops. Since I hadn’t found my “Freshman Thirty” yet, I was rocking that tank top. I told Theodore that I couldn’t understand the online tutorial for scheduling and asked if he’d come back to the computer lab during lunch to help me. I was armed; he had no defense. Within ten minutes of being in the computer lab alone, we had plans to meet up that night. By the time I moved into my dorm room that Fall, we’d been dating for six weeks.

Theodore was my first real love (and only thus far). As far as anyone else knows, he was my first sexual experience too. As long as we can keep this under wraps, I may or may not have given my virginity to Sydney’s older brother, Kyle, when I went on vacation with them during Spring Break of my senior year. I’ll never admit anything; I really want to keep my breasts in tact. Sydney always told us that if any of us ever touched her brother, then she’d rip our tits off and feed them to us for breakfast. I’m all for trying new delicatessens, but I’m not too interested in consuming my own body parts. Don’t judge me, Kyle Rogers was the hottest guy in a 60-mile radius. It was unfair of her to make us vow such a ridiculous thing, especially since Sydney is the very definition of a promiscuous rule-breaker.

Anyway, Theodore and I were the most balanced couple. We weren’t inseparable, like most college couples. We saw each other quite regularly, but we had our own lives. I had my friends; he had his “Physics Phun.” He went to all of my events with me (reluctantly). I went to all of his events with him (reluctantly). We supported each other in any endeavor we chose to embark upon. Theodore even spent the summer before his senior year in Japan for an internship. When he returned, he was more worldly, more adventurous, and just all-around more fun. My junior year (his senior year) was by far the greatest year of my life. We talked incessantly about what was going to happen after our graduations, making plans for the future. We had it all figured out.

Theodore was going to get a job as a physicist in a “big small town” or in a “small big town.” I would finish my English degree and join him. We’d get an apartment, get engaged, and eventually get married, buy a house, trade in our 2-door cars for a mini van, and have six kids. It was the best laid-out plan. Perfectly devised and meticulously created.

But it wasn’t. My senior year of college was the worst year of my life. Suddenly, Theodore and I couldn’t agree on anything. Everything was a fight; everything was a battle. Who was coming to visit whom? Who was going to pay? Our fights even escalated into the bedroom. Who was going to be on top? Who initiated sex the last time?

We couldn’t get along to save our lives—or to save our relationship. I spent the first semester crying, because I either missed him or because I was sick of fighting with him. It was awful. I knew it was over, but I couldn’t accept that fate. People always do that—hold on when they should really be letting go. That’s exactly what I was doing. I wasn’t ready to end it, and neither was he. Until he was.

It was one of those unseasonably hot days in early November. It was beautiful. Theodore planned the most romantic date for us, a picnic in this small clearing in the woods, the same place he and I first made love. Theodore brought wine and a fluffy blanket, creating a romantic setting. It was at that moment when I realized that I really did want to spend the rest of my life with him. I wanted to make it work, needed to make it work. By God, we were going to make it work. We made love. (Incidentally, much better than that first time around years ago.) It was poetic and passionate, perfection.

Cuddling on his chest afterward, he leaned up on his arm, and stared at me, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Katie, I want you to remember this moment forever.”

My breath caught, certain I knew what was coming. “I will Theodore; I promise I will,” I vowed. He was right. It was a moment I’ll never forget.

“You’ll always have a piece of me. Always,” he said, his eyes tearing up. Wiping his eyes, he shook his head, and said, “I wanted us to have one last day together, making love and trying to hold on to what we no longer have.”

“What we—huh?” Confusion set in.

“I wanted to give you one last day of wonderful,” he admitted. “You deserve an eternity more. But … but … I’m not the one to give them to you. I don’t
want
to be the one to give them to you.” I sat up, covering myself with the blanket, suddenly feeling overly exposed and vulnerable. Dropping his gaze from my face, he continued, “I’m just not into this anymore … into us.”

“Theodore, are you … are we …?”

“It’s over, Katie. I’m just not in love with you anymore. We have no future.”

Theodore was right. We didn’t have a future. After flooding my campus in my tears and eating my weight in ice cream for months, I finally pulled myself together and started getting on with my life. I finished school, stopped burying my sorrows in food, got my English degree, and moved out of state to start anew, landing a job at the Seaside Literary Agency. And finally, I stopped being “Katie” Howell, the girl everyone walked all over and felt sorry for.

Theodore and I remained amicable, because he “couldn’t imagine me ever becoming someone he once knew.” Theodore is always very sentimental, beautifully romantic, and aggravatingly practical. There was no reason to fight and battle our way into mutual hatred and detestation. Just because we once loved each other, didn’t mean that we needed to switch gears and start to despise one another. We held special, intimate places in each other’s hearts.

Sadly, people spend entirely too much time on fueling fires and burning bridges, when in reality, they should marvel at those magical moments they were able to cherish and experience. Theodore’s wise, I’ll give him that. As always, he was right; we have the nicest, most pleasant ex-relationship in the world.

After Dre showed up at Seaside during my lunch break, I didn’t stop thinking about him all day. I wanted to spend the evening with him—getting to know him better. I mean, the man is beautiful, perfectly crafted for the visual pleasure of any woman (or man) on the planet. How could I not want to spend the evening—and possibly the night—with him? I may have a “type.” I may be drawn to the intellectual, be attracted to ambition and education, but I’m not an idiot. When someone as sexy as Dre Donley enters the picture, I’m certainly going to zoom in and take the shot. It’s not like I’ve been inundated with dates and offers since Theodore and I broke up either.

Anyway, I spent the majority of my dinner with Theodore thinking about Dre, and the way his muscles looked in his tight, gray t-shirt and the way his jeans hung loosely on his hips. It was the first time that I was ever in Theodore’s presence that I was not captivated by his words, his intelligence, his … everything. However, last night, Theodore, my Teddy Baker, couldn’t hold my attention. I was focused on someone, something entirely different, right up until Theodore dropped the bomb.

I was swirling my finger around the top of my wine glass, absently thinking about what it would be like to trace my finger around Dre’s bellybutton. (Give me a break; it’s been a while, a long, lonely while.) Theodore was rambling on about his girlfriend, Melody. Six months ago, Theodore called me and told me he’d met someone. I only felt mildly upset, and that was only because her name was “Melody.” I didn’t care (too much) that he’d moved on.