Casanova Cowboy (A Morgan Mallory Story) (25 page)

             
“Can I have that beer now?” I asked.

             
“Help yourself,” he said, “but you need to go home tonight, so no tequila for you.”

             
“Do you have tequila?” I teased. “And what, you don’t want a naked girl on your boat, spending the night?” I joked.

             
“Not a naked girl I have no chance with. A naked girl whose heart’s all tangled up with someone else,” Luke said.

Chapter 30

Luke was a great guy. I felt like he was about the only man I knew who wouldn’t take advantage of me. We were Team Irish at work: Luke Grady and Morgan Mallory, and the whole crew enjoyed our silliness. That day when I got home, there was a message on the answering machine from Ryan; he asked me to call. I called Mom instead.

“Mom
, let Ryan know I’m okay. He wants me to call, and I can’t. I know he’ll pick up Bo, so just tell him you talked to me, and I’m fine,” I said.

“What is it with you two?” she asked.

              “There is no
us two
,” I said cynically. “He’s not sure of his feelings, and he’s afraid.”

             
“He’s afraid?” she asked.

             
“That’s what I said. He’s afraid he’ll lose my friendship, your friendship, the whole family’s if something goes wrong. Luke thinks he likes the status quo. I made the mistake of telling Ryan last night that he wouldn’t lose my friendship, but the more I think about it, I don’t know how to make that work,” I said.

“Don’t say that
, Morgan. You can be his friend. You’ve been friends for years,” she pleaded.

             
“Mom, I have feelings now,
love
feelings. I didn’t expect that to happen. I thought we were having a casual roll in the hay now and then; it got to be more for me than that. I thought maybe Ryan felt the same, but he didn’t. I have to move on and without him,” I said feeling nauseous, like I did that night in front of his place.

             
“I’m sorry. I really like Ryan,” she said sadly.

             
“I know, Mom. It doesn’t mean you can’t be his friend. I just can’t, not right now anyway,” I said.

             
In self-defense mode, I went back to avoiding Ryan. He tried to contact me, but I was evasive. If he hadn’t figured his feelings out by now, he probably wasn’t going to. I exercised like a fiend, trying to clear my mind and fatigue my body. Mom called often to see how I was doing, and I started to not tell her too much. I knew she saw Ryan almost daily because of his dog, and I knew she wasn’t very strong about not talking.

I kept
the pace with school and work and picked up extra shifts to stay busy. I got asked out by a great-looking guy who I met at my eye doctor’s office. Normally he would have been someone I’d be extremely attracted to, but I wasn’t into it. I dated him anyway, forcing myself to go through the motions in an attempt to go forward.

Christmas was coming
, and I knew I couldn’t avoid Ryan forever, so I started answering his calls. I tried to keep it casual, about school and work. He talked about what he was doing. We didn’t talk about feelings. He asked me to go to lunch, and I said I was busy. I was excited about having a couple of weeks off school for Christmas break; he was too. I told him Liz and I had lots of plans.

I was looking forward to decorating my new house
, and Mom and I talked almost daily about the upcoming holiday.

             
“I got my tree today,” I said when Mom answered the phone.

“Is it decorated already?” she asked.

“It is. It’s really cute. I want you to come see it,” I said.

“Ok
ay, I’ll come and see your tree, but only if you’ll come back home for the night and see mine. I’ll cook dinner,” she bribed. “You’ve been so busy, I feel like I haven’t seen you in months.”

“Hardly months
, Mom,” I protested. “You saw me last weekend.”

“Yeah, but just briefly,” she said.

I could tell she was missing me. In avoiding Ryan, I was sort of avoiding her too. They had a bond, and I didn’t want too much information getting back to him.

“I have
two more days of school, Mom, and then I’m out. I have The Chart House Saturday and Sunday, so how about Monday night?” I asked. “Monday I work at the accountant’s office, I can come on my way home”

“Perfect
,” she said. “I better get busy on my tree in the next few days.”

The weekend went fast
, and she came over to my house on Monday. She hugged me long and hard when she came through the door. When she released me, I went to the kitchen to get us some wine. I pulled the glasses from the rack and watched her inspect my decorating. She stood back at first and took in the whole thing and then moved in closer, inspecting my ornaments and the ribbon.

“You
r tree is darling,” she said reaching out to touch one of the stars. “Absolutely darling, you’re so talented, honey.”

Since I
had no money to buy ornaments, I’d made them cutting sponges into star and ball shapes before using them and some red and green paint to stamp onto poster board and then cutting them out. White raffia ribbon wound down and around the branches. It was cute I had to admit.

“Wait until you see mine
,” she said like a little girl.

We both loved Christmas
, and it had nothing to do with the gifts. We loved the whole production of it: the spirit, the magic. In the past at home we’d put on the old Christmas albums like Andy Williams and Bing Crosby and crank them up. When I was old enough to drink, we threw hot buttered rums into the mix. From the time we were young, she let Pat and me help her decorate the tree; Pat, though, had tired of the tradition long ago.

“Mom
, I just realized I didn’t help this year,” I said, stepping next to her and handing her a wine glass.

“I know.
It made me a little sad, but you’ll love the tree. It’s so different, so beautiful,” she said, obviously tickled with herself.

“We’ll have this glass and then go
,” I said. “What’s for dinner?”

“I bought filets to grill.
I know you like those, and you probably don’t buy them much for yourself.”

“
No, I don’t, I can’t afford them,” I said.

We finished our
wine, and I followed her home in my car. It was funny because I had my own home now, but I still thought of her home as
home
, the real home, where the people I loved were. I pulled in the driveway behind her and remembered the day Ryan had first arrived in Escondido, could see his van in this very spot.

“Come on, come see
,” she said excitedly as I exited my car.

She grabbed my hand
, and I followed her into the house. I saw it instantly. It was huge, probably twelve-feet high right in the middle of the vault in the family room ceiling, just inches from touching. It was flocked, sprayed white, to look like it had snow on it. Multicolored lights and purple ribbon stood out brightly against the white. The ornaments we had collected over the years were evenly placed all over the tree. I could remember almost every one of them: a trip to Santa Cruz, Mammoth, shopping in San Jose. Each one brought back a memory of being together. I could feel the sting in my nose, and the lump in my throat, as the memories flooded back.

“
It’s beautiful, Mom. Flocked, you’ve never done flocked,” I said.

“I told you it was different.
So you like it?” she asked. “It reminds me of Park City, how fairy-tale like the trees looked there with snow on them.”

“I love it
,” I said, giving her a hug. “Let’s put on the music.”

When
the Christmas music started, Dad came out of his office. He claimed to hate Christmas, but I think he enjoyed watching us enjoy it. He tried to
bah humbug
, but we wouldn’t let him.

“She did a good job, even without you,” he said smiling as he came to hug me.

“Yes, she did. You like it?”

I leaned in to kiss him.

“Oh, you know how I feel about Christmas,” he said.

“Don’t
bah humbug
me.”

He laughed.
Dad barbequed the steaks, and the four of us, including Pat for a change, sat down for dinner. We caught up on what had been going on, and then we split down the usual lines: Mom and I did the dishes, Dad retreated into the family room to watch TV after turning off our Christmas music, and Pat was heading out.

“Thanks for dinner
, Mom,” Pat said, kissing her check. “I’m out of here, meeting some of the guys. I probably won’t be back tonight. Good to see you, sis, don’t be a stranger.”

“Yeah
, right, talk about stranger,” I said sarcastically.

A grin was his only response as he headed out the door.
Mom and I finished cleaning up and sat back down at the kitchen table.

“It was nice to
be a family again for a minute,” Mom said.

“Nice to see Pat. He loved your tree too.”

Mom gazed behind me at the tree in the family room and smiled.

“We’ll all be together for Christmas Eve and Christmas, which will be fun.
I invited Ryan for Christmas,” she finished sheepishly.

“Mom
,” I said, irritated, tilting my head back in frustration. It was almost like she wouldn’t leave it alone, like she was

trying to
fix things, make it be different.

“
He doesn’t have anyone here. We’re like family to him; he needed some place to go,” she tried to rationalize.

“M
aybe I’ll stay home then,” I said, pouring more wine into my glass hastily spilling a little.

“Morgan, s
top it,” she snapped.

“You s
top it,” I hissed at her. “I’m trying to stay away from him and
oh whoops, sorry
my mom invites him for Christmas Day. Please tell me not for dinner too?”

She looked at me
, and I knew it would be the whole day. I felt like I’d been sucker punched.

“God
damn it, Mom,” I said gloomily.

She pulled a cigarette from her pack and put it between her lips as she fumbled for her lighter.

“I’m glad you like the tree,” she said.

Chapter 31

Christmas Day was rough for me. Ryan was his normal self, but I felt uncomfortable and awkward around him. My feelings were still too close to the surface. As much as I wanted to be his friend, it felt impossible. I could tell Dad was miffed at Mom for making me feel uneasy. There was a short, related but unrelated, fight between the two of them at the dinner table. Ryan left shortly after. He called me the next day.

“
I didn’t mean to create tension. Your mom was so insistent that I come. I figured you two had talked about it. I should have asked you. Are your folks okay?” he asked.

“They’re
fine, back to status quo. I don’t know how Mom stands it. I think she does still care about him; it’s just gotten sideways over the years,” I reassured.

I didn’t like that he could be so normal, act like nothing had happened between us.
Act like I hadn’t put my feelings on the line and he hadn’t reciprocated them. I wondered if he really thought it was so easy for me to go back to friends.

“
I want you to come with me to the desert for New Year’s Eve,” he said. “I’ll rent a plane, and we can fly over and go camping. Celebrate the New Year out there.”

             
It sounded lavish, but I knew he was able to rent planes through the flight school for relatively cheap.

             
“Ryan, it sounds like fun, but no, I have other plans.”

             
The other plans were going with my parents to some friends of theirs. It was a casino night party, and it sounded better than spending it alone. Liz, unfortunately, was tied up. She had a date she was actually excited about.

             
“Can you change the other plans?” he asked.

             
“No,” I answered, irritated.

             
He was silent for a minute.
How dare you ask me to change my plans!

             
“Think about it,” he prodded. “It would be fun.”

             
When we hung up, I called Mom. I wanted to vent, could feel the blood fill my chest.

             
“Hello?”

             
“Ryan asked me to go with him for New Year’s. He wants to fly over to Agua Caliente and camp,” I spat out.

             
There was a pause and I figured she was reaching for her cigarettes.

             
“So are you going?” she asked eagerly.

             
“No,” I said with a sigh. “He wants me to change my plans. Screw that.”

             
Another long pause.

             
“Mom, you didn’t tell him what my plans were, did you?” I asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

             
“It was an accident,” she said.

             
“He knows I’m going out with you and Dad? No wonder he thinks I can change my plans. Thanks, Mom,” I said and hung up on her.

             
She talked too much, didn’t think about how it impacted me. The phone rang several minutes later, and I answered it, thinking it would be her calling back. I was angry with her. I wanted her to know it. It was Ryan.

             
“Don’t be pissed at your mom,” he said. “I dug. She tried to step around the answer, but I pressed. I want you to go.”

             
There was a sort of longing in his voice and it tugged at my heart.

             
“Why, Ryan, why do you want me to go?” I asked.

             
“Because I miss you, you’re my best friend, and you avoiding me isn’t easy on me either. I’ve got the gear. All you need is a sleeping bag and clothes. I’ll run with you in the morning. I’ll pack the food and the wine. I’ll cook. You don’t have to do a thing,” he pleaded.

             
He was wearing me down. They both were wearing me down: Mom and Ryan. It sounded like so much more fun than going out with my parents: flying in a plane Ryan was piloting, celebrating in the desert, and camping. Could I do it as
friends
was the question. Before I answered him, I understood what I had to do. I wanted him to understand clearly what he was cut off from: no more friends with benefits.

             
“I’ll go, but I have my sleeping bag, you have yours.
Friends
, we clear on that?” I asked.

             
“Clear,” he said happily. “Meet me at my house at four.”

             
I knew this didn’t make sense. I could hear Luke’s words now about my stupidity. The desert would be cold this time of year, so I pulled out a pair of sweats and my running clothes. Ryan said to pack lightly as we would be hiking into the campground, carrying whatever we were bringing in. I figured I could sleep in my sweats and wear them the next day as well.
Who did I need to look beautiful for? Certainly not Ryan.
I had to go to Mom’s to get a sleeping bag.

             
“So you are going?” she asked happily.

             
“Mom, I’m not talking to you about this. I’m going because you sold me out. I’m going because I want to fly in a plane and want to camp in the desert. With Ryan, not so much, but oh well, my options for tonight were limited. I’m mad at you and Ryan, but Ryan had a better offer,” I said in defeat.

She gav
e me a look that I understood; I had seen it before. She was questioning my sincerity, about my feelings about Ryan. Questioning if I’d truly be able to bury feelings and be friends. It pissed me off because there was a tiny little piece of me that still wished it could be different.

“Don’t give me that loo
k, Mom. It’s not going to happen, what you’re hoping for. I’m not going to try and change his mind. I am not going down the
I want to be friends
relationship path. God damn it, I’ve done that,” I emphasized.

             
Mathew’s smiling face popped into my head, his guitar against his bare chest. She hadn’t known much about Mathew while it was happening, so she hadn’t meddled. Now she was meddling. It was her way of trying to look after me, but I didn’t want it.

“Where’s a s
leeping bag?” I asked, frustrated. “I’m supposed to meet him at four.”

             
She quickly turned and I stomped after her down the hall. She pulled a sleeping bag out of the guest room closet. I remembered the night I’d crawled into bed with Ryan here. I thought about Park City and our life there, where our friendship started, how it had been more even back then, maybe when he wanted it to be more, and I didn’t. My mom so sure he was in love with me the night she met him.

I wondered h
ow I had mis-read so many signs. How I’d viewed all our time together as taking us to another level while he only wanted my friendship. My love had developed for him over the years. I’d come to love the person he was, not some silly idea of what love should be.

             
Mom handed the bag to me, and I snatched it from her. I knew my anger was misguided as I did it. I really should be mad at myself—me, and only me—had said yes to his invitation.

             
“Have fun, be nice,” she said, giving me an anxious smile.

             
I didn’t answer, instead quickly walked out of the house. I went to my car and threw the bag in the trunk, and slammed it closed. I got into my seat and suddenly hoped I’d brought enough clothing to stay warm. The sun hadn’t even set yet, and a shiver went through me with the already cooler temperature. I drove to Ryan’s house trying to rein in my irritation. I got there right on time and took a deep breath before I opened my door. I had not been back since that night, the one that made him afraid.

“You all set
?” he asked, loading some bags into his van.

He looked cute in his jeans and button down cowboy shirt and I felt my heart
flutter, the butterflies stirring. I swallowed hard,
no, no, no
.

             
“I think so,” I answered.

             
“Let’s get to the airport then. What can I help you with?” he asked.

             
“Nothing,” I said knowing I didn’t need him too near.

I
quickly pulled my sleeping bag, pillow, and small overnight bag out of my trunk.

             
“Is it okay if my car is parked here for the night?” I asked stiffly.

             
“Yep,” he said with a grin.

He came toward me and took the items out of my
arms. I watched him walk back to the van, putting my things with his, before I gently shut the trunk and locked the car.

“
We’re set.”

Ryan shut the van doors as I went
around to the passenger side of the van and got in. He opened the driver’s door and jumped into his seat.

“I’m glad you decided to come
,” he said enthusiastically, glancing over at me.

             
“Drive,” I said, still feeling the anger from my mom’s.

             
He drove us from Escondido to Palomar airport. He tapped his fingers happily on the steering wheel. I could tell his attitude was upbeat. It should be, he’d gotten his way. He stopped at the flight school to get the keys to the plane while I waited. I’d been out to the airport with Ryan a lot, and he’d taken me flying several times. I knew the drill: pick up the keys, file a flight plan, out to the plane, and then the flight check. It wasn’t a fast process. When we got to the plane, he loaded everything into the Cessna 172.

“So what did you pack for dinn
er?” I asked, following him around the plane while he did his check.

             
“I bought some steaks to barbeque, potatoes, and a little salad, some marshmallows for dessert,” he said.

             
“Really?” I asked, watching him as he checked the fuel.

             
“I did.”

“
We used to roast marshmallows and make s‘mores all the time when we went to the beach as kids. I don’t think I’ve roasted a marshmallow in years,” I said almost able to smell the bonfire and the sweat aroma of the marshmallow’s.

“
I think we’re ready,” he said, emptying the fuel tester onto the blacktop.

Ryan
walked around to the other side of the plane and climbed in, putting his seat belt on. He flipped on some of the controls and then put his headset on. He was always cautious and serious when he piloted, and although small planes were not my favorite thing, he made me feel safe.

He star
ted the plane, and we taxied out and I had a flash of remorse.
I shouldn’t have agreed to go.
He talked with the tower, and when we got on the runway, he did his run-up. I never talked to him through this part when I flew with him. I always waited till we were up in the air. He got the go-ahead from the tower, and we sped down the runway and into the air. He looked over at me and smiled. I blinked and looked out the front window.

“How long does
it take to get there?” I asked, pitching my voice to be heard above the engine noise.

“About
forty-five minutes,” he said loudly.

“How
long is the walk?”

“I don’t think it’s that far from the runway.
Doesn’t look that far anyway,” he said.

“It looks like it will be getting dark by the time we get there
.”

“Ligh
t enough to get to the campsite,” he said.

The colors in
the sky were beautiful with oranges and yellows and blues sort of swirling around each other. We flew over the mountains and dropped down into the desert. I could see the grey rocky desert floor with cactus dotting the landscape. The runway was just ahead; a strip of blacktop stretching out before us. Off to the right I could make out the campground, what looked like a flat area dotted with picnic benches.

“No tower?” I asked.

“Too small, it’s only by sight.”

Ryan
landed the plane smoothly and taxied off to the left to park next to the only other small plane parked there. As Ryan unloaded our gear out of the plane, I looked at the pile we had to carry, and I started to laugh.

“I don’t know how we are going to get a
ll this shit from here to there,” I said, looking toward the campground.

Now that we were
on the ground, it seemed much further away.

“We can get it
,” he said.

Ryan
had loaded the food into a backpack he put on. He tied his sleeping bag, pillow, and duffle bag together. He took my sleeping bag and tied it to the tent.