Chapter 13
Chapter 13
BY THE TIME MY golfing date with Parker rolled around, I knew I wasn’t going to set the golfing world on fire and become the next . . . whoever a famous female golfer was (Tiger Woods’s sister? Mother? Cousin? Oh, I know, Lydia Ko! That’s who). That said, I could hit the ball while holding on to my club, which, let’s face it, was a major milestone for me.
Despite our weirdness and my decision to back away, Will had written out a list of which club to use when, and I had studied and studied it, even practicing pulling each club out for different shots in my living room at home.
Yup, I must have looked pretty crazy. But it was all in the pursuit of love, so I was good with it.
Early Saturday morning I sized myself up in my bedroom mirror, taking in my new, sensible pink golf polo shirt and matching skirt combo and my long auburn hair, which I had swept up into a high ponytail. A pair of white ankle socks and uncomfortable, deeply unattractive golf shoes completed the ensemble. A bit on the cutesy slash preppy side of the fashion equation—in fact, add some serious makeup so I looked like a doll and this look would go down pretty well in Harajuku circles in Japan—but I certainly looked the part.
A beep of a car horn from outside my window told me Parker was waiting. I collected a sweater and visor from the end of my bed and slung my clubs over my shoulder. I headed out the door, down the stairs to Parker in his sensible, marriage-material Volvo.
No flashy, rumbling status symbol for him.
“Good morning, beautiful,” Parker said with a kiss once I was safely in my seat. “Are you all set?”
“Absolutely. This is going to be so much fun.” And, potentially, a complete disaster.
“I know. The fact you play golf makes this all feel so . . . so right.”
I looked into his eyes as my heart gave a little squeeze. Today could very well be The Day. Date thirteen might just be the charm.
We arrived at the club, a stately building with large columns set on, well, a golf course. Having never actually been to a course before, I was immediately swept up in the romance of the place, with its perfectly-manicured lawns and big old trees. Parker had a regular “tee off” at seven a.m. every Saturday with a couple of old medical school pals. I was nervous about meeting them; this would be the first time I had met any of his friends, other than Marissa’s brother, Ryan, who wasn’t invited as he apparently was, and I quote, “a total hack.” I tried not to wonder what he would think of me by the end of the morning.
Once inside the club, we were approached by two men about my age. They slapped Parker on the back and greeted me with enthusiasm. It felt nice.
“Cassie, this is Hunter and Geoffrey. Friends from medical school and pretty poor golfers.”
They chorused their hellos, and I watched as Parker and his two friends enjoyed some friendly banter about golf, most of which went completely over my head.
As we walked across the lawn to our tee, Hunter and I chatted. He was the shorter and dumpier of the pair, with a kind smile and round, tortoise-shell glasses. “How long have you been playing golf?” he asked.
“Not long.” Eleven days, to be precise.
“Oh, I thought Parker said you were a golfer? I must have gotten that wrong.”
I smiled at him and changed the subject. “You’re a doctor, too, Hunter?” Doctor Hunter. I almost giggled.
“Yes. I did my training with Parker and Geoffrey at the University of Auckland back in the day. I moved into obstetrics, though.” He raised his voice so the others could hear. “None of this easy general practitioner stuff. Obstetrics is actual work.”
“Ha! Try strep throat, possible bird flu, and a bad case of hemorrhoids. And that was all before lunch.”
And so the doctor banter continued until they all fell silent when the important business of teeing off rolled around.
“Would you like to go first, Cassie?” Parker asked. “This hole is a par three, so shouldn’t be too taxing to start off.”
“No, no. You all go first. I’m crashing your regular match.” My smile dropped when I noticed all three men shared a look. Did I say something wrong?
“All right. In that case, Hunter, you tee off first, followed by myself, and then Geoffrey. You’ll need to go last, Cassie, is that okay?” Parker’s eyes were soft, encouraging.
“Fine by me.” I smiled at him. That way I could study their form and copy it. Perfect.
Hunter placed his tee in the ground and the ball on top. I watched as he plucked a bit of grass out of the ground and threw it in the air. Some weird golfer’s ritual, I assumed. Something to do with wind. In Wii Golf, they tell you the speed of the wind. This could be tricky.
I watched as Hunter pulled out a club and got into position, doing that same cat-on-a-hot-tin-roof move Will had done at the driving range. With his plump midriff, white pants, and black golf shoes, he looked a lot like a penguin about to dive into the ocean. I was forced to stifle another giggle.
Hunter swung and hit the ball with a tap , sending it flying up and away into the air, landing near the flag. I was so impressed with his accuracy and grace I burst into applause, slowing and eventually stopping only when Parker and Geoffrey shot me sideways glances. I clutched my hands in front of my body. Note to self: clapping must be reserved only for the professional golfers on TV.
After an awkward moment, Parker took his position, pushing his tee into the ground and the ball on top of it. Just like Hunter, he swung through and hit the ball beautifully, although his didn’t seem to get as close to the flag.
This time I resisted the urge to applaud.
“Bad luck,” Hunter said with a grin.
“I’ll make up for it with my short game,” Parker replied stiffly. He seemed miffed. Perhaps he was as keen to impress me as I was him?
Geoffrey followed suit, again his ball landing close to the flag, and, finally, it was my turn. Three sets of eyes watched as I prepared to hit my first ever ball on a golf course—not that any of them knew that. Everything in place, I stood next to the ball, sitting on my tee, my driver in my hands— thank you, Will —and eyed my target. This was the shot I had practiced and practiced at the driving range. I visualized myself hitting the ball so it landed right next to the flag, making me look like I’d been playing for years. You got this, Cassie.
I took a deep, steadying breath. It was now or never. I swung my club behind myself and swung through, hoping, praying I didn’t humiliate myself by hitting the ground or missing the ball. I almost dropped the club in surprise when I heard the satisfying ping of club and ball making contact. I stood still, holding my breath, my feet concreted to the spot. I watched the ball sail through the air. It climbed and climbed, and then, after hanging in the air like a tiny pink ball on a string, it dropped. I squinted, barely believing my eyes. Had it landed almost on top of the flag?
I leaped off my spot and punched the air. “Yes!”
The three men’s heads swiveled around to look at me.
Parker blinked. “That was quite the shot, Cassie. I didn’t realize how good a golfer you were.”
I beamed back at him, my chest expanding. Hunter and Geoffrey both congratulated me.
It’s official; I’m a golf genius .
“I can see we’re going to have to lift our game to beat this one, Parker,” Hunter said, slapping him on the back. “You didn’t mention she was a budding Lydia Ko!”
Parker’s smile was broad, his eyes sparkling bright. “No, I didn’t.” He looked so proud of me, I could burst, right there on the fairway.
On a high, we slung our bags over our shoulders and walked down toward the flag. Parker took my hand as he walked beside me. I was eager to see where my ball had landed, but just as eager to bask in the admiration of my boyfriend.
“I had no idea you were this proficient a golfer, Cassie,” he said quietly to me.
I shrugged. You and me both. “Oh, I like to keep a thing or two up my sleeve, you know,” I replied with an air of mystery.
“Hey, maybe we could play a round with my parents? They’re pretty good players. They’re coming back from their cruise in a couple of weeks. I’ve told them all about you, of course.”
Warmth spread through my belly. “That would be wonderful.” Meet the parents? Check!
He gave my hand a squeeze. “I’ll set it up. They’re really going to adore you, my golfing queen.”
“I hope so. You’ll have to meet mine, too.”
“Okay.”
A smile spread across my face. We walked hand in hand to the green. Sure enough, my girly pink ball was sitting pretty, only a few feet from the flag, leaving everyone else’s boring old white balls for dust. Wait until I tell Will about this! I smiled to myself. Good at Wii golf does equal good at real golf after all.
I took a mere one attempt to putt my ball into the hole, and the three men applauded my effort. I took a curtsey, basking in the adulation. The three men putted their balls into the hole—Parker missed his first, had to take another two shots to do it, and looked very grumpy with himself as a result—and we moved onto the next hole.
I was still as confident as could be as I watched the men hit their balls. It was my turn. I stood at the tee, preparing to hit the ball, fully expecting to perform just as dazzlingly as I had on my first shot. I was a natural, how could I possibly not kill this shot, too?
I gripped the club the way Will showed me. I had this. I swung up behind myself and prepared to follow through. Too late, I realized something wasn’t right. I twisted my body too far around, and when I swung downward to hit the ball, I missed, stabbing the ground with my club, pain jarring up my arms. My mouth slackened as I watched the scene before me unravel in slow motion, like a home video you see on those funny TV shows. Although, this was far from funny for me. My club sailed out of my hands and bounced head to tail, head to tail, across the fairway in front of me. It finally came to a stop with a humiliating thud, a good ten feet away.
The ball remained on the tee.
I looked down at my palms accusingly, as though they had decided to let go of the club without my brain knowing about it. My heart sank down, deep into the pit of my stomach. I guess the cat’s out of the bag now .
Parker wrapped a comforting arm around my shoulders. “What happened, Cassie? Are you hurt?”
“No, no. I’m fine.” Merely unbearably embarrassed . “I-I don’t know what happened, exactly. One minute it was in my hands, the next it, well, it wasn’t.” I looked up into his eyes. I could tell he was working hard not to laugh.
He pressed his lips together, but the smile broke free. He let out a chuckle, his arm shaking around my shoulders. “That was quite something.” He reached down and brushed a stray hair that had escaped from my ponytail away from face.
His laughter was contagious. Within seconds, I began to giggle. I glanced at Hunter and Geoffrey. Their eyes were shining as they tried their best not to laugh. They too gave in, and we all stood together, laughing out of sheer surprise—and how ridiculous I had looked.
“We all have a bad shot every now and then. Yours was, well—” Parker was too gracious to continue.
“Horrific,” I confirmed, because it was. There was no other word for it. I wouldn’t be telling Will about this one, that was for sure.
The three men smiled. Although no one said it, I knew they all agreed.
“How about you take the shot again and we’ll finish the day’s play off with just nine holes?” Parker asked.
My heart melted. Parker really cared for me, and nine instead of eighteen sounded fantastic to me. I grinned at him, my eyes misty. “Perfect.” Just like you.
The rest of the game proved resoundingly that my first shot was just fantastic beginner’s luck. I didn’t fail to hit the ball quite so spectacularly on the next seven holes, but I wasn’t exactly Tiger Woods or Lydia Ko, either. Nevertheless, I managed what Parker referred to as a “quite decent” total, so I could at least hold my head up high at the end of the game—and heave a sigh of relief no one filmed my epic golf fail.
As we drove away from the club, having enjoyed a post-game cup of coffee with Hunter and Geoffrey, Parker put his hand in mine. “You don’t play often, do you? You can be honest with me.”
I bit my lip, my eye twitching. “Some?”
He gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. “It’s okay. The fact you gave it your best shot, and got that incredible first shot, is amazing.” He slowed the car and pulled over next to a playground, where toddlers were bounding around, watched by their parents, as they chatted to one another, holding cups of coffee. “You did it for me, right?”
I looked into his soft, gentle eyes. I chewed the inside of my mouth. The game was up: he knew. And I knew he knew. I decided to come clean. “Today was my first ever time. I mean, I’d practiced at a driving range and watched golf on TV, but I’ve never actually been on a golf course.”
His mouth fell open. “Really?”
I nodded as my belly twisted into a knot. What would he think of me now?
He leaned over the gearshift and collected me in a kiss. He looked into my eyes. “Cassie, you’re incredible. Thank you.”
I shrugged, self-conscious. “For what?”
“For caring so much you learned how to play golf and put yourself through all that.”
I hung my head. “But I lied to you.”
“So what? You were trying to impress me, trying to relate to me.”
He leaned across and took my face in his hands, looking deep into my eyes.
Here it comes. He’s going to say it!
My heart hammered in my chest like an overenthusiastic bongo player on too much coffee. The anticipation of the moment was almost too much. I could barely breathe. I nodded at him, hoping to encourage him to say those three little words I knew he was about to say. Inside, my head was screaming, Just say it!!
“Thank you.” He kissed me.
Oh, for the love of all things holy, say it!!
He took my hand in his. “I love that you’d do that for me.”
He loved that? He used the L-word? Oh, my ! Things were definitely going in the right direction.
He swallowed. “Cassie, I . . .”
“Yes?” I leaned in, ready and waiting. He was going to say it. I just knew it!
He smiled, his face glowing. “I really like you.”
My eyes welled with tears as my heart clenched. I sprang across the seat and hugged him in close. “I love you, too!” I declared in a gush.
He flinched, as though I’d threatened him with a hot poker. “What? Oh, yes. Great. Thank you. That’s . . . ahhh, just great.”
That’s just great? What? With a sickening thud, my heart hit my belly as his words rung in my head. It wasn’t the “I love you” I’d expected. He liked me. Really liked me . Not loved me.
I recoiled from him, my eyes darting around the car, a wild animal frantically searching for an escape. I didn’t know what to say. “I . . . umm . . . yes.”
Parker took my hand in his again. It was warm against my suddenly cold flesh. “Cassie, please. I really like you, and I love spending time with you. Please accept that for what it is. It’s no small thing.”
“Sure,” I replied, my voice unnaturally chirpy. “No problem. Consider it accepted.” I forced a smile. I couldn’t quite bring myself to look him in the eye.
“And I so love that you love me. Really, I do. And I’ll get there. It’ll probably just take me a little more time, that’s all.”
My hand felt like a log in his. “Of course! No worries.” I tried to make my tone confident and breezy—like I hadn’t just made a declaration of love for a man who simply “really liked” me. “Take your time. As much time as you want, in fact.”
What am I saying?
He looked entirely unconvinced. “Really?”
“Yes, really. Take as long as you need.”
What?!
“I mean, you feel what you feel, right? I can’t make you feel something you don’t feel just as much as you can’t make me feel something I don’t feel.”
Somebody stop me.
He nodded at me, looking a little skeptical. “That’s true.”
“Like for instance, if you loved the Blues and I was like, no way, I hate the Blues and loved the Hurricanes instead, you couldn’t change my mind, could you?”
Why was I talking sports?
“Actually, I don’t really care for rugby,” he replied hesitatingly.
“Whatever!” I shouted, my voice reverberating loudly around inside the car. “I mean, that was just an example to illustrate my point.”
“I see.”
“Or maybe you like apple strudel and I’m like ‘apple strudel, are you freaking kidding me?’ And you’re like, ‘yeah, apple strudel is the best’ and I’m like, ‘it sucks,’ and you’re like, ‘it does not,’ and . . . stuff.”
Oh, good Lord.
Now he was looking at me as though I was possessed by some sort of teenager with verbal diarrhea. Which I had to admit, I did sound a lot like.
“Yes, of course.” He cocked his head. “Cassie? Are you all right?”
“I’m good. In fact, I’m great! We’ve got this whole ‘like-love’ thing out in the open, and you know what?” He shook his head. “I feel so much better. A weight has been lifted from my shoulders. A weight, Parker! I know where you stand and you know where I stand. It’s all good. Now, why don’t you take this baby on the road so I can get back home and get on with my day, thinking about how much you really like me?”
“If you’re sure?”
“Oh, I most certainly am.”
He started the engine and glanced at me once more. I shot him my best Guy Smiley smile, and he drove me home through the busy streets of Auckland. As I sat in the passenger seat, watching the buildings and parks whiz by, I wondered how I had gotten myself into this mess. This was not the way it was supposed to happen. No way, José.
If I could have wiggled my nose and disappeared in a puff of smoke, never to return, never to have to see Parker again, in that moment, I knew I would have.