Chapter 10
TEN
WAYLON
“What was that?” Jeremiah asks me as I bail out on my last set of squats with a grunt. “You crushed that weight like two days ago.”
“I don’t know.” I yawn. “A little sore and tired, I guess. I still can’t believe we used to get up this early in high school and do this almost every day.”
We’re in the gym he put together in his garage. A few times a week, we work out together before work, and usually I can keep up. But I slept like shit last night because I couldn’t stop thinking about Bianca and what we did yesterday. That mix of shy and a little bold she has scratches an itch I didn’t know I had.
It’s starting to be a problem. Then again, maybe I’m still a little pent up. I’ve seen just enough to obsess over her. I’m not sure when we’ll be able to hook up again — I’m assuming her bucket list has a lot more on it.
“We used to do a lot of shit in high school that makes me tired just thinking about it.” Jeremiah takes a swig of his water. “Working out before school, sitting in class all day, going to practice after, then doing homework? While living off beef jerky, energy drinks, and sugar? Sometimes I look at what my students are doing and wonder how they’re alive.”
“I think I’d die if I tried that today. I still don’t know how I made it.” I drink some water too and rake a hand over my face.
“Adrenaline and the fear that if you didn’t get into the right college you’d instantly die,” he says.
I huff a laugh. The pressure we were putting on ourselves and the pressure from our parents — okay, mostly my mom — was so absurd in retrospect. At the end of the day, we both got into our dream school, Crescent Hill University, and we were just fine.
“How are things with Bianca, by the way?” he asks, stretching.
We’ve known each other since we were in the same class in third grade — I know him well enough that he’s asking what he asked, but he’s asking about something else underneath.
I raise an eyebrow. “Fine. Good. Why?”
“I’ve been curious.” He motions for me to move, then takes my place when I do, pulling his locs from between the barbell and his back. “She kind of came out of nowhere. One day you were super busy with work, then the next you’re bringing this girl to the event.”
“It’s casual.” I spot him while he does another set. “I didn’t think I had to make a big announcement.”
“I’m not saying that you had to. I’m just wondering how she broke through your defenses.” He re-racks the barbell. “I mean, besides the fact that she’s literally a model.”
“Well, yeah. I only got through our first conversation because I had to talk about Sadie. And after that…I was less than smooth.”
“Like what kind of less than smooth?”
“Like…” I take a deep breath. I haven’t spoken about this since it happened, and my face is still hot at the memory. “Mansplaining chaps to her the first time we spoke. How all chaps are assless by default, so there was no need to call them ‘assless’ chaps.”
Jeremiah stares at me for several beats before bursting out laughing. Full on, bent at the waist wheezing.
“It wasn’t that funny,” I mumble.
“Bro, how ?” he asks when he gets ahold of himself. “How did you fuck up so hard?”
“I just got struck stupid.” I’m leaving out the fact that her lightly touching my arm is what short-circuited my brain.
“But hey, she still went out with you,” he says. “Why not make it serious? You look happy with her.”
I nearly blurt out, I look happy with her? but I hold back. I do like hanging out with Bianca — she’s fairly quiet, but it feels like we’re on the same wavelength in a way I can’t explain.
Like she picked up on my irritation with my mom at the clinic and actually tried to steer Mom away from her obsession with making me this perfect figure in town who’s involved in everything. And she managed to make Catherine genuinely stunned into silence, which is a miracle.
It doesn’t hurt that talking to her is just easy. For someone who grew up in an environment where she and everyone else was judged constantly, she isn’t judgmental at all.
I don’t know what to think, but I didn’t think we looked so much like a genuine couple that my best friend would actually say something positive about it.
Guilt fills my chest for lying about the relationship, but a tinge of annoyance is there too. Of all people, Jeremiah should get why I’d keep it casual.
“You know why I wouldn’t want to make it serious,” I say.
“I know, but it seems like you should get back out there. You guys happened kind of fast and you look happy when you’re with her. Why not see if it can be deeper?”
I just shake my head. “Still no. She’s not even interested in that right now either.”
“I’m just saying.” He stretches his shoulder, which has given him trouble since we were seniors and he fucked it up during the homecoming football game. “You two seem like a good match. Invite her to trivia so Jada and I can get to know her more. That’s not too serious. And we need your dorky ass to answer the science questions.”
I smile. “Okay, fine, I’ll invite her.”
The rest of the workout goes on without a hitch, and we part ways. After I get home, take Duke for a quick walk, and shower, I head to the clinic.
I fall into the rhythm of the day, calling up owners to tell them how their pets are before seeing a few more for regular checkups. Thankfully nothing goes sideways or throws me off.
But around lunch, I get a text from Mom, asking me if I want to go to Patty’s, a lunch spot within walking distance of the clinic — her treat.
Her emphasis on it being her treat gives me pause. Why is she trying to lure me in? I would have gone even if I had to pay myself. I’m starving, so I say yes.
Around lunch, I head over and spot Mom sitting outside with Lady, who stands up and greets me first. I give the dog butt scratches, then kiss Mom on the cheek. Mom must be running errands or just walking around town, based on how casually she’s dressed — nice jeans and a nice blouse. I’ve never seen her dressed in anything less in public unless she’s going to a workout class.
“Hi, honey,” Mom says. “I ordered your favorite since I know you don’t have a lot of time. They should call it for pickup soon.”
“Thanks.” I sit down across from her and Lady rests her chin on my feet. “I worked out with Jeremiah earlier so I’m starving.”
“How is he?” Mom asks.
I give her the rundown on how he is, then a similar rundown on Jada. She cares a lot about them both, but I can almost feel her buzzing with anticipation to blast me with whatever she wants to say. The walk from our table outside to the pickup counter inside allows me to prepare myself for whatever she’s about to ask.
I sit back down, and Mom starts immediately.
“I’d love for Bianca to join a few of the ladies’ groups in town,” she says. “And maybe she’d be interested in making a few appearances?”
I let out a slow breath. “What do you mean by appearances?”
“You know — just going to an exercise class or two, and the ladies’ groups, like I said.” Mom examines her nails, which are covered in the same pale pink they’ve been since I was a kid. “So she can be a part of Jepsen.”
What she’s left unsaid is that she wants Bianca to be just like her — to be her version of perfect. Outgoing. Involved in every single aspect of town so everyone knows her. Bianca has the look down, or at least she will if my mom manages to wrangle her into whatever outfits she feels are appropriate.
It’s just like what Mom is trying to do to me — push me and shape me into something I’m not particularly interested in being anymore.
“What’s wrong with what she’s doing now?” I ask. “Do you not like her?”
“I like her!” Mom says, almost gasping in horror. “She’s so beautiful. A little quiet. But maybe I just need to talk to her more. And you two look so good together.”
I take a huge bite of my sandwich to give myself time to gather my thoughts. My mom would probably think I’d look good with a cardboard cutout of a woman, but still. Guilt makes me avert my gaze. The whole fucking point of this thing was to make Mom happy that I was dating someone. Why do I feel weird about it now?
It’s a little too late, though, so I shove the guilt down.
“I know, but why do you want her to be any different?” I finally ask.
“Oh, honey.” Mom sighs and squeezes my forearm. “She’s lovely. She just needs a little push to be perfect.”
“Well, why does anyone need to be perfect?” I ask, holding back a sigh.
“Fine, fine, perfect is a stretch.” She spears a few chunks of lettuce. “Let’s say a push to help her reach her full potential.”
I blow out a breath through my nose. Does she not hear what she’s saying? ‘Full potential’ is a loaded term too. It’s not bad to think the best of people and their abilities, but I’ve spent my entire life trying to “live up to my full potential”. I nearly burnt out before I started pushing back and I still have a weird relationship with success.
“I can see if she’d be interested in the groups,” I say. Hedging is always a bit easier than flat out saying no in this instance. Otherwise, Mom would go around me and start texting Bianca or something.
Mom beams, and that weird mix of guilt and annoyance spreads its way across my chest again. I can’t push Mom off forever, but I don’t know how much longer I can let her press. Especially if she starts pressing Bianca.
“I hope I’m not disappointed,” she says with a smile, making my stomach drop.
As much as I hate all the pressure Mom puts on me, disappointing her is somehow even worse. Like a punch to the gut, no matter what. She’s not the type to yell, but seeing her expression crumple, almost in hurt, from me not living up to her expectations is almost worse than if she ripped me a new asshole.
I can’t remember a single specific time that my dad chewed me out, though it did happen. But I remember almost every time I’ve gotten Mom’s disappointed talks almost photographically.
“You won’t be,” I say, more out of habit than anything.