Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
I t’s Friday night! I’m at Lou Malnati’s Pizzeria, and the rest of the group is here—everyone but Kimo. My eyes keep darting toward the door. I want to catch the exact moment he comes in. I want to see the exact look on his face when he sees me.
In the meantime, my leg is jackhammering so hard underneath the table that I could probably dig a hole to China if I were wearing my spike heels. Noting my nervous energy, Helen reaches out and puts a comforting hand on my arm. “Hey, it’s still a few minutes before seven.”
“He’ll be here any second, I’m sure of it,” Nina chimes in.
Of course I told the two of them via text about inviting Kimo. Helen had to talk me down from texting Kimo and canceling this morning—not because I’m not excited, but because I’m so anxious I’m afraid I might puke all over him when he walks in the door. Or worse—do something hopelessly embarrassing, like blurt out that I love him. Which I don’t. That would be crazy.
I like him, though. A lot. A lot . Somehow, that feels even crazier.
Nina met me at my apartment to help me get ready. Even though she’s one of the frumpiest dressers I’ve ever met—and that includes Helen’s extra-extra-large turtleneck phase—Nina has surprisingly good taste in clothes. I wonder why she doesn’t apply it more to herself. Tonight she’s wearing a thick, plain gray wool skirt that reaches down to the ground, and a beige cardigan buttoned all the way up to the top, despite the fact that it’s summer and almost as hot inside the crowded restaurant as it is outside. Regardless, I’ve seen Grady and Thad taking turns warding off a couple helpless men who wander up to the table, staring at her with that same dazed expression we all recognize now.
“Who’ll be here any second?” Grady asks, leaning forward to take a sip of his coffee. Yes, you read that right—coffee at seven at night. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Grady not drinking coffee, regardless of the time. He’s either desensitized to the caffeine, or he’s moonlighting as a late-night phone-sex operator. I can’t really think of any other scenarios that might apply.
Helen looks to me for permission to tell him, and I shrug. What do I care? Kimo will be here any second, anyway. The cat’s about to be out of the bag. “Matilda invited a friend of hers tonight. A male friend.”
To my surprise, Thad raises an eyebrow—which is a strong reaction coming from his generally stoic self. I would have thought Helen would have told him already, given the expected women don’t keep secrets from their boyfriends clause in every friendship. “As in...a date?” he asks.
I roll my eyes, but it’s more out of nerves than real annoyance. “Yes, he’s a gentleman caller of mine, here to court me with my many chaperones. Don’t let him take any liberties!” Actually, scratch that. Please let him take some liberties. A girl can only cuddle for so many nights.
Thad and Grady exchange a meaningful look. They try to be sly about it, but they’re men, so it’s about as subtle as a Hallmark Christmas movie. “Is it...serious?” Grady asks, sounding as though he’s attempting to tread carefully.
I consider the question. “We haven’t had penetrative sex yet. But we’ve done other stuff.” I realize almost immediately by the way both men’s eyes widen that this isn’t what Grady meant by “serious.” I guess I’m also not the queen of subtlety. I force a smile. “And...I like him. Sort of. We’ll see. Jury’s still out.”
Liar, liar, pants on fire. I take an anxious sip of my water, then check my watch. Five minutes after seven. Kimo’s officially late. I check my phone, but there are no missed calls, no messages.
“He probably got caught up in traffic,” Helen quickly reassures me, giving my arm a squeeze. “I’m sure he’ll be here any minute...”
Another five minutes crawl by, then another fifteen after that, and still no sign of Kimo. Nina eventually persuades me to try calling him, but I get sent to voicemail after the second ring. Which means...he saw my call and rejected it, right? His phone isn’t just set to Do Not Disturb.
Thad excuses himself while Helen and Nina try to run through all the plausible, excusable scenarios of why Kimo might be late. Grady just sips his coffee, looking increasingly more uncomfortable with each minute that ticks by.
And I...feel numb. I barely hear Nina and Helen talking at me, coming up with increasingly more ridiculous theories. All I can think is, I knew it. I knew not to get my hopes up. I knew not to trust him. I knew not to hope for...him. For us.
For anything.
Thad rejoins us a moment later, and he’s got his scary bounty hunter face on. “He isn’t at any of the local hospitals. I have a friend at the downtown police station who’ll let me know if anyone matching his description gets booked there tonight.”
“Wasn’t he kidnapped recently?” Grady asks, sounding almost hopeful. “Maybe it happened again?”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “I think if a kidnapping is our best-case scenario, we know where we stand.”
Pushing to my feet, I grab my purse and march toward the door. Before I can leave, I’m caught by Helen and Nina, who have rushed after me. “We’ll come with you,” Nina suggests.
It’s a nice gesture. On some level, I can recognize that. But I’m too hurt, and too embarrassed, to want anyone’s pity. “No. I want to be alone.”
That’s how I’ve survived so far, isn’t it?
* * *
Late that night, I have a missed call from Kimo, and a voicemail. I listen to it with a roiling stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Mattie. Something came up at the last minute. Please believe me when I say it couldn’t wait. I want to explain everything, please. Call me.”
I won’t, though. It’s not that I don’t believe him, precisely. Maybe he has a good excuse, maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t really matter anymore. Tonight was a cold dose of reality. I’ve done this before—put my trust in people, hoped that this time things would be different, that they could be different. But the moment you put your happiness in someone else’s hands is the moment you set yourself up for crushing disappointment. It’s a rerun even more familiar to me than all those episodes of Full House .
And the story always turns out the same. Always.