Chapter 17 Carrie
I remember my mom’s first therapy session like it was yesterday—I had finally managed to convince her to go.
The shrink told her to buy herself a notebook and make a list of all her anxieties.
Obviously, she never actually made that list in the end, but she should have.
Maybe then she would have realized that all her problems could fit on a single Post-it.
In a single word, in fact: “Dad.”
Anyway. I’ve been using the shrink’s hack myself over the past few days, getting everything that’s bothering me down on paper. Turns out, it’s not that easy after all, mainly because it’s hard to figure out exactly what’s gnawing away at you—taking a feeling and pinning it to something tangible.
I can’t decide what pisses me off most—the fact that I’ve ended up with a list as long as my arm, or the fact that all the items seem to tie back to the same problem. Great! I’m turning into my mother. The very last thing I ever wanted for myself.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Can we meet up today?
Speak of the devil…
I hold up a middle finger to the screen.
God, I really have hit rock bottom, haven’t I?
A sigh escapes me. I don’t have the headspace to figure out whether I’m officially losing it—my brain is too busy circling over and over the same questions.
Did Donovan get that coffee with Cheyenne, in the end?
Did he have a good time? Did he kiss her? Why do I care? Fucking stop it!
I read through his message again. I feel like saying no. Actually, I feel like switching numbers, moving towns, and changing identities. But the truth is, I’m dying to know more.
CARRIE: Why?
I’m aiming for subtle. There’s no way I plan on asking him about Cheyenne directly, though it would make sense—just the kind of natural, obvious question a friend would ask without raising any red flags. No. I don’t want him to think I give a shit.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: I need a refresher.
I can feel my heart in my throat.
CARRIE: Which unit are you struggling with?
WOLINSKILLMENOW: I have an actual grown-up date tonight. At a restaurant. I need your help knocking it out of the park!
I read his message back over and over again, and every time, my breath catches in my chest.
I start typing “Go fuck yourself!” but quickly delete it before I can hit send.
I toss my phone to the side and pace around my room, swinging my arms in circles as I go, running through the deep-breathing techniques I learned at the first and only yoga class I ever attended.
In for four, hold for four, out for eight.
It’s not working. Why isn’t it fucking working?
I know I have no right to be pissed off, but my heart has a mind of its own, it seems. My pulse is pounding in my head. This is what happens when you get involved. I should never have said yes to helping him out. My life was so chill before him.
I hate that he’s getting to me like this, and I can’t figure out how to make it right again.
I decide to run through my strategy out loud.
“Okay, girl.” I clap my hands to try to psych myself up. “Help him one last time. He gets a girlfriend. He forgets you. Then you go back to your nice little low-key life.”
I repeat my mantra back to myself, and once I’m sure I’ve locked it down in my brain, I reach for my phone.
CARRIE: OK. I’m free now, if you want.
Let’s get this over and done with.
WOLINSKILLMENOW: Yay! Lemme just wrap up here. See you at mine.
At his? I shrug. Fine by me. That way I won’t be reminded of everything we got up to in my room. I don’t want to be that girl anymore. No more sleeping with him. It’s not fair to Cheyenne, and it’s not good for my mental health, either.
I pull on a pair of wide-leg jeans, throw on a basic tee. I slip on my sneakers and brush my hair, before pulling it up into my usual bun. I drop my glasses on my bedside table, grab my bag, and hit the road.
ON MY WAY TO DONOVAN’S dorm, I see Lois sitting under a tree.
“Carrie!”
She gestures at me to wait and jogs across the street. She’s so different from last year’s old, depressed Lois. These days, she’s like the poster girl for boundless positivity. It’s kind of freaky.
“How’s things?”
“Amazing! You going to class?”
“Nope.” I keep my voice as level as I can. “On my way to see Donovan.”
She flashes me a knowing smile, and her soft, round face brightens.
“Lane told me Don is going on a date tonight.” She raises an eyebrow. “So, are you guys—”
“It’s not a date with me,” I blurt out.
I don’t want her getting the wrong idea.
“Really? Okay…” She frowns. “Damn. So, how are you?”
“I’m great, Lois. Why do you ask?”
“Just checking.” She shrugs. “Never mind! Listen, my brother is in town for a few days. We’re thinking of hitting the Java Bar. Any interest?”
Why is she looking at me like that?
“I need to work on my end-of-year project, but I could maybe swing by.”
“Great!”
Lois pulls me in for a hug before heading back across the street, and I eye her curiously. She definitely had a weird look on her face, like she was surprised I wasn’t sad about this date of Don’s. God—not you, too, Lois.
I start walking, running through the master plan again in my mind. If everything goes well today, your tenure at the Wolinski Academy will be officially over—over! Gimme an O! Gimme a V! O-V-E-R! I’m doing my best to be my own personal cheerleader, here.
I GET TO DONOVAN’S IN record time, and I’m just about to knock when I hear rustling behind me. Turns out we made it to his at the exact same time.
“Did you sprint here?” he asks, sliding his key into the lock.
“I ordered a Campus Driver so I’d get here ASAP.”
He shakes his head. “No you didn’t.”
How would he know? I wait for him to explain.
“My business partners know what happens to people who steal my favorite passengers.”
“Is this the part where I giggle and twirl my hair?” I bat my lashes at him. “ ‘Favorite passenger’—me? Okay…”
He smiles at me and I gulp. O-V-E-R!
I trail him into the kitchen. He plops himself down at the table across from me, arms folded behind his head.
“A good book boyfriend would have pulled out the chair, you know,” I start.
“Fuck. Should we do another take?”
“So.” I ignore him, drumming my fingers on the table. “A date, huh? With Cheyenne?”
“Yeah!” His eyes are shining. “We did get that coffee, but I had to wrap things up early—a ride came in.”
“Not cool. You should really be putting your phone on silent when you’re with your girlfriend. It’s pretty rude.”
“Agreed.” He nods eagerly.
“So, where are you guys eating?”
“I was thinking Marcella’s.”
“Does she dig Italian?”
“No idea.”
“Any food allergies?”
“I have no clue! Does it matter?”
“I mean, kinda.” I snort. “I’m guessing killing your girlfriend on your very first date isn’t a good look.”
He presses his lips tight. “Pretty basic advice. Maybe I don’t need a teacher anymore.”
“I thought this day would never come!” I make prayer hands. “So—I’m free?”
“Nope,” he says, wagging a finger at me.
I hold a finger up to him, too. My middle one.
“I’m gonna text her. Make sure she likes Italian.”
“Good boy.”
He fires off a message, and a second later, his phone pings. He tilts the screen to show me.
“It’s a yes for Marcella’s!” he crows. “She even sent three heart emojis.”
“That’s absolutely adorable,” I drawl. “You booked, right?”
His smile fades. He stares down at his phone dumbly.
I wait patiently as he books, cloaking my bad mood in a layer of aloofness. When he hangs up, I glance over at him.
“So, are you planning on picking her up?”
“Lewis said I—”
“You asked Lewis already?” I interrupt. “What the hell am I here for, then?”
“He said I should just meet her there,” he continues evenly. “That way if things get weird, I can just ditch her.”
“You realize that works both ways, right?”
“Right. Which is why I think you should be my chaperone.”
I hate that he actually looks nervous about this date.
“I mean, what if she stands me up? That would kill me.”
“Same.” I nod. “I’ve been waiting for this moment for nearly two whole months now.”
He leans across the table and covers my hands with his. “I won’t let you down, Carrie.”
I pull my palms from his, desperate to get away from the heat of his skin on mine. I let my hands fall into my lap, gnawing at the inside of my cheek.
“I’m curious,” I start. “Is this the first time you’ve ever asked a girl on a date?”
“Yup.”
“Wait, really?”
He nods. “Up until this summer, I liked to keep things short and sweet, if you get me.”
I think for a moment. “So, all those girls you slept with—you never wanted to take things further? Not even once?”
I’m expecting him to bounce right back with a reply, but he takes a deep breath in and turns the question over in his mind. He looks at me for a moment.
“I just wasn’t ever in that headspace.” He shrugs. “But that was then.”
Damn. I have no idea why—but this actually hurts. He’s basically saying I’m like all the other girls. Short and sweet, nothing more. But that was then. It’s like a sucker punch to the gut.
I give myself a shake. This is a good thing, I remind myself. That’s what I wanted. Remember? Short and sweet. That’s all I ever was. That’s all I ever wanted to be.
I rub my hands together, doing my best to shrug off those weird feelings.
“Okay—let’s get to work.”
We spend the next thirty minutes brainstorming stuff to talk about—topics to sidestep any awkward silences. Donovan is super focused, nodding to show he’s taking it all in, jotting down a few notes in his phone.
“And that’s all you have to do,” I finish. “Play your cards right, and she’ll be hooked by dessert. Take her out on a couple more hot dates, and then it’ll just be a case of telling her you love her, ideally by candlelight—job done.”
“Wow! That’s maybe one level too high, even for your favorite student.”
I ignore him. “And when you do tell her you love her—hell, you should get down on your knees to really sell it. Girls love maximum yearning.”