Just a Number (32 page)

“Yeah, I know,” she breathes, winding her arms around me. She tilts her face toward mine and offers me a small smile. “You hungry?” I nod once and Amelia pulls free of my arms, turning back to the food. “I know it’s not really breakfast fare, but there’s no steadfast rule that you have to have bacon and eggs or French toast for breakfast, right?”

Chuckling, I grab plates and cutlery. “Food is food,” I agree, my stomach rumbling.

“Why don’t you go wash up,” she suggests, “and I’ll heat the food.”

It only takes me a few minutes to do my morning routine, and by the time I make it back out to the kitchen, Amelia’s got our food ready. Since the only plans we had for the day were originally to take Alan out to brunch to tell him the truth about us, we’re uncertain what to do with ourselves.

“What do you say we go see an afternoon movie and then go out to dinner?” I suggest, hoping that it will help keep our minds off everything that’s happened.

For the first time since last night, I see that excited glimmer return to Amelia’s eyes and she smiles genuinely. “You mean, like a real date?”

I chuckle, swallowing a bite of chow mien. “Yeah. Exactly like a real date.”

“That sounds nice.”

After we finish eating, we clean up the kitchen together, and then Amelia makes the bed. I’m about to suggest she get ready so we can stop by my condo before the movie to allow me to change—I really don’t want to go to the theater in my tux from the ball. Before I can say anything, though, there’s a knock at Amelia’s door that catches us both off guard.

It takes Amelia a minute, but then something registers in her eyes: hope. It’s entirely possible her dad’s come back to talk to us, and it’s obvious that this is what she thinks has happened as she bolts for the door. I stand back and hold my breath as she pulls the door open, but neither of us expects who actually stands behind it.

23. Lean on Me

 “
L
iz?” I’m a little stunned to see her standing here in my doorway. I don’t know why, but I honestly thought that maybe it was my dad at the door. “What are you doing here?”

She’s positively beaming—and really,
really
tanned. “I just flew in an hour ago. I wanted to come by and see you! How was the party?” She pulls me into her arms, crushing me to her.

Then she freezes, and I know she’s spotted Owen.

Slowly, she releases me, and I see her eyebrows pull together in confusion before they move upward, hiding behind her wispy bangs. “Wait…” She’s putting everything together, and it’s like I can visualize each piece as it falls into place in her mind—the time I fessed up to seeing someone, how that relationship was “complicated,” Owen showing up at school that day I was all mopey and giving me a ride home, and the secrecy and why I didn’t tell even her.

Clearing his throat, Owen pushes his chair from the island counter and stands up. Liz’s eyes don’t leave him, and unlike the look in my dad’s eyes, I actually see her acceptance behind her shock. This relieves me, because I don’t know how I’d handle losing her too.

“I’ll give you ladies a moment alone to catch up,” he says, approaching us and picking up his suit jacket off the back of the couch.

“Wh-where will you go?” I ask, not to control his every move, but because I want to be sure he’s going to come back. These last twenty hours have been taxing on both of us, and I still worry it might pull us apart. I don’t want this, obviously, but I’m not naive enough to ignore the slight strain it’s already put on our relationship.

He takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “To my apartment. I’ll grab a change of clothes and then come right back. That should give you ladies a little over an hour, and then maybe we can catch that movie?”

I release a sigh of relief and nod, smiling. “Perfect.”

Before he leaves, he leans down and presses a soft kiss to my lips, and all the while Liz is watching this, her jaw slightly agape with shock and awe. Owen says his goodbyes, to which she mumbles something incoherent in return, and then he closes the door behind him.

Her head moves from the door to me, then back a few more times before she breaks out into a smile and pulls me toward the couch. “Tell. Me. EVERYTHING!” she exclaims, and I revel in her giddy reaction for a moment before remembering that not everyone was this accepting when they first found out.

It makes me love her just a little bit more, and I’m so glad to call her my best friend.

We sit there for the first thirty minutes, and I tell her everything, starting with how I came to find him in my bed at my dad’s place, how we’d fooled around a little in our sleep, and how that led to us confessing the hidden fantasies we’d both had about each other. Liz listens, completely enraptured with the story and hanging on my every word, occasionally humming a sigh of contentment—okay maybe it’s a tad on the lusty side, who really knows—or whispering an “oh my god.”

It feels good to tell someone everything. Owen and I have been keeping this secret for so long that I never realized just how heavy it was to bear. Even with Carla and Stephen finding out, and then my dad, I still felt like I was drowning. Now, though? I feel a little relief from the pressure that’s been holding me down. Sure, it’s not completely gone, but I’m holding out hope that everything will be fine once my dad comes around.

I tell Liz about the ball, even gathering my dress off my closet floor to show her. She loves it, and she laughs when I tell her that Owen bought me four pairs of shoes when he couldn’t find the ones I’d forgotten I’d loaned her.

When I get to the part about Dad finding out the way he did, Liz lends a sympathetic ear, listening and assuring me that everything will be fine.

“He’s just pissed that he was kept in the dark,” she tells me. “He’ll come around. You know he will.”

I nod sadly. “Yeah. I know. I just wish he’d talk to one of us and let us explain. He’s got the wrong idea and thinks Owen is taking advantage of me, when I was the one who instigated our first time.”

“Well,” Liz says, “if I had to hazard a guess, he probably doesn’t
really
think that. He was probably just mad and said it in the heat of the moment. I bet he regrets it. They’ve been friends practically their whole lives…surely he knows Owen well enough to know he’s not some kind of man-whore who goes out seducing girls half his age.”

I appreciate Liz’s logical approach to this, because, while I’m sure I’d have eventually come to this conclusion myself, I’ve been so consumed by guilt that I couldn’t see this clearly. She’s right, though. He knows Owen better than anyone; surely he can’t think that Owen would actually use me—or any young girl, for that matter.

Not wanting to sour Liz’s mood by talking more about my craptastic life right now, I ask her about her vacation. She tells me that she had an absolute blast, even with her parents there. It’s nice to get lost in her happiness, and I find myself coming out of my funk a little more with each passing minute.

Soon, Owen returns, knocking first before opening the door. He’s freshly showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and fitted sweater, while his hair is as purposefully unruly as ever. He looks amazing, only reminding me that I still have yet to change out of my t-shirt and flannel sleep pants.

I walk Liz to the door where she hugs me once more and reminds me that everything will be okay given time. I thank her for listening, and then she leaves, saying goodbye to Owen, who’s standing in the kitchen. She calls him “Mr. Cavanaugh” out of habit, and he just chuckles. Once I close the door after her, I feel his presence behind me, and I turn around. Not only does he
look
amazing, but he
smells
amazing.

“So,” he says, running his hands up and down my arms. “You still up for that movie?”

Excited at the prospect of our first date out—even if we’re still dealing with the fallout of coming out to my dad—I nod. “Just let me change and do something with my hair.”

Owen parks himself on the couch, turning the TV on and flipping to ESPN while I put on a pair of jeans and a deep purple, long-sleeved shirt. I grab my knee-high black leather boots and pull them on before disappearing into the bathroom to fix my hair and put on a bit of makeup. My hair isn’t too messy, still holding a bit of my natural curl from my shower the night before, so I finger comb it and add a bit of hair product to tame any flyaway strands, then I proceed with my makeup. When I’m ready, I exit the washroom and come up behind Owen, draping my body over the back of the couch and wrapping my arms around him. 

“Ready?” he asks, turning his head and kissing my jawline.

“You bet.” I unwind my arms from him, and he stands up, taking my hand as he leads me to the door. “What movie are we going to see?” I ask, grabbing my jacket and pulling it on.

“Hadn’t really given it much thought. Figured we’d decide on the way.”

“Sure. I can look it up on my phone,” I say, picking it up and putting it in my pocket.

Picking a movie isn’t too difficult, and we decide to forego anything that might be too dramatic. Not because we don’t like dramas, but because I’m just not in the mood to watch something like that when my life has its fair share of it right now. There’s an action movie that looks pretty funny, and it starts relatively soon, so we decide to go to that one.

Going out for the first time as a couple is pretty exciting. Yes, we went to the ball, but no one really knew who I was. This will be our first date in the public eye, and I’ve got a flurry of excited butterflies in my belly.

Of course, these butterflies seem to lose their zest when we walk into the theater—hand-in-hand and our body language clearly stating what kind of relationship we’re in—only to find eighty percent of the movie-goers turn to gawk at us. I want to believe they’re just ogling, but it’s obvious they’re judging us, and it upsets me. I suddenly understand why some people in a similar relationship might question things based on how complete strangers respond.

Because I’m still a little rattled after seeing how my dad reacted to the news of Owen and me, I become self-conscious. This bothers me; I’m not usually the type of person to care what others think of me. Owen must pick up on this, because he gives my hand a gentle squeeze and shoots me a reassuring smile.

“Ignore them,” he says softly, brushing his lips across my forehead. And just like that, every look of judgment seems to fade, and I no longer concern myself with what others must be thinking as I look up at him. His ability to brush off the scrutinizing glares of others helps me do the same, and instead of turning into a shrinking violet in front of a few people I’ll likely never see again or remember, I stand up straight and hold my head high, cementing my place at Owen’s side and in his life.

People stop staring and return to whatever it was they were doing before, and a part of me wishes I’d have been this confident when my father misjudged our relationship. Unfortunately, I was far too stressed out and shocked by his sudden appearance at my door that I became flustered. One thing I feel I did right, even though it wasn’t intentional, was that I still affirmed my relationship with Owen instead of letting something that makes me so deliriously happy implode…

…something I hope I can make my dad understand when he finally comes around.

Owen buys our tickets and then leads me to the concession counter where he buys an obscene amount of popcorn, pop, and candy. Not that this is his fault. The theaters charge outlandish prices for the small versions of everything, and you actually save money by buying the dinosaur-sized combos. Besides, I like day-old movie theater popcorn.

We find our seats and wait for the movie to start. In order to keep my mind from wandering back to my dad, Owen keeps the conversation geared toward the movie or my upcoming return to school and his to work. When the movie starts, we settle into our seats, and I lay my head on his shoulder. The next two hours seem to fly by, and when the movie lets out, we decide to grab a bite to eat at a little diner around the corner.

The hostess who greets us sits us in a corner booth upon Owen’s request, and as we take our seats, I dig out my phone to turn it back on. When the screen lights up, I see I’ve got a missed call…from my dad’s landline. I inhale sharply, looking up to find Owen staring at me. It only takes him a second to realize what’s happened.

There’s no voice message, but that’s not a bad thing. Dad’s never been overly keen on talking to a machine. I quickly call him back, the line ringing several times before it clicks over, and I hold my breath, waiting for my dad’s voice.

When that doesn’t happen, my heart falls into my stomach.

“Alan, just talk to her,” I hear Carla whisper harshly, her voice muffled by what I assume is her hand over the mouthpiece.

I can’t make out what he says in response, which is probably because he’s storming away from her, and it’s then that I realize
he
didn’t call me; Carla did.

Carla sighs, and then I hear her say, “Amy?”