Love and Other Things I'm Bad At (35 page)

LATER

Oscar’s home. Major drama involved. Grant got a container of pasta salad from the ready-to-eat cooler at Shop & Shop as he left work, and we met in Old Town, which is this old section of town (
duh
) with brick buildings, restaurants, bars, shops, etc.

We called and called Oscar. Nothing. Some street people asked us for money and we may have attracted the attention of a couple of shopkeepers.

Finally, we spotted him.

He was sitting outside this great restaurant called the Rio Grande, which has a big, lit-up margarita glass in the window. He seemed to also be eating a taco, which can’t be good. I gave him a hundred hugs and squeezes, but all he wanted to do was lick Grant and make happy whimpering sounds at him. Like I didn’t exist.

A waiter came out and explained how everyone felt sorry for this poor, lonely dog. He’d been seen wandering around Old Town and he was so skinny, but whenever someone tried to help him, he’d run away—

“OK, it’s only been, like, a day, and he’s not that skinny,” I said.

“So then animal control tried to corral him, but that didn’t work. And did you know his collar has no tags?” the server asked.

“Well, I—”

“Courtney!” Grant said. “You told me you were going to get tags!”

Just then my phone rang—it was Wittenauer.

“I’m with Grant and guess what?” I said. “We just found Oscar!”

Wittenauer was not impressed. “Is it me, or does it seem like you’re spending every spare minute with Grant?”

“But I had to find Oscar. And Grant’s really good at finding him,” I said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have let him run away in the first place,” said Wittenauer.

I was getting so exasperated with him I didn’t know what to say. “Of course I didn’t
let
him!” I said.

“Didn’t you?” He hung up abruptly.

Agh. I was getting attacked by both sides.

I gently clipped the leash to Oscar’s collar, thanked all involved, and started walking home. Next thing I knew, Grant was walking beside me, eating from the little bowl of pasta with his fingers as he walked.

I kept stealing angry glances at him. Looking so smug. He hadn’t even really
helped
find Oscar. I mean, maybe he was a good-luck charm, but that was it. And now Wittenauer was mad because I’d asked him to help, and he hadn’t even really helped.

“You know what?” I said. “This has to end.”

“What does?”

“This!” I cried. “You and your potato salad walking me and Oscar home—”

“It’s pasta salad,” Grant said. “And it can’t walk.”

I knew he was trying to make me laugh. But I couldn’t. My life was getting really sort of out of control. It was a Saturday night, and instead of being out with friends, Wittenauer was a thousand miles away and mad at me, and I was wandering down a Fort Collins street with Oscar and Grant.

He touched my sleeve. “Hey. I’ll help you get Oscar’s tags,” said Grant. “There are some forms at the Humane Society—”

“I don’t need your help,” I said.

“Well . . . yeah, you do. Or why else am I here?”

“I don’t know!” I said. “OK? I don’t know! Maybe you shouldn’t be.”

“Well. I’m headed to my house, which is right next to your house. I’m not going a different way.”

“Fine,” I said.

We walked the rest of the way home without talking. He went into his house. I went into mine. Oscar trotted to his food bowl, where DeathKitty was in the midst of eating. I glared at her. All her fault. Or was it my fault, for asking Grant to help? But what else could I do, and Oscar was home now, so all’s well that ends well, right?

Probably not when it ends with your boyfriend not speaking to you.

10/25

Wittenauer made up by text, but make-up text is not as good as some other things that may possibly rhyme with it.

Wittenauer: You need to get away. Come visit me. Come on, please.

Me: But who would watch Oscar?

Wittenauer: Your roommates. Please, he’s not an exotic pet who needs special attention.

Me: Yeah, but . . .

Wittenauer: But nothing! Ask Bryan, then. He’ll pick up Oscar for the weekend.

Me: K.

10/26

Went to about twenty travel sites last night, until I found a flight even I could afford. Going this weekend. Will only be there two nights, but it’ll be great. Wittenauer and I can snuggle for 48 hours, I’ll see my friends (so maybe we won’t snuggle for 48 hours straight), I’ll be there for Halloween, which should be awesome. . . . I emailed flight confirmation info to Wittenauer sometime around 3
AM
, and this morning a van pulled up with a flower delivery from him.

Note said: “Sorry, just having a really hard time. Love you and can’t wait to see you soon! Xxooxxoo W.”

Soon, soon.

Swoon, swoon.

10/27

Dreamed that I got on this giant plane to Milwaukee but halfway through the flight, the pilot announced we’d be landing in Fort Collins.

“No!” I cried.

I ran up to the front of the plane to protest that the airport was too small for a 747, but before I could get there, a hot-looking vampire stepped out of first class into the aisle. Told me to stop making trouble. Attempted to bite my neck.

I was just starting to enjoy it when he opened the emergency door and threw me out.

I was falling through the sky. Saw lots of cool things on the way down to imminent death. I was hoping I’d land on a snowy mountain when a giant eagle swooped from the sky and—

Sometimes I really hate dreams.

10/28 WII-DNESDAY

It’s definitely time to go away for a few days.

Shawna, Dara, and I are not getting along. At all.

We keep arguing about everything: dishes, cleaning, DeathKitty and her dead birds, Oscar and his pacing, the fact that one of them keeps letting Oscar out.

Dara says I never clean the blender after I make smoothies. What? I always do. And how would she know? She’s never even used the blender. She’s just reaching.

Shawna says Dara doesn’t know what clean is, because she hasn’t ever cleaned the bathroom since we moved in, while she has cleaned it, like, twice a week.

Which makes me feel bad because I’ve only cleaned it twice, ever.

I told Shawna she keeps me awake when she studies all night and listens to the TV for “background noise” but blares
The Daily Show
, so then I want to get up and watch it, and then I oversleep—

And then Dara said she can’t write here because we’re both too loud, and she should have gotten her own place instead of sharing it with us. Somehow it’s
all Tobie’s fault for moving out, and all my fault for moving in.

So I told Dara not to plan on taking me to the airport on Friday, that I’d take the shuttle van.

“Oh no, I’ll
take
you to the airport,” Dara said.

Clearly she wants me to be gone as much as I want to leave.

Still . . . kind of rude, don’t you think?

I left the house to go to work at the same time Grant was outside, headed to his car. We waved at each other. I thought he was going to offer me a ride, but he didn’t.

Rudeness. It’s going around sort of like a viral YouTube video.

10/29

Just started snowing. Stupid snow must not get in the way of my trip. I need a break from the Fort. Even though I have made up with roomies, tension lingers, like smell from litter box.

In class today, found out that Dr. Bigelow’s call to action was answered. Not sure with what, though.

“So, it’s been planned,” the guy next to me in class whispered.

“Right.” I looked around. “
What
has?”

“Our big statement,” he said. “Our end of semester project.”

“And?” I asked.

“And what?” He seemed confused.

Typical stoned, overly-committed-to-the-environment mandal-wearing guy. “It
is
 . . . ?” I urged, waiting for him to fill in the blank.

He looked around furtively. “Oh. Well. I can’t talk about it here.”

Suddenly, Dr. Bigelow was approaching us. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Ms. . . . oh, Superfund. I’m drawing a blank.”

“Smith. It’s Smith,” I said. Then wanted to kick myself. Why stress my last name when it was not for a good thing?

“Right, of course, Ms. Smith. Is there something you’d like to share?”

“Well, actually, I . . . I mean, it wasn’t me. . . . He said something about a plan?” I said. “I actually don’t know anything. I mean, about it.”

Great. Now I was admitting I didn’t know anything. “Smith, Third Row, Doesn’t Know Anything” he was probably jotting down in his notes.

I never did find out what the big plan is.

And it’s still snowing. I like snowboarding as much as the next person—maybe even more. Wow. I actually live in a decent place to snowboard again. The world is like . . . my oyster. My snow-covered oyster.

10/30

IM’ing with Beth.

crtveg17: Have been up all night. Nervous about the trip.

shoe92gurrl: Why?

crtveg17: Idk. Just am. Stomach hurts. Haven’t seen W for a month.

shoe92gurrl: So it’ll be fun!

crtveg17: Seems like we argue on the phone.

shoe92gurrl: Do u still love him?

crtveg17: Sure. Sure I do.

shoe92gurrl: Then don’t worry. It’s just the stress of being apart.

crtveg17: Like u and me. Like how we fight. ;)

shoe92gurrl: Constantly. E Ciao.

crtveg17: Ciao. Easy 4 U 2 say.

Snowing again. Airport claims to be open though—flights not canceled. It’s been snowing since last night. Dara wants to leave now—extra-early, just to make sure. Fine. Will write more from WI after I get there. If I get there.

Gave Oscar a hug. He walked in circles by the front door.

“If Bryan can’t make it here, for any reason, ask Grant, OK?” I said to Shawna before we left.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine,” she said, squeezing my shoulders.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

“What?
Go
already,” Shawna argued. “God. If someone as hot as, like, Wittenauer, was waiting for me, I’d fly myself.”

“How would you do that?” Dara asked.

Shawna glared at her. “It’s a saying. And you know, if you want to catch a flight anywhere like Seattle while
you’re
at the airport, feel free. I have a ton of studying to catch up on.”

Outside, Grant was attempting to shovel the sidewalk. Asked where we were going. “Uh, the airport. Going to Cornwall Falls for the weekend.”

“Oh. Wow. Well, good luck,” he said.

“Is that all he has to say? ‘Good luck’?” I complained to Dara when we got into the car.

“What do you want him to say?” she replied.

I don’t know, I thought. Don’t leave? Don’t risk your life? I love you madly?

But that was wrong.

TWO HOURS LATER

It’s snowing. A lot. Not sure we will make it. Not sure airport will be open if we do make it. Traffic moving at one mile per hour. Every once in a while, someone comes along going faster than that, has to put on brakes, and slides off into median or down into ditch.

Trying to reach DIA to find out about flight. DIA? More like DOA. Dead on Arrival. Or, lack of arrival.

Cell service not working.

Radio talking about winter weather advisory. Upgraded now to blizzard warning.

Our arms collided as we both went to grip center armrest in fear.

Barely moving. I keep trying to make small talk that dies instantly. Kind of like we might.

We’ve made it about a mile so far, I think.

Cars in ditches.

Windshield wipers caked in ice.

Radio is advising everyone to stay home. Well, uh, kind of late for that.

“I don’t want to die!” Dara just screamed as she put on the brakes and we slid sideways.

God. So dramatic. It’s only a little skid.

BACK HOME

I ended up making Dara trade places with me, and I started driving because I know how to drive in snow. Well, so does she, but she had a case of temporary insanity.

We got off I-25 finally and ended up in a diner in Loveland, which is normally, like, a 15-minute drive from here; took us 3 hours.

We ate pie and gathered strength to drive home. Thought I was going to have to give Dara a good-natured slap in the face and yell, “Snap out of it!” Girl needed to breathe into a paper bag to keep from hyperventilating. She who is so cool about everything. I felt bad for her.

Couldn’t get through to Wittenauer to tell him I can’t make it because flights are all canceled; airport is closed. We came home and for some reason, Bryan was here. He and Shawna were watching a movie together when we walked in. They seemed surprised, but not all that surprised, to see us.

“OMG, what are you doing here?” asked Shawna. “Are you guys OK?”

“Didn’t you watch the news? People are dying out there!” Dara said.

“And how did
you
get here?” I asked Bryan.

“I left really early,” he said. “Grant’s been over here twice to see if we heard from you.”

“Oh?” I asked. So he did care, at least a little bit. “Well, uh, what’s the bag for?” I asked Bryan when I saw his duffel sitting by the door.

“Well. Thought if I was coming all this way, I should be prepared to stay over,” he said. “With the weather and all.”

Warning lights were firing in my head like shooting stars. He and Shawna. They were hooking up. It was déjà vu all over again.

“But I was gone, as far as you knew,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him.

He nodded. “As far as you knew, yes.”

I had to puzzle over that for a while.

“Courtney! You asked me to take care of Oscar. You didn’t say
where
.”

“I didn’t? Well, wasn’t it obvious?” I said. “At home.”

“No. Not with Sterling and his allergies, no.”

“Courtney!” Shawna yelled. “Don’t you appreciate what Bryan did? He drove through a blizzard to get here. For Oscar.”

Bryan nodded. “Yup. Plus, Grant posted something about a party at his house tomorrow night—”

“Hold on, hold on!” I cried.

“What? You didn’t know about the party?”

“No, not that. You just said Grant
posted
something? Where?”

“Twitter. Didn’t you know that? You should totally follow him. He’s funny,” said Dara.

Grant posting something? Since when?

“You should go tell him you made it back,” Shawna said.

“Right. Right.” I opened the front door and Oscar bounded outside after me. We made it halfway there before I thought to myself, What if Kelli’s there? What if I walk in and they’re snuggling together in front of the fire? Not that they have a fireplace. I actually don’t know.

Turned and went back inside to text him.

So I made it back.

He responded a couple minutes later.

Grant: To WI?

Me: No, next door.

Grant: Why r u texting

Me: Might get lost in blizzard walking over.

Grant: O. So. No cheese curds.

Me: No. Sadness. If u want to come over, everyone’s watching a movie.

Grant: What movie?

Me: Um . . . I love you, man

Grant: ?

Me: I mean, the movie, “I love you, man.”

Grant: Right. Well, maybe later.

Aha! I was right. He was busy.

I tried to pour myself a cold glass of ener-juice, but my hands were still shaking from the scary drive home.

“Whoa, Courtney. Little less caffeine tomorrow, OK?” Shawna said.

I faked a smile. I was disappointed over the trip falling through . . . and uncomfortable about the fact that I’d just invited Grant over, like, what was I thinking? And I still needed to call Wittenauer to break the bad news about the canceled trip.

When I did, he wasn’t surprised. He’d seen it on CNN. He said we’d reschedule, we’d figure something else out.

And then everyone just snuggled in to watch the movie, while the snow kept falling outside.

One good thing about Bryan being here: He can help us shovel tomorrow.