The Dating Deal (12 page)

“Megan, I can’t take it, seeing you with that guy!”

I just tilted my head.  It hadn’t exactly been a party seeing him with Laura.  What did he think I’d been doing?  Dancing a jig?  “Go home Conner,” I told him.  But when he started to walk away, I thought better of it.  Suddenly, I was concerned.

I grabbed his arm.  “How much did you drink?”

He furrowed his brow.  “Drink?” 

He seemed embarrassed that I knew.  He tried to deny it.  But finally he said, “Geez, Megan, I’m not drunk.  Don’t worry about it.”

But I
was
worried.  I didn’t hang around people who drank.  I had no idea how much was too much.  All I knew was, you’re not supposed to drink and drive.

“We’ll give you a ride,” I told him.

He widened his eyes incredulously.  “You and your new boyfriend?”

“Just to be safe.”

He looked at me as though I was nuts.  “I’m not getting in a car with that guy.  Talk about drunk, the guy drinks like a fish.  He’s the one you should be worried about.”

“He didn’t drink tonight,” I said.

Conner scoffed at the idea, both that Trent hadn’t drank, and that we would give him a ride home.  “I’m not getting in a car with that guy,” Conner said adamantly.  “If you’re that worried about me, you can give me a ride.  But not him.”

I put my hands on my hips.  “Fine,” I relented at last. 

He really didn’t seem drunk.  He was probably fine to drive home.  After all, he had driven Laura there and gotten back in one piece.  But I couldn’t take that chance.  If he were to get into an accident.…

I had to go outside and explain the situation to Trent.  I felt awful.  But he took it well.  Actually, he didn’t seem to care one way or the other.  Which kind of hurt.  A lot.

“Well, it was fun,” he said.  “Dancing and everything.”

I smiled.  “Yeah.”

We stood a moment, looking at each other.

“Well, drive carefully,” he said.

“Yeah.  Uh, okay,” I stammered, backing away.  “Thanks.”

I guess to him, the deal was over.  A big success.  That sort of made me want to cry.

I tromped into Conner’s car feeling resentful.  He had ruined the last of my evening with Trent.  And it was my last evening!

I drove him home in silence, stewing.

It was weird to be feeling this way, full of resentment.  After all, here I was, alone with Conner.  It wasn’t long ago I’d have given my left arm for a chance like this, being alone with him, having him tell me how much he’s missed me.  But the thing was, if I hadn’t gone to the dance with Trent, if I had stayed home, lonely and miserable, would this moment even be happening?  I doubted it.  If I had stayed lonely and miserable Conner would have been perfectly happy to trot off with Laura.  He just couldn’t stand to see me, his loyal puppy dog, actually moving on.  Getting a life.  Falling in love.

I pulled up in front of Conner’s house. 

“Do you want to come in?” he asked.  “We could make banana splits, like we used to after a dance.”  He grinned.  “And then drink hot chocolate to warm us up.”

It seemed he was taking it for granted I had forgiven him.  That since I left the dance with him, obviously all was well.  That bugged me.  But maybe he was right.  Maybe the old me would have been like that.  Just caved in.  After all, I used to think Conner was the greatest.  He could do no wrong.  But well, he had proven that theory full of holes.  Pretty continually, lately.

Still, making banana splits after dances had been fun.  And dating Conner had been fun.  Nice.  Most of the time.

Sad to say, the coming-in-and-reliving-old-times bit was actually kinda tempting.  Super tempting, actually.  

“No,” I sighed.  “I’m tired.  I want to go home.”

Conner sounded resigned.  “Okay,” he said, getting out of his car.  “But will you at least think about what I’ve said?”

What did he say?  That he’s sorry?  That he realized he had made a terrible mistake?  Those were all things I had dreamed of hearing from him. 
Of course
I would think about them.  They just wouldn’t mean as much to me as they once would have.

“Yes,” I said.  “I’ll think about it.”

I watched Conner walk away, still unsure how I felt.  Did I want him back?  Really and truly?  A huge part of me (Stupid!  Stupid!  Stupid!) was still dying to answer, “Yes.”  But another part of me, a calmer, wiser, saner part of me, was saying, “No.”  Our time was over.  It had been special, but not nearly as special as I had once thought.  His actions had proven that.  And it was over. 

Definitely over … I hoped.

I just had to be strong.

But watching Conner, my very first boyfriend, walk away, romantically out of my life forever, left me in tears.  And that’s the way I drove home, bawling my eyes out.  I parked Conner’s car out in front of my house, then ran upstairs to my room.

I flung myself across my bed, and my parents were at my door in record speed, wanting to know what happened.  What had that non-member boy done to me?  Why was I so upset?

I, of course, didn’t want to talk to them.  I wanted to bawl in privacy.  But I couldn’t have them thinking Trent had hurt me, not even for a second. 

“It wasn’t Trent,” I sobbed.  “It was Conner.  We broke up.”

My parents looked at each other quizzically.  After all, Conner and I had broken up over two months ago.  But to me, this night, it was like we had broken up all over again.  Only tonight it was different because I had chose to do it.  Which, of course, was better.  Way better.  But it was still traumatizing, because I couldn’t help it, I still loved him.  Maybe not as much, or the same, but as stupid as it was, I still had deep feelings for him. 

“You mean you had a fight?” Mom asked.

I shook my head, still sobbing.  “No.  Not really.”  I smooshed my face into my pillow.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mom patted my back sympathetically.  Then she gave me a soft kiss on the back of my head.  “We understand,” she said.

Then they left.  Mom and Dad left!  Abandoned me, in my hour of need.

I cried for like, an hour.  But then, I kind of stopped thinking about Conner.  About our past dances.  About our past life.  And I started to think about
this
dance.  About Trent.  About how much fun we’d had.  And how sweet he was.  And how I’d been gypped out of my good night kiss.

I had an overwhelming urge to talk to him.  Tonight.  As wonderful as the dance had been, I hated the way it ended.  Just thinking about it left my stomach in knots.  Darn Conner!  I wanted to
talk
to Trent.  Explain better why I had to drive Conner home.  Thank him for taking me to the dance.  And for being so wonderful and thoughtful and kind, and absolutely everything I wanted in a boy.  Except … he wasn’t Mormon.

I rolled over in my bed.  I would never sleep.  Not tonight. 

Trent was
like
a Mormon.  He was good and kind.  And honest.  He seemed
very
honest.  And, sure, he used to drink, but that was only because he didn’t know any better.  He didn’t use to know about the church.  But now he did, a little.  And he’d come to church two Sundays in a row.  That had to count for something.  And he didn’t drink at the dance.  Or any other time that I knew of in the last two weeks.

And maybe he would come to church again tomorrow.  Well, not, tomorrow.  Tomorrow was conference, but maybe he would come to church again, sometime.  And who knows, maybe he would become a Mormon!

The thought made me smile.  But then, reality had to come pushing its nosy way in.  Face it, I thought, it would be a miracle if Trent Ryan, Mr. Party Guy, became a Mormon.

But it wasn’t really
that
impossible, not to me.  Not anymore.  I could definitely picture it.  After all, he had come to church twice in a row, and he had gone a whole Saturday night without drinking.  Maybe Mr. Party Animal was changing. 

I rolled over in bed again. 
No!  Stop it
!  I told myself. 
Don’t torture yourself like this
.  But I couldn’t help it.  To me, it was possible.  To me, Trent really did seem interested in the church … and me.  Okay, I didn’t have any concrete evidence.  No evidence at all, really.  It was just a feeling I got.  But it was a
strong
feeling, sort of.

I got out of bed, and went over to my computer.  Sometimes, Trent and I chatted on line.  Not very often.  Well, actually, just once.  But we could do it again.  Now.  You never know, he
could
be on line.  Not that I held out much hope.  After all, it was very, very late, and hours past the dance.  Most likely he was in bed, sound asleep.  Still, I thought I’d give it a try.  As I said, you never know.  And I really, really wanted to talk to him.  Really.

And guess what?!

He was on line!

I instant messaged him on iChat: 
“Hi.”


He iChat’ed me back: 
“Did you have fun at the dance?”


“Yes!”
I wrote. 
“That’s what I wanted to tell you.  I had a blast.  Thank you so much for taking me!”


“Are you in love with me?”


I rubbed my eyes, staring at the question.  Why’d he ask
that
?

“Do you think I love you?”
was next.  Then,
“That I’ll turn Mormon?”


Huh?

I stared at the screen, my stomach suddenly a ball of knots.  What was going on?  Why was he writing this?  I was afraid to press a key.  Afraid to answer.  What was I supposed to say?

Nothing showed up for a long time.  Then:

“Forget it.  Look, Megan, Trent’s not here at the moment.  So don’t freak out.  It’s me, Caitlin.”


Caitlin? 

A knife was plunged into my heart.  I was bleeding all over the floor.  Caitlin?! 
Caitlin
?!  Why was she there?  At his house?  I felt sick realizing they must have gotten back together. 

A knife was in my heart.  My eyes stung.  My stomach ached.  I was practically doubled over with pain.  Yet Caitlin went on, writing as though we were best friends having a nice ichat. 
“Trent went down to his basement to get us a drink,” she wrote.  “Should I tell him you messaged or called, or whatever?”


“No.”


I clicked off my computer and crawled back into bed, wrenching out huge, painful sobs into my pillow.  My life was a tragic, cruel joke.

Sunday, I woke late.  Since it was general conference, I laid around all morning in my pajamas, moping.  Thinking about last night.  The good stuff, and the bad stuff.  There had been a lot of both.  I thought a lot about what Conner had said.  About me being a “guidance” in his life.  But, you know, I wasn’t sure I wanted to “guide” someone through life.  I mean, what about me?  I could use some guidance too.  I saw the women in our ward with non-active or non-member husbands.  They had to carry the whole load—bringing their kids to church, sitting alone.  It seemed hard and lonely.  It wasn’t what I wanted.

And thinking about Trent was just as difficult.  More difficult.  I’d had a wonderful time at the dance.  He had been so sweet and thoughtful, and he’d given me my beautiful wrap.  But after the dance.  I hated to think about that, but I had to.  I had to look at reality.  Caitlin was at his house.  Most likely they had gotten back together.  (Sigh.)  And he’d gone to his basement to get them a “drink.”  Caitlin had made a point of saying that.  I kind of figured she didn’t mean root beers.

Unfortunately, even if Caitlin and Trent didn’t get back together, even if she was at his house just because, I don’t know, she and Shane got into a fight and she needed a shoulder to cry on.  Whatever innocent reason.  (And there were gobs to choose from … right?)  Still, I had to face the cold, hard truth, once and for all:  Trent wasn’t a guy I could date.  He just wasn’t, because as cute and nice and sweet as he was, still, he wasn’t right for me.  As my Laurel advisor, Sister Green, was always saying, “Be discerning who you date.  He may just be your future mate.”  Something like that.