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When it’s Ken’s name that flashes on my phone screen, I cringe but I answer this time. I suppose I should reward his persistence.
“Yeah?” I say, turning onto the highway. I tuck my phone between my cheek and shoulder. The only problem with my beautiful 1970 Ford Capri is that it doesn’t connect to Bluetooth.
“Um, Hardin, hey,” he stutters.
He’s confused by me answering. He calls me sometimes, and I’m convinced that he sees it as a good deed on his part. He calls to “check in on me” because he knows I won’t answer, and it makes him look good to make an effort with his insubordinate son. His new girlfriend probably praises him, hugging him tightly as she reassures him. “He’ll come around one day,” she probably promises him. “He’s just angry right now.”
She would be angry if she had him for an excuse of a dad, too.
“Hey.” I press the speaker button and rest my phone in the cup holder.
“How are you, son?” he asks, immediately pressing on my nerves.
“Fine.”
He clears his throat. “That’s good to hear. I wanted to invite you over to dinner tomorrow night. Karen’s making a chicken, and we would really love to have you over.”
He wants me to come over for dinner? Why on earth would he think I would come to his house to eat chicken with his new family and talk about how much we all just love each other’s company. No fucking thanks.
“I have plans tomorrow,” I tell him. I’m not lying this time.
“Oh. Well, you could come by after your plans. Karen’s making dessert, too.”
“My commitment is for all night,” I tell him. I wonder what the weather will be like tomorrow. The clouds are gray, as always in this shitty state. The sun must hate it so much here—that’s why it’s always raining and dreary.
“Is it supposed to rain tomorrow?” I ask Ken. It’s easier than looking up the weather forecast myself.
“No, it’s supposed to warm up overnight and the rain’s gone until next week,” he says.
If I had a normal relationship with the man who helped create me, I could ask him for suggestions about what to do on my date. I don’t, though. I can’t.
All I know to ask this man about are what forms the university needs filled out when. We have nothing in common and are as far as can be from a place where I would ever ask him for dating advice.
Maybe Vance has some ideas? I’d rather ask him than anyone else, I guess.
“I have to go,” I say into the phone, then hang up on Ken and look up Vance in my phone.
He answers after one ring. “Hardin, what’s up?”
“Do you have any recommendations on where to take someone?” I ask him. My voice sounds odd as I rush the words.
“As in a dead body?” He laughs into the phone. I smile. He’s a jackass.
“No, not this time.” I reach for a way to ask for his help without mentioning Tessa. “Like to hang out with someone.”
“A date, then?” he assumes.
“No, not exactly. But something like that.”
I don’t know what to call this meeting with Tessa. It’s not a date. We’re friends.
Friends until I fuck her, I remind myself.
She’s just so prudish. She wears ill-fitting clothing and barely curses. Where could I take her to get her to lighten up? I try to think of my favorite memory since I moved to Washington.
The stream off of Highway 75 is fun. If the weather’s nice, this could work. The water is pretty shallow, and you can see the rocks under the water. Would Tessa swim in semi-clean stream water? Probably not, but I can try.
“Well, I’ve always found nature walks a surefire bet,” Vance says.
And just like that, I’m reminded of the Bet for the first time in a few hours.
fourteen
The first time he was alone with her, he knew something was stirring inside of him. He thought he could fight it, that maybe he was softening a little, and not only for her, but everyone in his life . . . he was sure. He had spent his whole life alone, and he had mastered the craft of avoiding any form of intimacy beyond sex. He didn’t need friends, and he didn’t have a functional family to teach him how to interact with people. He liked that hard part of himself—it kept his life simple. He felt suffocated during his first encounter with her, but as time passed and he began to feel something more, something that could change everything, he vowed to keep the status quo.
He was used to structured solitude, and she was wreaking havoc on that.
The morning is here, and I barely fucking slept last night. It wasn’t even the shitty nightmares that kept me awake; it was Tessa.
She was there when I closed my eyes, and not in the way I’d have liked her to be. Instead of being naked, making soft noises as I thrust into her, she was furious and bored during the trip to the stream I’ve decided we’re taking. In one creepy movielike scene that my sleepless, stalkerish mind made up, she stubbed her toe and complained the entire afternoon. In another, she was bored out of her mind and wanted her lame boyfriend to drive all the way to campus to get her. When he arrived, it was like he was all cardigan. A giant cardigan monster that was both scary and lame.
It’s frustrating the amount of time I’ve wasted thinking about this girl. None of this is going to matter in a month or so. If this “date” goes well, I’m hoping to win the Bet in less than two weeks . . . Hell, if I can charm her enough, maybe at the stream . . .
My phone alarm rings from across the room, and I climb out of bed to shut it off.
Today’s the day. My head is already throbbing, and I’m annoyed by the pressure I feel to make the time I spend with her work in my favor. I should probably take a shower. As I’m getting dressed, I briefly wonder what she’s doing right now . . . is she as stressed as I am? I can imagine so; she’s so uptight all the time, and she’s probably had me literally penciled into her planner-binder since the moment I offered to attempt this friendship thing.
After my shower, I rummage through my drawer to find a clean black T-shirt. The one I find is wrinkly, but it’ll do. Outside, as I start my car, I hear a crush beneath my foot and find an empty water bottle under my gas pedal. In my half-sleep state, the sound is so irritating that I get back out and find a place to throw it away.