open, half full of chewed toast. I don’t really want to say anything else so I wait for her mom to say, “Did you just say you don’t want to get married?”
I say, “Yeah.”
Casey’s mom drops her fork on her plate, wipes the corners of her mouth with the napkin that’s been in her lap since she sat down, and says, “I have never been so insulted in all of my life.”
Casey still hasn’t said anything.
Her mom says, “You let Casey’s father and me come all the way out here, find an apartment for you to live in . . . I just . . . I can’t believe it. Do you realize you’ve wasted over a year of Casey’s life? That’s a year and a half that she could have been looking for someone who actually wanted to marry her.”
I try to imagine who that poor guy would have been. I picture a fatter version of myself with glasses.
Casey’s on the verge of tears. She finally says, “Do you still want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?”
I feel like I’m in the seventh grade telling Amber Pearson that if she won’t let me touch her pussy then I don’t think we should “go” together anymore because Amanda Long said she’d let me touch hers.
I say, “No, I don’t think so.”
“So you want to break up?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“And not see each other anymore . . . ever?”
“Yeah.”
And Casey’s out of commission. She just breaks down sobbing and choking and saying, “Why?”
Casey’s mom moves her chair around the table and puts an arm around her daughter. She looks at me and says, “Look what you’ve done.” Then to Casey she says, “Everything’s going to be fine, honey.
You’ll find a husband. This doesn’t mean anything.”
Casey just keeps saying, “Why?”
Casey’s mom stands up, forcing Casey to stand up with her, and says, “We’ll be out by the car,” and walks out, leaving me with the tab.
As I pay it I realize a couple of things: 1. I do actually feel kind of bad about the whole thing but I am glad that I ruined Casey’s mom’s favorite breakfast place in L.A.
by dumping her daughter in it.
And
2. I still have to give Casey and her mom a ride back to Casey’s place.
chapter twenty-four
The Drive to Casey’s House
Casey’s house is probably about forty-five minutes from the Griddle, thirty with no traffic. There’s traffic.
Casey and her mom sit in the backseat while I drive. Casey rocks back and forth sobbing and saying, “Why?” as her mom hugs her and keeps repeating, “It’s going to be fine. We’ll just get to your apartment and forget all about him.”
As we come to a dead stop on the 405 in minute four of our drive, I wonder why her mom didn’t just tell me to go fuck myself and get a cab for her and Casey to take back to Casey’s apartment. As we lurch forward again I ask her.
“Are you sure you guys don’t just want to get a cab? I can drop you off at a hotel or something.”
Casey’s mom says, “You just broke my little girl’s heart and probably ruined any chance she has at getting married for at least the next year. The least you can do is drive us back to her apartment.”
I say, “Okay.”
Surprisingly, the drive back to Casey’s apartment isn’t that uncom-fortable for me. Having cut Casey loose gives me a feeling of detach-ment from anything she must be going through and that’s comforting.
Every now and then Casey says something like, “Isn’t there any way we can like just talk this through?” or “I just don’t understand.
Can’t you give me some chance to like change?” to which I say, “No, I don’t think so.” Then she goes back to crying so much she can’t talk or properly breathe.
Her mom throws out things like, “I can understand realizing that you don’t want to be with somebody after a few months, but waiting a year and a half to end something—after you’ve proposed, no less . . . that’s just plain rude. And after all her father and I have done for you. Well, I can tell you this much, you
I say, “Yeah.”
Casey’s mom drops her fork on her plate, wipes the corners of her mouth with the napkin that’s been in her lap since she sat down, and says, “I have never been so insulted in all of my life.”
Casey still hasn’t said anything.
Her mom says, “You let Casey’s father and me come all the way out here, find an apartment for you to live in . . . I just . . . I can’t believe it. Do you realize you’ve wasted over a year of Casey’s life? That’s a year and a half that she could have been looking for someone who actually wanted to marry her.”
I try to imagine who that poor guy would have been. I picture a fatter version of myself with glasses.
Casey’s on the verge of tears. She finally says, “Do you still want to be boyfriend and girlfriend?”
I feel like I’m in the seventh grade telling Amber Pearson that if she won’t let me touch her pussy then I don’t think we should “go” together anymore because Amanda Long said she’d let me touch hers.
I say, “No, I don’t think so.”
“So you want to break up?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“And not see each other anymore . . . ever?”
“Yeah.”
And Casey’s out of commission. She just breaks down sobbing and choking and saying, “Why?”
Casey’s mom moves her chair around the table and puts an arm around her daughter. She looks at me and says, “Look what you’ve done.” Then to Casey she says, “Everything’s going to be fine, honey.
You’ll find a husband. This doesn’t mean anything.”
Casey just keeps saying, “Why?”
Casey’s mom stands up, forcing Casey to stand up with her, and says, “We’ll be out by the car,” and walks out, leaving me with the tab.
As I pay it I realize a couple of things: 1. I do actually feel kind of bad about the whole thing but I am glad that I ruined Casey’s mom’s favorite breakfast place in L.A.
by dumping her daughter in it.
And
2. I still have to give Casey and her mom a ride back to Casey’s place.
chapter twenty-four
The Drive to Casey’s House
Casey’s house is probably about forty-five minutes from the Griddle, thirty with no traffic. There’s traffic.
Casey and her mom sit in the backseat while I drive. Casey rocks back and forth sobbing and saying, “Why?” as her mom hugs her and keeps repeating, “It’s going to be fine. We’ll just get to your apartment and forget all about him.”
As we come to a dead stop on the 405 in minute four of our drive, I wonder why her mom didn’t just tell me to go fuck myself and get a cab for her and Casey to take back to Casey’s apartment. As we lurch forward again I ask her.
“Are you sure you guys don’t just want to get a cab? I can drop you off at a hotel or something.”
Casey’s mom says, “You just broke my little girl’s heart and probably ruined any chance she has at getting married for at least the next year. The least you can do is drive us back to her apartment.”
I say, “Okay.”
Surprisingly, the drive back to Casey’s apartment isn’t that uncom-fortable for me. Having cut Casey loose gives me a feeling of detach-ment from anything she must be going through and that’s comforting.
Every now and then Casey says something like, “Isn’t there any way we can like just talk this through?” or “I just don’t understand.
Can’t you give me some chance to like change?” to which I say, “No, I don’t think so.” Then she goes back to crying so much she can’t talk or properly breathe.
Her mom throws out things like, “I can understand realizing that you don’t want to be with somebody after a few months, but waiting a year and a half to end something—after you’ve proposed, no less . . . that’s just plain rude. And after all her father and I have done for you. Well, I can tell you this much, you
Similar Books
