Holy shit, I’m freaking out. I don’t’ know if I can handle this.
Get it together Cecelia. I shake my head, hair swishing around my shoulders and take a deep, cleansing breath.
Wait, what am I saying? Of course I can handle this! I’m a strong, independent woman with two college degrees – not to mention my impending Masters. I should be happy that’s he’s declared himself in a relationship to the world. Ecstatic, even!
But… he hasn’t declared himself to me. And isn’t that what matters?
I sit on the edge of my bed, clutching my cell phone in my now trembling hands.
It pings again, and I tip it up to see my sister’s text icon light up the screen.
Veronica: Good morning, you dirty slut. Anything you want to tell us?
A laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it, and smiling, I reply: You know I’ve always had a thing for athletes…
Veronica: That’s the understatement of the year. Roger is planning the wedding, btdubbs. His professional hockey player son-in-law. Mom is reeling because u clearly have loose morals.
Me: Obviously.
Veronica: So… seriously tho. Is it serious? Is this a real thing? No bullshitting a bullshitter.
I hesitate, thinking.
Is this a real thing? I can’t answer for Matthew, so instead I tell her what’s in my heart.
Me: Yes, I think so. Yes. It’s the real deal.
Veronica: Well then. You better get his fine ass to Mom and Dad’s before Mom has a stroke.
Me: ((Groan))
Then to Matthew, I reply: It’s a yes for tonight…
Because he doesn’t know this yet, but we seriously need to talk.
CHAPTER 35
MATTHEW
“Let me put it to you this way: You hurt my best friend… I’ll make your death look like an accident”
– The only hostile words Abby has ever uttered.
“So, I’m just going to put this out there: my parents want to meet you,” Cecelia says from across the table, legs crossed but bouncing nervously, looking slightly agitated.
Alright, that’s not accurate: she doesn’t look agitated – she looks pissed about something.
I lean back in my chair and watch her, taking a drink from my latte. “Okay.”
She raises her eyebrow skeptically. “Okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. Okay.”
“You’re not going to ask me why they want to meet you?”
Sorry, but I laugh at her. She’s clearly affronted; but so cute. “I have my suspicions, but fine, I’ll bite. Cecelia, why do your parents want to meet me?”
“Because you colossal jackass, you posted that picture of us on Snap and my bloody dad saw it online.” She crosses her arms and huffs, flouncing back in her overstuffed chair dramatically. “Now they think I’m hiding a boyfriend.”
We’re sitting at Starbucks, which seems to officially become our spot, noshing on coffee and warm buttered croissants. Yum.
“I’m confused. Why is that a bad thing?”
Cecelia stares at me like I’ve sprouted ten spitting alien heads, and her lip curls up. Leaning forward again in her chair and holding up her left hand, she begins ticking off reasons that, apparently, justify her pissy attitude. “Let’s see; for starters, we’re both half naked in the picture that was supposed to be private! Private Matthew. Secondly, and thirdly, you posted it on your story – your story! - and it got picked up by a freaking sports network. Fourth, you announced we’re a thing, and we,” her hands move back and forth between us. “We haven’t even discussed it yet. You’re freaking leaving for California Matthew. California.”
“Babe, please, you’ve got to stop repeating yourself. You sound like an echo.”
“Have you listened to a thing I just said?” She looks at me like I’m an idiot. And hey, I probably am.
“Yeah. You’re mad.”
She throws herself back in a huff, lips pursed. She crosses her arms and glares at me.
“Wait. Are we fighting?” I ask innocently because honestly, I have no idea what is happening right now.
Cecelia blows out a puff of air, and her long bangs wisp around her face. Her arms land with a thump on the arms of her leather chair, she slouches before sighing like she’s given up. “No, we’re not fighting.” A smile plays at the corner of her lips. “I think your brains are addled from being bashed with too many hockey sticks.”
I pull her chair towards mine and rest my palms on her thighs. “I thought you’d be happy.”
Her eyes are on my hands, and she studies them for a few moments in silent contemplation. I can tell she’s thinking hard, and when she finally lifts her head, I’m not sure I like what I’m seeing.
She looks guarded and unsure. Biting her lower lip, she glances around the coffee shop. “Matthew, you’re… leaving.”
“So?”
“So? How can you be so… blasé about it? You’re going to be three thousand miles away.” She says it in a ‘like, duh’ tone of voice, as if it explains everything.
“Actually, it’s only sixteen hundred and seventy.”