Chapter 8

Today was the big day. Valentine’s Day.

Tiffany had said yes to being my valentine. I was dressed and ready to go, but it was too early. I paced in my bedroom. I checked the clock on the end table. It was as if time had slowed down. The time hardly changed since the last time I had looked. I was too excited and couldn’t wait any longer. Maybe Tiffany would be as excited as me and be ready early.

I ran to my car.

Tiffany’s house was only a short distance from mine, but it took all my willpower not to speed through the streets. I slowed down for the only stop sign and rolled through it before accelerating again. A moment later I saw it. Flashing lights. The police cruiser emerged from its hiding place and drove behind me. I pulled to the curb, turned off the engine, and waited.

The police car stopped behind me and the officer got out and walked up to my door. I had already rolled down my window. It was a policewoman.

“You didn’t make a full stop,” she said.

“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t have an excuse. It’s my first Valentine’s Day date and I guess I was in a hurry. I meant to stop, but I’m excited and— I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

The policewoman looked past me and shined her flashlight on the roses and heart-shaped box of chocolates on the passenger seat. She smiled.

“Your first valentine, eh?” she said.

“Yes, officer.”

“Nervous?”

“More than you know.”

“Well, since you’re bringing a dozen long-stemmed roses and a box of chocolates, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Go get her, slugger.” She started to leave but stopped. “Oh, and next time make a full stop.”

The policewoman was smiling when she spun around and walked back to her car. I sat there frozen, not leaving until she headed back to her hiding place. I wasn’t sure if I had heard her correctly. I surely didn’t want to leave only to have her chase me. When I was sure I wasn’t getting a ticket, I drove to Tiffany’s house, obeying every traffic law. Even signaling where I usually didn’t.

I was finally standing on Tiffany’s porch with the dozen long-stem red roses in my right hand and the heart-shaped box of chocolates in my left. I had made reservations at that fancy restaurant with the live jazz band and dance floor that I had wanted to take Tiffany to on an earlier date. That was the first time she had stood me up. But it was Valentine’s Day and I was in love, and I was going to tell Tiffany how I felt. I had changed so much since meeting her. Before her, I couldn’t even talk to a girl. Now I was going to profess my love to one. The most special girl in the world.

My heart sank when Mrs. Johansson answered the door, but then I remembered how early I was. Tiffany was still getting ready, probably taking extra time to make herself perfect for our special date. I gave Mrs. Johansson a big smile. Surely that would get a smile in return and I’d know everything was all right.

But Mrs. Johansson didn’t smile. I saw that all too familiar look in her eyes. Sadness. Pity. My shoulders slumped.

“Tiffany isn’t here, is she?” I asked, but I already knew the answer.

Mrs. Johansson shook her head.

I slammed the roses on the porch like spiking a football. Their stems were tied with a twister and they were held together with plastic wrap so they didn’t break apart, but some red petals flew off. Mrs. Johansson stooped and picked up the roses. She straightened them as best she could.

“These are beautiful,” Mrs. Johansson said.

“Keep them! I don’t want them!” I thrust the box of chocolates at her. “Take these, too.”

Mrs. Johansson took the box of chocolates. Thinking back, it was probably to keep me from throwing them on the floor like I had the roses. We stood in silence with me staring at my feet and Mrs. Johansson staring at me. I looked up.

“Tell Tiffany—” I said, but clamped my mouth shut.

I didn’t know what I wanted her mother to tell Tiffany. I was fuming. Hurt. It wasn’t a simple date this time. It was Valentine’s Day. A special date.

“Never mind!” I said and pressed my lips together in a tight line. “Don’t tell her anything.”

I spun around to leave. The hand on my shoulder stopped me.

“Cody, come in the house.”

I stood there with my head hung. My back to her. Tears welled up in my eyes that I didn’t want her to see. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t move.

“Cody, please come into the house.”

“Why?”

“So that we can talk.”

“All you’ll do is make excuses for her,” I said.

“Tiffany is my daughter and I love her, but she is wrong. It’s time we had an honest talk, you and me. Please come in.”

I turned and saw the sincerity on Mrs. Johansson face. She wasn’t playing a dirty trick on me. She had said she would be honest. But did I want to hear the truth? Like when I had eavesdropped on the conversations my mother had with girls I had taken out and heard what those girls had said? Could I take that now that I was not invisible? I had created a world with me and Tiffany. Did I want that world blown apart? Could I survive that?

Mrs. Johansson didn’t ask again. She tugged on my forearm. The roses were in her other hand with the box of chocolates tucked under that arm. I followed her like a lamb. Defeated. Filled with despair. Soon I was in her living room. She put the box of chocolates and the roses on the coffee table and removed my jacket. I let her unzip it and pull it off my shoulders and arms like my mother had when I was little. She pushed down on my shoulder.

“Sit,” Mrs. Johansson said, “and wait here while I put these flowers in water.”

I sat and looked up at her. “Just throw them away.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“They were for Tiffany. Just throw them away.”

“Will you give them to me?”

I stared at Mrs. Johansson. I couldn’t read her expression. Her eyes were glassy. Her bottom lip protruded a little.

“Sure, take them if you want them.”

Mrs. Johansson rushed to the kitchen. I heard a cabinet door open and close and water from the sink running. Soon she was back in the living room and sat on the couch next to me.

“Thank you for the roses,” Mrs. Johansson said.

“They were for Tiffany.”

“But you gave them to me. Thank you for that. They’re beautiful. No one ever gave me roses.”