Chapter 4

I'd been avoiding Lily like the plague. I sat through the rehearsal dinner, still not having spoken directly to her in more than forty-eight hours. After the 'incident', I went to an old buddy's house. I got so drunk he had to call my father to say that I was staying over. Feigning recuperation, I stayed away for the whole next day and night. The rehearsal dinner had forced me to go back, in my same clothes, puke stained and embarrassed.

Fortunately, when I got to my father's no one was around. A note on the counter informed me that the dinner was in three hours. Dutifully, I cleaned up and made myself appear presentable.

Seeing her—she looked so beautiful, dressed in heels, a summer dress, hair up—caused my stomach to creep up my chest. I felt instantly pathetic having stayed away. And yet, I still couldn't muster the dignity to approach her. Nothing I could conjure in my mind sounded right. The window was getting so small it seemed as if I could never squeeze through, certainly not with the cumbersome load of hurt pride oozing off me.

Lily, however, had little patience for my silent brooding and frigidly cold shoulder. After the dinner, as I got into my car to contemplate driving toward the nearest ravine, or simply returning south, she forced a collision of our own by getting into the passenger seat. She wasn't about to give ground, staring icily at me. I was forced into a checkmate.

"Do you want to talk about the other night?" I mumbled.

"This is the first time you've spoken to me in two days. You want to talk about the other night? How about starting with, 'Hey, sorry I haven't talked to you in TWO DAYS!'"

"I am sorry," I said. I had to level with her. "I'm so fucking nervous, I can't tell you."

"What do you think about me? Especially when you just stop talking to me. I'm going out of my mind. I'm thinking, 'OK. He hates me. I made the biggest mistake of all time. He's going to run away, back down to Phoenix, and never come back.'"

"No, no." I stopped her and reached across the seat to grab her arm. "Please. I don't hate you. I like you." I had to look down. "More than I should admit." Lily sighed.

"Try admitting something. Anything. It's better than the solace of utter fucking silence. Even if you told me you never wanted to see me again... it'd be better than nothing."

Sixteen. Hormones running high. Hadn't spoken to this girl I was becoming furiously hung up about, in two days. Emotions, etc. etc. So, forgive me, but my words, when I finally decided to spill them, didn't come out quite as I hoped.

"Lil, please. I want... you." Lily looked at my and raised an eyebrow. She threw up her arms, exasperated.

"What do you mean, you want me?"

"I want—" I couldn't say the words. I leaned over in the seat and tried to kiss her.

"No! Fuck that!" she said, pulling away. "What do you want?" I looked straight forward. I knew I should have tried some other tact. But it was all I could offer.

"Maybe it was a mistake."

"It?"

"All of it. Us... maybe that was a mistake."

"Maybe it was? What does that mean. Do you believe it was, or don't you? Because you should probably just tell me straight out." But I couldn't speak.

We drove back to my father's in silence. I let her out and pulled out of the driveway and headed back to Phoenix. I had really fucked up, so I believed. And I spent the next week, a mess at school, convinced of it. Who could I confide in, though? My friends wanted to know what was wrong with me, but there was no real way of saying I was ass-over-teakettle for a girl who was going to end up my stepsister in under a week.

My dad called three times during the week to make sure I was coming back up the next weekend. I gave him a noncommital yes but I was actually starting to convince myself it'd be better if I never went back. And on top of it all, each time my dad called he finished the conversation the same way.

"Did you say something bad to Lily?"

"No, what are you talking about?"

"She just isn't herself. And whenever you come up in the conversation, she excuses herself." Then I'm silent for too long. And he says:

"So what'd you say to her?"

"I didn't say anything."

"You guys get along alright?"

"Fine." And then it's back to why we called.

"You're coming right?"

I mumble.

"What?" His voice is edged. The way I see it, I've gone or am headed for the deep end. A grunt or something resembling my pledge to be there and then we hang up. When you're a teenager, nothing you do can be simple. Not because life is throwing any especially tricky shit at you. But because you're a raging ball of confusion. And fear. Bottom line, I am, I was, I will be afraid. Afraid to face up to the shit of my own making. I've got a dad I can't make my peace with, and soon he'll have a daughter in-law that I might be in love with.