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Chpt 10: The difference between functional and okay.
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Chpt 10: The difference between functional and okay.
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Three weeks and five days have passed since that day on the highway. And the only thing that's changed is the amount of awkward silences and stolen glances.
The guys have moved back into the studio and I've moved back into the apartment. But things here are definitely far from normal.
"Ane," Patrick calls from the kitchen. "I've got to go by my mom's and drop off some stuff from Becca's bridal shower."
"Mmmkay." Is about the only response I have and the moment. And the only one I've had for weeks. Conversation has been a slow moving process as of late.
I still can't believe Becca is getting married. And to Andy's cousin no less. I feel hideously old. She's only nineteen.
Nineteen and about to sign her life away to one man forever. I could've said that. I could've said anything to get him talking. But I didn't. I can't. I can't bring myself to talk to much of anyone. I feel like I'm running out of bridges to burn.
Pete has been using a similar plan of action. Avoiding everyone at all costs as if we've all got the plague. At least he has since I told him about the incident on the highway. Which wasn't really much of and incident, more of an epiphany. But we'll get to that later, as I'm not quite sure yet what I mean by that. And I'm sure that's not good.
The sad/scary thing about all of this? The less I see of Pete, the less I seem to miss him. And I can't figure out if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.
Patrick on the other hand has been his normal rational self, only minus the rational part.
I can't say I've hated these last few weeks with him. But at the same time I think of Pete and instantly my stomach twists in a knot of guilt.
Once again I find myself stationed on the couch in front of the TV. This has become my new least favorite hobby.
Time alone is not my friend. Time alone is time to think. And I do believe I've proven in the last month that thinking is in fact the devil. It will only lead to more trouble, and I've certainly got enough of that.
As of late confrontation hasn't been a problem, mostly due to the lack of contact between the parties involved.
The phone rips through the silence that had been surrounding me with a shrill ring. I jump, shriek, and answer as calmly as possible, "Hello?"
"Hi Ane! It's Momma Stump! Did Tricky leave with that box yet?" Patrick's mother is probably one of the sweetest women alive, but she still thinks of him as a four-year-old. Which he pretty much despises.
"Hey Mrs. Pat. yeah Trick left about half an hour ago, should be getting there soon."
"Oh that's good. It was so nice to see the two of you last week. I've really missed you both. Its so hard to see Tricky, and you're a busy girl getting her life together. And I've been so busy with all of this wedding mumbo-jumbo Marty and I haven't made the drive out there in ages."
"Yeah, it was great to see you guys. We miss you too, especially Trick."
"You're so sweet dear. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever hear wedding bells for that boy of mine, seems he's never gotten the mind to ask you..." She went on, but I stopped listening as I was nearly choking to death on my tongue.
"Ma'am?" I coughed, seriously what is this woman on?
"You kids these days are so oblivious to things that are staring to straight in the eyes. You and that boy were meant for each other. One just doesn't have the mind to let the other know. Joyce and I've been saying that for years." Joyce is my mother's first name. She and Mrs. Pat have coffee on a weekly basis.
This is certainly a conversation I didn't see coming.
"Ms. Pat, Trick and I aren't even dating, I don't think we're anywhere near those kinds of bells."
"Details, Details Ane! He loves you and I know you love him. It'll all," She cuts herself short, I can hear her shuffle and the door open. "Oh here's that boy of mine now. I'll talk to you later dear!" And with that she hung up and my mouth hung open.
.
Three weeks and five days have passed since that day on the highway. And the only thing that's changed is the amount of awkward silences and stolen glances.
The guys have moved back into the studio and I've moved back into the apartment. But things here are definitely far from normal.
"Ane," Patrick calls from the kitchen. "I've got to go by my mom's and drop off some stuff from Becca's bridal shower."
"Mmmkay." Is about the only response I have and the moment. And the only one I've had for weeks. Conversation has been a slow moving process as of late.
I still can't believe Becca is getting married. And to Andy's cousin no less. I feel hideously old. She's only nineteen.
Nineteen and about to sign her life away to one man forever. I could've said that. I could've said anything to get him talking. But I didn't. I can't. I can't bring myself to talk to much of anyone. I feel like I'm running out of bridges to burn.
Pete has been using a similar plan of action. Avoiding everyone at all costs as if we've all got the plague. At least he has since I told him about the incident on the highway. Which wasn't really much of and incident, more of an epiphany. But we'll get to that later, as I'm not quite sure yet what I mean by that. And I'm sure that's not good.
The sad/scary thing about all of this? The less I see of Pete, the less I seem to miss him. And I can't figure out if that's a good thing, or a bad thing.
Patrick on the other hand has been his normal rational self, only minus the rational part.
I can't say I've hated these last few weeks with him. But at the same time I think of Pete and instantly my stomach twists in a knot of guilt.
Once again I find myself stationed on the couch in front of the TV. This has become my new least favorite hobby.
Time alone is not my friend. Time alone is time to think. And I do believe I've proven in the last month that thinking is in fact the devil. It will only lead to more trouble, and I've certainly got enough of that.
As of late confrontation hasn't been a problem, mostly due to the lack of contact between the parties involved.
The phone rips through the silence that had been surrounding me with a shrill ring. I jump, shriek, and answer as calmly as possible, "Hello?"
"Hi Ane! It's Momma Stump! Did Tricky leave with that box yet?" Patrick's mother is probably one of the sweetest women alive, but she still thinks of him as a four-year-old. Which he pretty much despises.
"Hey Mrs. Pat. yeah Trick left about half an hour ago, should be getting there soon."
"Oh that's good. It was so nice to see the two of you last week. I've really missed you both. Its so hard to see Tricky, and you're a busy girl getting her life together. And I've been so busy with all of this wedding mumbo-jumbo Marty and I haven't made the drive out there in ages."
"Yeah, it was great to see you guys. We miss you too, especially Trick."
"You're so sweet dear. Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever hear wedding bells for that boy of mine, seems he's never gotten the mind to ask you..." She went on, but I stopped listening as I was nearly choking to death on my tongue.
"Ma'am?" I coughed, seriously what is this woman on?
"You kids these days are so oblivious to things that are staring to straight in the eyes. You and that boy were meant for each other. One just doesn't have the mind to let the other know. Joyce and I've been saying that for years." Joyce is my mother's first name. She and Mrs. Pat have coffee on a weekly basis.
This is certainly a conversation I didn't see coming.
"Ms. Pat, Trick and I aren't even dating, I don't think we're anywhere near those kinds of bells."
"Details, Details Ane! He loves you and I know you love him. It'll all," She cuts herself short, I can hear her shuffle and the door open. "Oh here's that boy of mine now. I'll talk to you later dear!" And with that she hung up and my mouth hung open.
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