If you’re grading my answers thus far, “Who?” was a D+ graded on a curve, while this was an F. Because it implies that Audrey, who has spoken with me for far longer than forty-five minutes over the course of our relationship, is an easier catch than Bernadette.
Do I try to course-correct by saying something like “That’s not what I meant!” or do I hope that Audrey doesn’t interpret my response in the same way?
I go with the latter.
“What do you mean by that?” she asks.
Wrong choice.
“Nothing,” I say, which is the wrong answer.
“I know I’m not as pretty as her,” says Audrey.
“Yes, you are,” I insist. “Bernadette has a face like a pug compared to you.” That was probably too much of an overcorrection. I should’ve gone with some variety of terrier.
“So as soon as your band starts to be successful, you talk to other girls?”
“No! I haven’t said two consecutive sentences to Bernadette the entire time we’ve been in high school. I’m not sure who Daryn heard that from or who that person heard it from, but the chain begins with Blake.”
“Did you confront him about the poems?”
“He’s not back from bowling yet.”
“How many games is he bowling?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it takes him a long time to get a bowling ball all the way down the lane.”
Audrey is quiet for a moment. “Yeah, I guess it probably was Blake who started the rumor.”
“There’s nothing to guess. It was definitely him. Why would you even think otherwise?”
“Well, you had a really good show on Monday, and singers get lots of chicks…”
“You’re the only chick I want.”
“Okay.”
“If you hear any other rumors, I’m sure they can be traced back to my cousin. I would never let fame change me, change us.”
“Okay. I’m sorry,” Audrey says and sniffles again.
• • •
I get a text from Audrey: Call me. No exclamation points. I’m not sure if that’s better or worse. I’m going to assume worse.
“Hey,” I say.
“Have you been texting Lorelei Michaels?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“She showed me texts of you asking her out. You said we’d broken up.”
“Wait. She showed them to you?”
“Yes.”
“Hold on.” I check my texts. There’s nothing to or from Lorelei. “Are you sure they’re from my phone?”
“It’s your number.”
“Blake must have swiped my phone and then deleted everything when he was done.”
“Don’t you have a passcode?”
“Yeah, but the passcode is my birthday.”
“How would he get your phone?”
“He lives in my house! He could’ve done it while I was asleep or in the shower. I had no idea he’d go this far to sabotage me.”
“Is he still bowling?”
“He hasn’t come back from bowling, but I assume he’s done by now. There’s only so long you can bowl.”
“I wish this would stop,” says Audrey.
“Me too.” Then I unwisely decide to add some levity to the conversation. “So did Lorelei say…” I’m four words into my five-word sentence when I realize that this is not the appropriate time to make a joke, and although my brain frantically waves a stop sign, my mouth drives right through it. “Yes?”
“Is that a joke?” Audrey asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I was trying to relieve the tension.”
“Leave the tension where it is.”
“Sorry. I will,” I say, and I mean it.
“But, no, Lorelei did not say yes. She asked why you were asking her out when you already had a girlfriend. Your text explained that things hadn’t been going well between us for a while and that while you didn’t officially break up with me, we both understood that it was over and that we were free to—”
“Reminder,” I say, “this is what Blake said, not me.”
“Right,” says Audrey.
“Right,” I say, more firmly.
“I know.”
“I sure hope you know. You mean the world to me, Audrey.”
“It’s just…”
“It’s just what? Blake did this. That’s the only explanation that should be running through anybody’s mind right now.”
“It’s just that this is a lot.”
“I know. What’s his deal?”
“He had to write all those poems for Gretchen and then spread a rumor about you talking to Bernadette and then steal your phone to text Lorelei,” says Audrey. “It’s a lot.”
“It is a lot. I’ve been saying that since I first picked him up at the airport. He’s an unusual character.”
“Maybe you should call the police.”
“Whoa. My mom would freak if I called the cops on him, and I don’t think he’s committed an actual crime, even if he’s a pain.”
“He stole your phone to text another girl.”
“That’s more of a prank than a misdemeanor,” I say. “I’m not calling the police. If I wake up and he’s hovering over me with a butcher knife and a creepy mask, yeah, then I’ll call 911.”
You know what’s scary? I can actually picture Blake hovering over me with the knife, and it doesn’t seem like a ridiculous mental image! Granted, in my imagination he’s wearing a cat mask, so I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him.
Am I afraid of my cousin?
Nah. Blake isn’t frightening. He’s just a jerk.
I hope.
“I’m sorry,” says Audrey. “I don’t know why Blake is trying to ruin our relationship. Make sure you confront him when he gets back from bowling, okay?”
“I will. I promise.”
• • •
A new text from Audrey: Call me? I have no idea how to interpret the question mark. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to say, “Hi, Rod, wanted to let you know that all our problems have been solved! Bye-bye!”
“What did he do this time?” I ask when she picks up.
“I got a picture of your car parked outside of Shannon Calmone’s house last night.”
“How do you know it was my car?”
“I know what your car looks like.”
“How do you know it was last night?”
“The phase of the moon in the picture is correct.”
“So it could have been last month?”
“I guess.”
Wait. Why am I arguing lunar cycles? I’ve never parked my car in front of Shannon’s house. “That wasn’t me,” I insist. “He must’ve stolen my car and parked it there.”
“Do you really think he could steal
