“Shit,” I hissed, and blotted the water with my cloth napkin.
“Cadence, do not use that language around us. Or at all!” Dad barked.
“Sorry,” I muttered. I looked over at Mr. Connelly once more.
He was completely oblivious to my presence. I studied the woman. She looked like my exact opposite: tall, curvy, dark hair styled in an angled bob. Mr. Connelly must have said something clever because she laughed, placing her right hand over her ample chest. I guess she wanted to draw attention to her breasts. It worked. I caught him glance at them before looking at her face again.
I excused myself and walked as fast as I could to the bathroom. I barely closed myself in a stall before I burst into tears. How could I be so stupid? Why would I ever think a grown man would be interested in me? Faithful to me? I was a teenager with no experiences. No perspective. I lived in a cocoon. It made me easy bait. I was na?ve and trusting—perfect prey for a predator.
At least you didn’t have sex with him, I thought. It was little comfort, however, when my heart was cracking in two. I really liked him. I thought I loved him. I was a fool, and I waited for my conscience to throw it in my face. But she didn’t. She remained silent. I guess she was mad at me.
It took every ounce of strength to leave the bathroom and sit through an entire meal with my family, pretending Mr. Connelly wasn’t yards away on a date. He never once suspected that I was there. Never looked my way. Never took his eyes off that woman. He listened to her with the kind of attention he paid me when I sat on his lap and chattered.
And that’s what hurt the most.
***
Mark: I thought we could actually go out this Friday night.
Me: (No answer.)
Mark: What do you think?
Me: (No answer.)
Mark: Cadence? Are you busy at the moment?
Me: (No answer.)
Mark: Are you sleeping? I know it’s late. I’m sorry to text so late.
Me: (No answer.)
Mark: Well, sweet dreams.
I stared at the screen, watching it blur and then come into focus when I blinked my eyes. The tears streamed continuously, one right after the other for a whole hour until I cried myself to sleep. And I didn’t dream sweet dreams.
***
I faked being sick the next day. The one good thing about being a girl was using my period as an excuse to get out of unpleasant situations. I didn’t want to go to church. I didn’t want to see Mr. Connelly. It annoyed me that he even attended. He didn’t believe in God. Well, that’s not true. He did believe in God. He didn’t believe in Jesus. Okay, that’s not quite true either. He believed that Jesus existed and was a good man, but he didn’t believe he was the Son of God. Whatever. The point is that our church was all about Jesus, so why would he even go? I guess to make his mother happy. It really pissed me off that a man who was so kind and sweet to his mother could be such an asshole to other women. Did she know her son was an asshole? Maybe I should tell her.
“Honey? I really don’t like when you miss church,” Dad said in my doorway.
I had the heating pad on my stomach with my knees pulled up to my chest. I was burning up, but if I was going to get out of church, I had to be convincing. I even put on the I’m-on-my-freaking-period-so-leave-me-the-hell-alone attitude.
“I don’t feel good!” I snapped.
“What’s wrong?” Dad asked.
I turned my face in his direction.
“I’m on my period, okay Dad?” I barked. “I’m cramping really badly and would like to be left alone!”
And that was all I needed to say. Dad nodded and left without another word, closing the door softly and shushing Oliver, who was in the hallway complaining about fairness.
“Yeah?” I shouted. “It’s not fair that I have to be a woman and go through this crap every month!”
I thought that was a nice touch.
I didn’t hear any more voices in the hallway. I did hear my family pile into Dad’s SUV and pull out of the driveway, and I immediately turned off the heating pad and flung it on the floor. I breathed deeply, lying on my bed spread eagled to cool down. I was sweating, my hairline beaded and underarms soaked.
Just then my phone beeped. I grabbed it from the nightstand.
Mark: Cadence? Will I see you today at church?
I debated replying. The mature woman in me said not to because I would end up typing something I’d regret, but the immature seventeen-year-old said to let him have it.
Me: No.
Mark: Oh. That’s disappointing. I was hoping to see you today.
Me: Why?
Mark: ?
Me: I mean, I just figured your new girlfriend would keep you company.
There was a brief pause. I thought he might not respond at all.
Mark: What are you talking about?
Me: I’m talking about the woman you were on a date with last night.
Another pause.
Me: That’s right. I was there last night. I saw you.
Mark: It’s not what you think, Cadence.
I could actually hear the condescension through the text.
Me: Don’t “Cadence” me. It was a flat-out date. I’m not a freaking idiot. But you’re an asshole!
Mark: Why don’t we talk instead of text?
Me: Go to hell.
Mark: Cadence? Will you please let me call you?
Me: Fuck. You.
Mark: Real mature.
Me: Don’t talk to me about—
My phone rang, automatically switching the screen to the caller, and since I was in the middle of typing, I accidentally answered.
“Cadence?”
“What?” I screamed.
“Please don’t hang up,” Mark said.
“I think you’re the biggest piece of shit on the planet! I can’t believe I ever trusted you! You’ve been dating girls behind my back this entire time! I knew there was a reason you didn’t wanna see me this weekend!”
I waited for his response. He took his time.
“Her name is Tiffany,” he said.
“I don’t give a shit!”
“She works with my mom, and without my knowledge, Mom set us up on a date. Once she told me, it was too late to back out. I would have looked like a jerk.”