Love Won (Winning at Love book 1) Page 3

  “Grandma?” I asked, on the verge of tears. “Can I call my mom?”

  “Not now, dear! Don’t you know anything about storms? If lightning strikes the lines while you’re on the phone, you’ll be electrocuted. We need to prepare to ride this out. It might be hours.”

  “Okay.” I simply nodded my head, agreeing. Never had I wanted my mother so badly in all my life. I was petrified. Once settled in the basement, my grandmother turned her old radio on and began flipping stations to get a storm update.

  It turns out there was no impending doom or storm coming to us in Guelph, we discovered from the announcer on the CBC in his weather report. “…and it’s 6:20 p.m. in beautiful Guelph. Clear skies and sunshine expected for the next several days, all across Southern Ontario. No rain in the forecast. This is Kent Broadbent, coming to you from the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.”

  Grandma Mildred had crept back upstairs. After gingerly turning the TV back on, she realized we’d been watching an American news channel from Wichita or someplace. She had forgotten to switch it back to the local station after the latest episode of “The Young and the Restless” had aired earlier that afternoon.

  Needless to say, that was the last time I’d spent the night at my grandmother’s alone.

  So, I guess it’s no wonder that my mom had a tendency to go a bit overboard about things when we were kids, and still does to this day—it was inherited. For my mom, every event—small or large—was either something needing to have a big deal made out of it or an outright celebration. But, crazy gene aside, she and my dad were the most loving parents on our block, even if they were also the most embarrassing.

  The household of David and Katie Hatfield was a home where the neighbourhood kids and our friends were always welcome to come swim in the summer, or to hang out somewhere warm in the winter. My mom is definitely the apple that didn’t fall far from the tree, as they say. She, too, is her own brand of special, like my grandmother. My mom’s standout specialty, though, is her cakes.

  My mom literally baked a cake and added a page in the family scrapbook for each and every thing that ever happened to us! She said it was so we would never forget anything good that we experienced. Everything—and I mean everything—was a cause for festivity with my mom, including—and not limited to—the day Keaton discovered his first pubic hairs, and the day I got my period. Yep, it was always good times in the Hatfield household, let me tell you.

  With these memories surfacing, I pull into my subdivision, deciding my safest bet is to call Kami once I’m back in the privacy of my own home. At home there will be wine, and I can freely pace and wave and flail my hands around while I talk, and share just how flustered and exasperating my whole experience was when I saw McCoy this afternoon. The last thing I need is for my brother to get wind of it and have more ammunition against me, and I’m not in the mood for one of my mother’s bake sales. Plus, hello? Girl Code—Kami will completely sympathize with me as she knows the depths of my struggles when it comes to Coy.

  Pulling into the driveway of my three-bedroom bungalow, I shake my head when I remember the day my peaceful world was first knocked out of its orbit: the day Keaton brought the new boy home for the first time. Luckily, I’d had May—my diary—to talk to and to keep my secrets, since McCoy soon became an almost-permanent fixture at the Hatfield home. I’d needed an outlet, one who wouldn’t judge, tease, bake me a cake, or use my crush against me. I must’ve filled eight or so books over the years from the time I started and stopped writing to May. It’s upsetting me to think of her now, as I have no idea where the series of diaries that was May ended up. She just disappeared one day.

  “I should check the storage unit again,” I mutter to myself, putting my Prius in park, and wracking my brain to try to figure out where the books could be. Did my mom dump them during the basement renos? Oh my God…does Keat maybe have them? Perish the thought!

  Funny, some entries I remember so vividly and others I think might be fun to reminisce about while having a glass of wine or two, maybe on a night like tonight. Suddenly, I miss May so badly.

  June 15, 2003

  Dear Diary, I mean, Dear May,

  Today my mom bought me a training bra.

  “I can see her nipples through her shirt, it’s time to cover the girls,” she told the salesclerk way too excitedly while the lady measured my chest. Because from where I was standing, that was about all I had going on right now—a chest, not boobs.

  “Barely,” I’d huffed out, so annoyed. I was happy to get a sports bra, but nooo, Mom insisted on buying me something “pretty”.

  “Pretty bras and panties, sweetheart. Always go for the pretty ones,” she said, placing an array of training bras in her hand after having me sized.

  Oh, and it didn’t stop there. Of course, she thought we should celebrate by baking a cake and having a big family dinner. Dinner I got to choose, being my big day and all. I swear this craziness of celebrating embarrassing stuff needs to stop. I try to act excited, knowing it makes Mom so happy, and, well, ’cause I know she’s a bit crazy like Grandma Mildred. That’s just the stuff she does to show her love.

  “Milestones,” she said, and swore we’d remember days like these forever because times like this are worth remembering.

  And OMG, May!!! She was right, in a way. I can promise you, I will NEVER forget tonight, EVER! You’ll never guess what happened!!! If I thought the shopping trip was bad, dinner was a zillion times worse!!!

  Because guess who Keaton brought home for dinner? Guess who his new best friend is??? Yep!!! McCoy FREAKING Graves!!! I almost died when they walked in the house. I’d been avoiding him at school for days, so I had no idea how close McCoy and Keaton had become. I knew they talked and hung out at school, but coming over for dinner?? That’s real friendship!!!!!! Seeing him in my house made my palms sweat. I wasn’t sure if I should smile and say hi, or run and hide, after having embarrassed myself that day in the office. Plus, I was sure he could see the outlines of my new bra through my T-shirt.

  My mouth started twitching like it couldn’t decide if it should smile or not. It was sooo embarrassing, especially when his beautiful blue eyes met mine with recognition, and his mouth opened saying, “Hey, Eastlyn.” WOW, my name sounded good when he said it.

  But McCoy’s coming over for dinner turned out to be the least of my worries. I’d been so wrapped up in trying not to look like a fool while eating my spaghetti in front of him, I’d forgotten about the cake. When dinner was over, I had started to excuse myself when my mom reminded me that we all needed to have dessert first.

  Then, sure enough, my mom brings out the stupid cake which—in true Katie Hatfield genius—is mounded like two igloo-shaped domes joined side by side! And she’d even added candles! Not one, but two!! Two freaking candles strategically placed in the centre of each rounded hump. They looked like flaming nipples! Nipples, May! All ’cause I got a bra!!!!

  I sat there, silently staring at the burning titcake, thankful that at least my mom had iced it to make it look like it was wearing a cute bra. I hoped and prayed that no one would share why we were celebrating, but I AM NOT THAT LUCKY!!!!!! Sure enough, McCoy took his piece, thanked my mom, and asked what the occasion was. Without missing a beat, Keaton opened his stupid mouth and said: “My sister’s boobs are coming in.” I choked on my milk, while Keaton laughed and laughed. Thankfully, my dad cuffed him up side the head. But God, May, it was awful.

  And that’s not even the worst of it. That jerk, McCoy, had to bring it up again an hour later, too, he just flipping had to. As he was leaving, he went out of his way to make sure no one else was around before walking up to me in the hallway. Lucky for him, my brother was in the washroom. Waiting for Keaton, McCoy stood there taking me in, staring and smiling, his eyes filled with what I’d describe as mischief. He glanced down at my chest, then the little jerk stepped toward me, leaned in close to my ear and said: “Congratulations on the mosquito bites.” He shouted goodnight to Ke
aton as he walked out the front door, and I could hear him still laughing as he walked home down the street.

  Never have I ever been so humiliated in all my life!!! God, I can’t even write anymore tonight, May. I just need to go to bed and forget this.

  TTFN and thanks for listening,

  East

  Oh, and P.S., I officially hate cake!

  Once inside my living room, I grabbed myself a glass of red wine and sat down on my couch to call Kami.

  5

  Indifference, Maybe?

  “I’m so glad you lived to tell the tale,” Kami says, laughing in my ear.

  “I really don’t like you most of the time. You know this, right?” I ask. I’ve spent the last twenty minutes talking her ear off about running into McCoy and how horrible it was, and how I almost died, not only of embarrassment but also of Ritz Crackers.

  “Aww, did you land your ass cheek on a box corner when you fell? That why you’re so gritchy?”

  “I’m hanging up now,” I singsong.

  “Okay, okay. I’m kind of sorry.”

  “Kam,” I chide.

  “All right. Seriously, though…it’s over. You survived. And he’s probably only here for a visit or something. It was a chance encounter, so you can continue on living with mock indifference about Coy, knowing bumping into him like that was a one-off,” she says. I pause, taking in her words.

  “Mock indifference”.

  What a great way to describe my performance.

  Over the years, I’ve tried to become a master at feigning indifference whenever the topic of McCoy came up in conversations with my family, particularly my mom. I always gave them monosyllabic “hmms” and “oh yeahs”, trying to appear unaffected that the one man I’d grown to love had left me behind to nurse a broken heart. McCoy had some crazy pull on me from the get-go, but as much as I tried to hide it, everyone seemed to suspect it in spite of my efforts.

  “Anyway,” Kami’s voice cuts through my thoughts, “Keaton would tell you if Coy was back for good. In fact, that big shit would probably be first in line so he could watch your facial expression when you heard the news.”

  “I’m not sure about that. You know how tight those two are,” I say. “I think Keaton’s loyalties lie with McCoy.”

  “Whatever. You’re his blood. He’ll always have your back, even if it has to do with Coy.” I take a big sip of my wine, mulling things over.

  Keaton and I had been inseparable growing up. Well, until we hit puberty. Then McCoy Graves hit town and the two boys became thick as thieves, and suddenly it hadn’t been very cool to hang out with your little sister anymore. Keaton was still my favourite person, despite the crap he’d put me through where McCoy was concerned.

  “I like to think Keat would tell me if anything had changed regarding Coy, but I did also tell Keaton never to mention his name to me, so…” I trail off.

  But it really is all Keaton’s fault that I’m in this stressed-out predicament. In Grade 8, he just had to go and befriend the one boy I wanted to beg him not to hang around. But nooo, my brother and Coy became inseparable, and only grew closer over the years. And they stayed close, too, even after McCoy moved hours away to Brockville. He came to visit a lot at first, then started returning home less and less. He was busy with his new friends and that Lola, and—according to my brother, as he told my parents one night—the biggest reason Coy was avoiding coming back to Guelph was that he’d had a huge falling-out with his parents. I guess he’d finally confronted them about the way some things went down in his childhood, things he’d been upset about. From the sounds of it, their conversation hadn’t gone very well. I’d been a little conflicted about the fact that I didn’t have the balls to reach out and offer McCoy any sort of comfort; I just didn’t know if he’d think I was an idiot or if he’d welcome my call. In the end, I’d left it alone.

  “True,” Kami says, “but if he is here for more than just a visit, and your brother doesn’t tell you, I’ll kick his ass myself. Okay, pumpkin?” We both laugh.

  “Okay. You know, I haven’t seen Coy in forever. And he looks good, Kam. Really good.”

  “East, don’t even go there. He’s the crusher, the boy who wouldn’t give you the time of day. Do not go there,” she warns. “But, like, how good looking are we talking, here?”

  “Kami! Not helping! You need to be the strong one. Keep my distance, keep him out of sight, out of mind; that’s always been your advice. No encouraging this,” I scold, and we both laugh.

  “I can’t believe it’s been four whole years since McCoy left,” Kami says.

  During Coy’s absence, I never took Keaton up on any of his invitations to tag along when he’d drive up to Brockville to see McCoy. Nope, I’d preferred to stalk him on my terms, online and from a safe distance. If you ask me, technology is also a culprit here. Sure, it allowed Keaton and Coy to stay close which was great for them, but shitty for me, seeing as social media turned me into such a creeper. With things like Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook, it was almost like he’d never even left. Although I tried to ignore everything Coy-related, I easily found ways to let my curiosity win, and I’d find myself lurking on his IG or Facebook, sometimes several time a day. Curiosity most definitely killed this cat. It was a cycle I couldn’t control. I’d check out his social media, then immediately be pissed at myself for caving, and pissed at him for affecting me even when he lived hours away. Though judging by my spastic actions at the store, it’s the grown-up in-person version of McCoy which is the one that affects me most of all.

  “I know,” I say. “I wasn’t expecting that seeing him again would impact me like this. It’s as if I’ve smacked into a wall of memories and feelings that I’d thought I’d torn down,” I admit, keeping the creeping tendencies I’d developed in his absence to myself. I admit, I had developed a serious problem in the beginning, one I feel I’d overcome with time and will power, and it’s a habit I refuse to take up again, no matter how tempting it might become.

  “It’s all going to work out, you’ll see. Seeing him’ll just be like the worst sex you’ve ever had: a quick in-and-out, then poof, he’ll be gone again.” Kami bursts out laughing, and I laugh along with her.

  “Says the virgin,” I tease.

  “Hey, I have sisters who get around, remember?” she jokes. “And I read a lot of Cosmo.”

  “This is why I called you, Kama-lot. Thank you.”

  “Anytime, babe. ’Night.”

  “’Night.”

  I end the call feeling much better. Kami’s right, Keaton would have told me if McCoy was back in town for good, just like she said. And if not, I just might have to sic Kami on Keat’s ass. Even though he might like that way too much.

  6

  Her Name Was Lola

  Alone in my room, sleep evades me. Even after talking everything through with Kami, my thoughts replay what happened earlier at Weller’s grocery store at an infuriating rate—over and over and over. The images of me falling into the cracker display are enough to have me screaming into my pillow with utter humiliation. It’s hours later, but I can still feel traces of the burning heat in my cheeks from being in Coy’s vicinity. “I’m such an idiot.” I bury my head under my soft blanket. “Such. An. Idiot.”

  I hadn’t seen McCoy many times over the years, since that day he unknowingly left me brokenhearted at the end of his driveway. My heart had ached that day with the knowledge that he was leaving, and I had so much to say to him. Keaton stood beside me talking to McCoy, yet I myself couldn’t seem to form a sentence over the ringing in my ears or the way my mind was racing with the words I needed to say but couldn’t:

  Don’t go.

  I love you.

  I’ll miss you…

  I was stunned. He was moving away. This was really happening. Everyone probably thought I was suffering from heatstroke or something as I stood, silent and numb, battling my inner turmoil. I remember the guys both asking me repeatedly if I was all right, and all I could do
was nod, and utter monosyllabic responses. If I’d opened my mouth to say anything more, I think I might have upchucked. Realization was hitting me in the stomach like a Mac truck: Coy was leaving Guelph for God knew how long and I wouldn’t be able to see, talk to, or even smell him like I had almost everyday since I was twelve-and-a-half years old.

  I had been twenty-two that day; he and Keaton were twenty-three. It was a hot August Sunday, and McCoy was his usual dashingly handsome self. He wore green camouflage shorts, and a tight white V-neck T-shirt which gifted me with glimpses of the six-pack hiding beneath it as his shirt slipped up from time to time as he moved around his grey Ford Explorer. Shifting and stuffing boxes of books, bags of clothing, and small pieces of furniture, he worked to maximize the space so he could get the last few bits of his life into the back of his vehicle. After many months of waiting after graduating from teacher’s college, there hadn’t been any job openings in our Upper Grand School District; people weren’t retiring as early as they had in the past. Like so many other new teachers, McCoy was forced to apply to other boards hoping to find a job. He got one, so McCoy was moving to Brockville, Ontario. He’d accepted a position teaching Grade 10 English over five-and-a-half hours away. Away from me…

  “Excited for you, man,” I heard Keaton saying beside me as he handed McCoy the last box.

  “Me too. I’m going to miss this place, though,” Coy said, and I could feel his gaze shift from my brother to me. “You going to come visit me, East?” he asked, forcing me to turn my head to face him. It was like a sucker-punch to the gut. All the things I longed to say were at the tip of my tongue. But instead of allowing my verbal diarrhea to escape, I simply nodded my head “yes”, knowing I could never come visit him. Not when he was with someone else; I didn’t have the heart. Because not only was he leaving, he was taken. And she was off to the side, talking to her own family.

  “I’ll come up next weekend, teach,” Keaton said proudly, drawing my attention. “I’ll see if I can drag this one with me.” He nudged my shoulder, and I flicked off his Blue Jays hat, earning me a chuckle from Coy.