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scratchy denim of my jeans.
I wish I hadn't left the television on. I wish I hadn't seen the interview. I wish I had realized before this
instant that there's something I fear more than being hurt by Cullen: Losing him.
My catatonic stare remains locked on the screen as the interview wraps up. Smiling, Cullen says
something to the reporter as they shake hands. I don't hear a word of it. The SportsCenter host moves
on to the next story. I don't pay attention to it.
Instead, I stay frozen in place on the couch while my own private nightmare plays over and over again in
my head, ending the same way each time. I keep pushing Cullen away. He falls in love with someone
else. He kisses her. Wraps his arms around her. Smiles his crooked smile at her.
"I don't want it to be her," I choke, swallowing the lump in my throat. "I want it to be me."
Eager to talk to him, I want to call him& but I don't know what to say. I don't even know if he wants to
hear from me. He hasn't contacted me since I left the penthouse Thursday night. Sniffling, I pick up my
phone from the coffee table and send a text message to test the waters.
*Saw the interview. You were great.  B
Although I try not to get my hopes up, after several minutes pass with no incoming text, I worry that
communicating with him before the game was a bad idea. Maybe he's not ready to talk. Maybe he thinks
I'm screwing with his head. Maybe he's out with his family& or friends.
To torture myself, I watch Cullen's interview when it airs on SportsCenter again the next hour. He's a
natural in front of the camera, coming across as confident yet humble. That combination is as appealing
to me now as it was on the day I met him. For the second time tonight, I wait breathlessly when he's
asked about a relationship, and then endure the sight of Tanya standing nearby. This time, I pay
attention to the end of the interview, listening as he says his sister and her friend are taking him to meet
a large group of their old, college friends. I don't know exactly why that makes me feel better, but it does.
Once the interview is over, I turn off the TV and get my laptop, hoping to be productive. I spend some
time looking up college football scores and stats from the day, making notes for Monday's show. I clean
out my refrigerator. I order in Chinese food for dinner. I listen to the CD of jazz music Cullen made for me
a couple of weeks ago.
And I check my phone for messages every two minutes.
As the hours pass, I'm increasingly restless. I can't focus on work any longer. Nothing on TV holds my
attention. In my head, memories of Cullen mingle with visions of what will happen when he gets home.
My devoted heart has already decided what it wants, rapidly objecting to any scenario where I can't
repair the damage I've done. My rational brain, however, still doubts my ability to fully surrender to my
feelings.
Sue has played the part of counselor many times for me, but I don't want to consult her on this one. I
would feel sneaky asking her for advice about a relationship that my dad doesn't know exists. Picking up
my phone, I call the only other woman I trust to be completely truthful: my mom.
She's surprised to receive a call from me on a Saturday night, especially since we talked four days ago. I
can tell from her voice that she's immediately on alert, but she lets me ramble on about unimportant
subjects for a while before she gently pries the truth from me.
Once I begin talking about Edward, the whole story comes pouring out in a mostly-chronological
account. I don't tell her who he is  I don't want her to know that Dad knows him  but I tell her he's not
like anyone I've dated before. I relay my initial refusals, the dates and dinners and talking that followed
once I gave in. Then, finally, his declaration of love and my ensuing freak out.
When I finish, I hear her sigh into the phone, but she remains otherwise quiet for longer than I expect.
"Mom," I whine when she doesn't offer advice. "What should I do?"
"That depends. How do you feel about him?"
"I& um, I," I stammer, pausing to clear my throat. Since Thursday, I've thought it again and again, but I
haven't said it out loud. "I& love him."
"Honey, that's wonderful."
"No, Mom. You don't understand," I continue, unable to stop the verbal stream of emotions now that I've
cracked. "I'm completely undone by him. He's so perfect. There's literally not one thing wrong with him.
He's chivalrous and old-fashioned in some ways, but also supportive of my career. He's sure of himself
and his feelings. He's sweet& smart& gorgeous. His bottom teeth are even straight! How am I
supposed to resist him?"
"You're not supposed to," she answers with a quiet chuckle. "You're supposed to do the same thing
everyone else does when they fall in love: Give him your heart and damn the consequences." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]