Crazy Girl(11)

Me: Hey. Can you give me just an idea of what time you are thinking?

Wren: Just got off. Heading home now. I still have to shower and change.

Rolling my eyes so hard it almost hurt, I let out a frustrated growl. Was I really asking that much? I mean, seriously? Was he incapable of even giving me an idea of time? Could he not mentally add up how long it would take to go home, shower and change, and head my way? I was starting to regret going all out for this date. If this wasn’t a slow blow off, I didn’t know what was.

Twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t texted back. I was done. It was Friday night, I was looking good, and I wasn’t going to waste it sitting around waiting for some guy I didn’t even know to grace me with the courtesy of telling me what time he’d like to meet. I tried to be understanding, be casual, but I felt jaded. Here I was waiting around for someone that clearly didn’t really care if we met up or not. I was better than this. I deserved better than this and maybe he didn’t really know me, but I did.

Me: Okay. Let’s just forget it. I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be rude, but it’s Friday and I can’t sit here and wait forever for you to just give me a time for when you think you will be here. I’m trying to be understanding. I’m just asking what time. And that appears to be a question you can’t answer so I’ll let you off the hook. No hard feelings.

Five minutes later.

Wren: Actually that was pretty rude, I was driving home and just pulled in the driveway and saw your last text. I live on back roads and find it not safe to text while I’m driving so no I was not looking at my phone when the text came in.

I stared at my phone, wanting to scream at it. To scream at him. I had asked multiple times what time he thought he’d be available before he even left from work. This was ridiculous. He’s not interested, Hannah, I told myself. If he was, he would have made a clear-cut plan.

“Get on this app,” I muttered to myself, imitating Courtney. “It’ll be easy,” I went on. I had officially lost my mind.

Me: I understand, but I asked you several times and you couldn’t or rather wouldn’t answer. That seemed rude to me.

I stared at the text and noticed how whiny it was. A few minutes passed by when my phone started ringing. He was calling. I stared at the screen, wide-eyed and freaking out. Dealing with confrontation was easier via text, I wasn’t sure I’d fare well on the phone.

“Just answer it,” I said out loud. Inhaling a deep breath, I answered, “Hello?”

“Hello, Hannah,” his deep voice replied. It was the first time we’d spoken outside of texting and his deep baritone surprised me.

“Wren.” I said his name plainly, stoic. I didn’t know what else to say, because this was awkward. He’d basically put me off all evening, and I’d just told him not to bother. So why was he calling? And why did I care? I danced on the line of soaking in his voice and hanging up on him.

“Are you done acting like an asshole?” he asked next.

My mouth fell open in shock, but for some reason I couldn’t explain, I wanted to laugh. He didn’t say it cruelly, more like he was speaking with an emotional child, asking if I was ready to act like a big girl now. I was so shocked, I had to laugh.

“I’m an asshole?” I chuckled.

“You’re acting like one.”

I laughed again. Was this really happening? I mean, seriously? Whiny or not, he’d flaked on me all night, and he was calling me an asshole?

Working hard, I managed to hide any hint of humor in my voice when I asked, “How do you figure that?”

“I told you I had to work, and I’d text you when I left work letting you know I was heading home but you beat me to it,” he explained patronizingly. “I get home and find this text telling me to just forget it.”

“A window of time, Wren. It’s not that hard.”

“And like I already told you, I was driving and couldn’t read your texts. It’s dangerous to text and drive.” He sounded like an afterschool special. He was calm. Really calm. And that frustrated me even more. He was trying to act like the voice of reason making me out to be some kind of mad woman. One thing was to acknowledge it to yourself, another was to have a perfect stranger using it against you.

“It’s just…common courtesy,” I stammered.

“Hannah,” he spoke my name in that irritatingly calm tone, his voice deepening. “I’m sorry I did not get you a time sooner. It’s been a hectic day for me. I’m home now and need to shower and change. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you and would still like to. Would you?”

My pride clutched my hand like a dear friend offering me strength; encouraging me to stand my ground. What woman would go out with him after he’d acted like such a flake?

“Please, Hannah,” he added, his voice filled with sincerity.

Oh. While pride held tightly to one hand, empathy took my free one and gave it a squeeze. He sounded sorry. Now I was torn. Maybe he was genuinely remorseful or maybe he was an asshole looking to get his way. The pessimistic side of me leaned more toward the latter. I saw myself as being the kind of woman to call a person on their bullshit. I believed myself to be powerful that way, but I was also a firm believer in second chances. We’ve all messed up at some point; made mistakes—deserved a second chance. While a fierce woman, I also wanted to believe I was soft, forgiving. Though, this way of thinking had exploded in my face before. Trying to be both was probably one of the reasons I was half mad—sometimes I wondered if it wouldn’t be simpler to stay true to one side. Ah, but those second chances got me. They were the stuff romance novels were made of—they were filled with hope. And I was a sucker for a man that tried after he messed up. I knew this was all romanticized in my head, that Wren didn’t know me nor I him, but it was always the what-if that got me. What if I gave him a second chance and he turned out to be the love of my life? What a beautiful tale of love that would be. I wanted to say no, that he’d missed his chance, but something told me despite how inconsiderate and rude he’d been, I shouldn’t cancel. Something told me I needed to meet this man. Connect the strong voice to its owner. My mind ran wild with ideas about him. I enjoyed riddles, enigmas. I loved trying to dissect people and figure out what made them tick. Why had he been so unwilling to commit to a time, yet when I canceled he’d called and tried to smooth it over? Was he about the chase? Did he only want women that played hard to get? My biggest fear was he’d show up to dinner and we’d have an awful time, but maybe…just maybe…the experience would spawn an idea that would lead to something bigger. Like a novel…and a paycheck from said novel. Mysterious men were a big hit with the book community. My pride squeezed hard, whispering he had left me hanging all evening and he didn’t deserve a second chance. That thought made me cringe when I took into account how much time I’d spent preparing for meeting him. Not to mention waiting to meet him. But there was always the chance he’d surprise me. This is ultimately what I hoped for. I loved when people surprised me.