This has been the hardest chapter by far to write. I actually started working on this back around Halloween, rewrote it, showed it to a close friend, reworked a lot of dialogue, edited, etc.
I'm still not satisfied, but it's the best I can manage.
*****
Chapter 20
I wasn't sure what I needed to say to Randi. I tried out several approaches in my head, but none felt right.
The next time we had a guitar lesson, I welcomed her into my den. When she heard that Paige was upstairs, she leaned in for a kiss. I returned the kiss, but only briefly before pulling back.
"Right to the lesson, then, I guess?" she asked, noticing my body language.
"Actually, I'm not interested in guitars right now. We need to have a conversation."
"About what?" she asked, starting to show some concern.
"About you not going to prom."
"That?" she said, visibly relaxing some as if this topic weren't important at all. "I'm just not interested in the whole scene. No big deal."
"It seems like a big deal," I said. "A mighty big deal. And judging by the way all the girls have acted around here, the whole basketball team thinks so, too."
"If I want to hang out with my friends and have a good time, I can come here. We talk, we watch movies, we soak in the hot tub." When I opened my mouth to protest, she quickly continued, "I don't need to go to a school gym, surrounded by people who aren't part of my circle, listening to music I don't like while being hit on by boys I don't want."
"Prom is a big deal. People dress up nicer than they ever have before. They create memories that last a lifetime," I offered.
"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not really a girly girl. Putting on some overpriced dress and spending two hours on hair and makeup doesn't sound like my idea of a good time. And if you're with friends, then you create memories wherever you go, not just at some school dance."
Everything she was saying seemed to make sense, but that wasn't really the point. Between a wife and a daughter, I'd learned that women tend to be emotional and logic doesn't always factor in. But I couldn't say that; it would sound rather patronizing.
"Sometimes stepping outside your comfort zone can be a good thing," I argued. "Dressing up, going with a boy and being with your friends could surprise you. It could be a magical night."
"Wait a minute, a boy? Going out with a boy? What the hell are you talking about?"
"It's what high school girls do. They get escorts and corsages and they slow dance and drink punch." I realized I was starting to babble, but she didn't seem to be getting the point. "And years later when you are having lunch with your married friends with their babies, you can sit around talking, 'Hey, remember when Carrie tried to twerk in that tight dress and fell on her butt? That was soooo funny.'"
Who knows how long I might have continued jabbering away if I hadn't been stopped by the change of expression on her face.
"This isn't about me going to the prom."
"Of course it is, I just -"
"No, this is about us. You're trying to end things with me."
Pain shone across her face, and tears filled her eyes.
"I never said that. I just want you to have some typical high school memories like everyone else. I care a lot about you, but I don't want to hold you back from doing the things you should be enjoying."
"Holding me back?" she asked, a slight quiver in her voice. "You know, I had three years of high school before I ever met you, and there were no magical moments. The best memories I've ever had come from this house. Making friends, not just one but a whole room full of girls. Learning to play guitar, being with you."
"Now all of the sudden," she continued, but with a firmer voice and some irritation, "you're pushing this dance on me like I'm Cinderella and one night is going to change my life. Where did you get such a corny idea?"
"Call it corny if you want, but you never know what can happen if you open yourself to the possibility. I mean, I asked Beth to the prom our junior year, and we were inseparable after that. Why do you think the prom is such a bad thing? Would it be so awful if you were swept off your feet by some handsome guy?"
"I already was."
I tried to think of something smart and wise. I was the older one here - I should be the voice of reason, but I wasn't making any headway.
"Yeah, I was swept off my feet," Randi said, taking a step toward me, getting up in my face. "But I wasn't the only one who was caught up in the moment. You fell for me, too, so why are you trying to pawn me off on some Prince Charming I might meet at the ball?"
While I tried to think of an answer, she gave her own.
"You're scared of me."
"What?" Skinny little thing like her, why would I be scared?
"This isn't just some mid-life crisis for you, is it? You might have started out flirting with me, fantasizing about the 'teenaged hottie' but you slipped up. You fell in love."
I took a breath to tell her that was absurd, but when I locked eyes with Randi, the words wouldn't come out.
"You did, didn't you? You fell in love with me, and you were scared of getting hurt, so you decided to push me away. Hurt me before I can hurt you."
"I'm not trying to hurt you, Randi, I'm doing this for you. Yes, you and I were drawn together, but staying together? What kind of future are we going to have? You'll be going off to college and starting a career, maybe starting a family, and I'll be buying reading glasses and fighting off the middle-aged spread. You have so much more life left to live, and I'm already on the downside of mine."
"God, another adult trying to tell me how to live. Everybody means well, but in the end it all feels like people trying to control me. I'm a grown woman now, and I can make up my own mind about what and whom I want. And I've already found him."
"I've met thousands more people than you have, and I've seen so many different types," I said. "You haven't been exposed to as many people of the opposite sex. You need to date more so that you compare these guys to each other. See what you like and don't like before getting too attached to one person."
She snorted. "You're one to talk. Exactly how many women have you dated in your life? Hmm? Two, right? Beth and now me. Or maybe it's just one - maybe you don't count us as 'dating.' Maybe that's part of the problem right there. I feel like I'm in a relationship, and you're in denial."
I started to answer, but she raised her voice and spoke over me.
"So instead of saying dating, let's keep it simple: you've only slept with two people. Beth and me, that's it. You're the one who needs more dating experience."
