Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

could do it. I just didn’t understand why he was unwilling to do it when it mattered the most to me. But I also knew that I didn’t want things to end between us. I especially didn’t want them to end on such unfriendly terms. I felt certain that if I could just talk to him about it reasonably, without it turning into a shouting match, we could reach some sort of understanding.
    I finally broke down and called him three days later. He picked up on the fourth ring, right before it would have gone to his voice mail.
    “What?” he snapped, in lieu of saying hello. Any doubts I might have had that he was still angry went right out the window.
    “It’s me.”
    “I know.”
    Not a good start to the conversation. I made myself count to five, then said, “I’m sorry.”
    “Sorry for what exactly , darling?”
    “I’m sorry for—” I stumbled, trying to figure out what I was supposed to say. “For making you angry.”
    There was a stony silence on the other end of the line, and then he asked, “Are you really sorry, or is it only that your bed felt awfully empty these last few nights?”
    “Jesus, Cole,” I said, fighting back my anger. “Do you have to make this so hard? I’m trying to apologize—”
    “Listen, honey,” he interrupted me, “here’s the thing: I leave for Hawaii at the crack of dawn, so—”
    “What?”
    “—I really don’t have the time to wait for you to pull your head out of your ass.”
    “You’re leaving ?”
    “Did I not just say that?”
    “We have one fight, and you’re just going to fly off to Hawaii?”
    “As a matter of fact, I am. I dare say you’d leave yourself too, darling, if only you could.” There was an almost inaudible click, and he was gone.
    The entire thing made me furious. I couldn’t decide which one of us I was annoyed at more—him for being so arrogant or myself for even trying to apologize. I spent the evening getting gloriously drunk, and the entire next day at work regretting it. By five o’clock the nausea and headache had passed, but I still felt like I had been run over by a freight train. I managed to leave the office a few minutes early and drove home. My plan was a frozen pizza with an Alka-Seltzer chaser followed by a shower and then straight to bed.
    It wasn’t until after my shower that I noticed the light on my answering machine blinking at me. Every person I knew had my cell phone number. I rarely even paid attention to my land line. I hit play, and Cole’s voice filled the room, light and feminine and mocking. But there was a bitter edge to it this time too. There was not a doubt in my mind that he had intentionally called my home number while I was at work in order to avoid having to actually talk to me.
    “Here’s what it boils down to: I don’t want things to end between us. Not really. And especially not like this. Even if you are an uptight prick, you’re still my favorite person in all of Phoenix. But there are three things you need to know, and you better believe me when I tell you that these three things are one hundred percent non-negotiable. I won’t change who I am. I won’t spend all of our time together holed up in your bedroom just to keep from embarrassing you. And I won’t ever talk to you about this again.” There was a pause, and I wondered if he had stopped to count to five. “I’ll be home in exactly two weeks, Jonny-Boy. Ball’s in your court now.”

    I SPENT the next few days telling myself that I didn’t need him. It wasn’t as if I loved him. It wasn’t as if we had any kind of real relationship at all. We were fuck buddies, plain and simple. It was better to just forget him and move on.
    The problem was I couldn’t quite convince myself that it was true. Although I wouldn’t have called it love, the fact was I had grown used to having him around. I could not deny that I was fond of him, and more than that, I missed him. When I was being honest with myself, which was only about half of the time, I knew that I didn’t want things to end between us any more than he did. But despite all that, I still felt that he should have been willing to take my feelings into account too.
    I had lunch with my dad the following week. I tried to act like everything was normal, but I failed miserably. I knew I was being surly and short-tempered, but I couldn’t seem to do anything to stop. Finally, as we were finishing our meal, he asked in exasperation, “What’s wrong, Jon?”
    “Nothing!” I