Plum Girl (Romance) (35 page)

He'd thought he'd come to terms with last night—with his doubts. He'd thought that he felt satisfied with Lonnie's explanations. But tonight something in him snapped.

It didn't take psychoanalysis for him to figure out what it was, either.

He was in love with her. And, apparently, it was one-sided.

Why else wouldn't she have said it back?

He wished she'd said it back. Which raised another interesting point: when had he become so fucking needy? He hated this. How jealous he was. How unsure he was that Lonnie was truly as innocent as she said. And how possessively he felt toward her—as though she were
his,
which was crazy.
Jesus.
Was anything worth all this aggravation?

Inside the bathroom, Lonnie stared helplessly at her reflection. How could this have happened? Just when she was thinking life was nearly perfect, her
perfect
boyfriend had morphed into a perfect dick for no reason at all. Here they'd had a wonderful day and night together, and now they were having a fight. Their first fight. And after he'd told her he loved her.

Suddenly a chill ran through her.

Then she realized what had been so obvious the entire time: it was just too good to be true. Why was she even surprised? Her luck with men had always been awful, and now, Dominick was just continuing the tradition.
Fine.
If nothing else, at least her experience had taught her not to draw out the agony. Better to end it quickly.

That still left the issue of facing him again. She gritted her teeth, sucked in a deep breath, and got ready to open the bathroom door. Then she heard a knock. "Lonnie." His voice was a thick rasp. "You don't have to leave," he said.

She whipped open the door and found him leaning against the jamb with boxers on. "Oh, how generous of you," she scoffed, and pushed past him. As efficiently as she could, she stripped off his shirt, and shielded her bare breasts with her hands, as she circled the room looking for her bra.
Where was that damn thing again? Oh, to hell with it!
She snatched her caramel-colored sweater off the floor, and turned her back to the bed while she slipped it on.

"Lonnie, don't go," he said. She ignored him. "Come on. Its not safe." He plowed his hand through his hair. "Don't you think you're overreacting just a little?"

She stopped what she was doing to glare at him dead-on. Then she looked away, and jumped into her faded blue jeans.

"Look, let's just agree to disagree—"

"About
what?
I don't even know what you're talking about! I don't even know why you're acting like this," she said, trying to keep her voice from cracking, as tears stung her eyes. One spilled over her lower lid, and she immediately turned away from him, so he wouldn't see how upset she was. She snatched her keys from his dresser and her coat from his desk chair.

"Oh, Lonnie—" He came up behind her, his gut twisting in knots. "I'm sorry. Come here." He tried to turn her in his arms, but she resisted. He held on, though, and put his face in her hair. "I'm sorry, baby," he crooned softly. "I'm sorry."

She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek and turned to face him. He tightened his arms around her, pressed his forehead against hers, and said, "Really. I didn't mean it."

She slid her hands up his chest and whispered, "But why did you say that about Terry? What's
wrong?"

He sighed. "Let's just forget it. I don't want to fight."

"But what are we fighting about? I explained what happened—"

"Look, it doesn't matter. Even if you slept with Terry, I don't want to talk about it. I just want to know that it's over now. That you're done with him."

She pushed him away, hard.

"Lonnie—" She grabbed her coat and bag, and stormed out of the bedroom. "Where are you going?" Dominick asked, following her to the front door. "Lonnie, wait!" He grabbed her arm as she was reaching for the doorknob. She yanked it away quickly. "Gimme a break. Why are you mad now?"

She held up her hand to silence him. "Don't make it any worse, Dominick."

"But—"

"In fact," she said, throwing on her coat, "I think its over."

"What?
That's ridiculous!"

"Why? Its obvious that this relationship isn't going to work, after all," she said curtly, struggling to keep some cool resolve. He made her cry once; she wasn't going to let him do it again. Not in front of him, anyway.

"What the hell are you saying?" he demanded.

"I just said what I had to say. Good night. I'm going home."

She clutched her bag fiercely and turned to leave before he could stop her. Using her cell phone, she called a cab and waited in the front vestibule of Dominick's apartment building for it to arrive.
So much for love,
she thought.

It was fun while it lasted.

Chapter 26

Lonnie made her way across the shaggy rug as quietly as she could, which was probably why she banged into the coffee table, accidentally dropped her keys, and then tripped over a book in the middle of the floor that she couldn't see because it was pitch-black. Suffice it to say, Peach woke up.

"Lonnie? Is that you?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep." She felt around for her bed and tried to climb onto it without having another clutzy incident. It was a nice idea, of course, but she'd forgotten that she'd left the phone there earlier, and she inadvertently sent it sliding onto the floor, banging hard right where the rug ended.

"I'm sorry!" she whispered sincerely. "Just go back to sleep."

"What time is it?" Peach's voice was thick with drowsiness, but Lonnie could already hear her shifting in bed.

"Late. I didn't mean to wake you; we can talk in the morning." She'd actually prefer that anyway, since she wanted to forget about the entire last hour, at least for the moment. She kicked off her shoes, shucked off her jeans and underwear, tossed her sweater God-knows-where, and climbed under her thick, cream comforter, uncharacteristically naked.

Peach's tiny book lamp switched on, and she said, "It's four o'clock. It
is
the morning. What happened, did you guys have a fight or something?"

Lonnie sighed. "Yeah. I don't want to talk about it. I think it's over."

"What?"
Now Peach audibly shot upright. "What do you mean over? You guys are crazy about each other."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"All right, if that's how you feel," Peach said, and turned off her book lamp. Lonnie sighed to herself with exhaustion and gloom, and rolled over, ready to let sleep blur her mind for a while.

Silence filled the room for all of thirty seconds.

"Just give me a hint."

She sighed again and said, "I can't really. None of it makes much sense."

"Well, I need more to go on if I'm going to solve this."

Lonnie let out a laugh, in spite of her abject misery. "Peach, there are actually some things you can't solve. I'm tired; we'll talk in the morning."

"Did he make a crack about your body? Is that it?"

"Of course not. What are you saying? I'm getting fatter?"

"No, no, I'm just trying to think what he could've done that would make you want to end everything." There wasn't a hint of drowsiness left in Peach's voice; she was chatting away as if it were the middle of the day.
Oh well,
Lonnie thought. She sat up, looking in Peach's general direction, but only seeing the faded green glow of the tiny iridescent moons that hung above her sister's bed, and started to explain.

"I don't know what happened," she said. "One minute everything was great, and the next he was accusing me of sleeping with Terry"—she sucked in a breath—"and then I left. But really, it's fine. It's just more of my bad luck with men. Whatever. I knew it had to end sometime. Anyway, perennial spinsterhood is not entirely without its benefits."

"Whoa, let's back up here," Peach said. "First of all, define 'accuse.'"

"He asked me who was better in bed, and then claimed he was kidding."

"Uh
-huh...
" Peach said, as if processing all the necessary information.

Lonnie continued. "Then he started doing the whole distant-guy routine."

"A-ha...
" Peach said. "Let me ask you, would you consider Dominick passive aggressive or more obsessive compulsive?"

"Wha—I don't know. Neither."

"Mmm-hmm..."

"Stop doing that."

"Sorry."

"Well? What do you think?" Lonnie asked.

Peach shrugged. "Did he apologize?"

"Yeah, he tried, but there was no point."

"Why not?"

"Because he was still acting like he didn't believe me. Its like, out of nowhere, he's gotten it in his head that there was more to the Terry situation than what I told him."

"So how did you leave things?"

"I told him it was over," Lonnie replied simply.

"You didn't," Peach groaned.

"What, you're on his side?"

"No, of course not! I just... Lon, I just don't want you to..."

"What?"

"Overreact."

Lonnie balled her fists at her side, and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration. "Peach, did you not hear a word I said? He thinks I slept with Terry when I told him that I didn't!"

"No, he's irrationally afraid you might have, and it's eating his guts out. There's a difference," she said calmly.

"I fail to see the distinction."

"What I'm trying to say is, yes, Dominick acted like an ass. But if you give up on the whole relationship now, you're never gonna get to see him grovel and beg for your forgiveness, which—believe me—he will."

"He should grovel!" Lonnie said indignantly.

"He will."

Lonnie propped her head with her hand. "But you know what the weird thing is? I don't even think he really believes that I lied about Terry. Part of me thinks he said it just to pick a fight with me. Does that make any sense?"

"Of course," Peach said. "Maybe he was trying to push you away because he doesn't believe he deserves happiness."

"I don't think that's it."

"Or he could always be mad for some other reason."

"I guess," she said, searching her brain and still not knowing what'd been bothering him.

"Don't you think you should find out what it is before you junk the whole relationship?" Peach argued. "You should at least explain to Dominick, in detail, why his behavior was totally unacceptable, so he won't do it again."

"Why should I have to explain it?" she snapped. Then she expelled a breath and continued. "If he doesn't understand on his own—"

"Please. He's just a dumb guy."

"Oh, that makes me so mad! I hate that 'just a dumb guy' excuse. It's a complete cop-out! And it's degrading. I mean, how would men feel if they knew how many times women just automatically concluded that they're simply 'too dumb' to be responsible for anything they say?"

"Are you kidding? They'd love it; they're the ones who came up with it. Lets them off the hook for everything." Peach softened her tone. "Look, I'm on your side here, believe me. But I just don't want you to—"

"What?"

"Use this as an excuse to sabotage your love life. You sort of have a history with that."

"I do not," Lonnie said... not completely convinced. She had to admit that she didn't have the best track record when it came to men. Until Jake, she'd pretty much avoided relationships by finding fault with any guy who'd taken an interest in her. After Jake, she'd used his asshole status as an excuse to shun sex... not to mention love, by taking up with Terry, a clown she'd never take seriously. Then her relationship with Dominick had suffered several awkward stops and starts that were pretty much all her doing. Now she was poised to run again.

But still... it was different this time.

"It was a fight," Peach went on. "That doesn't mean everything has to be over."

Lonnie plopped backward onto her pillow. "I don't want to talk about it anymore," she mumbled, and rolled over. "Good night."

This time Peach took the hint and settled back into bed. " 'Night."

The dark silence lasted this time, and kept Lonnie awake for a while. Dominick had acted like a jerk, and as far as she was concerned, that was his problem.
His loss.
Period.

So why, over an hour later—as she watched the sun break the vaguest hint of light into her apartment—did she still feel a painful pit in her stomach, a vacuous hole in her heart, and the hot wetness of the spot on her pillow where her stupid tears had fallen?

* * *

Mondays were bad enough, but this one was dragging on miserably. Every time the phone rang, Lonnie hoped it was Dominick. But it wasn't. Not once. Less than two days had passed since they'd last spoken, and she missed him terribly.

Too bad there was no way in hell she was going to call first.

This wasn't a question of maturity.
Really.
It was a matter of principle. He was the one who'd offended her, and he should be the one to call. If he didn't grasp that, well, then she was better off without him.

Then again...

In the heat of battle, she
had
sort of declared the end of their entire relationship. Please, did he actually take that literally?

To top things off, Twit informed her that Delia was going to sit at her desk while she was out of the office Tuesday and Wednesday. A bundle of nerves, Lonnie was planning to drive to Maine Bay College the following morning to meet Macey's friend Emma and go through a few interviews before heading back to Boston on Wednesday afternoon. That was stressful enough, but now with the Grand Master B sitting at her desk, Lonnie would have to worry about locking her drawers.

BRRINNG!

She answered her phone, trying to remember the new greeting Twit had taught her earlier. "Beauregard Twit's central headquarters for financial litigating prowess. Whom shall I tell Mr. Twit, Esquire, is calling?"

"Hey, kid. You got a minute?"

"Oh, hi, Detective," she said, hearing the usual ruffling of papers, and phones ringing in the background. "What's up?"