Catching Tatum

Chapter 4

As we dressed, he looked at me for the first time without desire or satisfaction. I thought it might be love, but he didn't say it.

And that's how we got together. Luckily, I wasn't a hit it and quit it but he never acted like he was madly in love with me either. I imagined our kids asking how we got together one day. What would I tell them? "Oh... you're dad and I... we, um, hooked up one night and decided to be together after that."—How romantic. It depressed me, but I wanted to make it work because he was my first and that counted for something to me. Theo and Brett knew as soon as they saw us together at the mall. I was wearing Cole's jacket but I gave it back; my parents could not know I was dating anyone. The secret was out with the brothers, though, and Theo lectured me the whole way home about how stupid I was. We fought about them telling on me, but in the end, sibling code won out and they kept my secret.

Two months later, Cole finally met my parents.

I told him about needing permission to date so we lied and pretended to have our first date the week after I turned sixteen. That was kind of fun. It felt like I was putting something over on my parents. He came to the house; they let him in and sat him down on the couch. I sat close but not right next to him. Dad asked him what his grades were like, what he wanted to be when he was finished with school, how we met. Cole charmed his way through all the answers the way he charmed his way through everything.

"Sir, please. I know you don't know me, I know you don't have to give us permission, but I really like Tatum," he said, looking over at me. "She's beautiful, but she's cool, too. I've never met a girl who loves baseball as much as me, sir. I want to get to know her better." Then he turned the charm up. "I want to get to know you better. I mean, for Tatum to be as amazing as she is, she's gotta have pretty cool parents. Mine work way too much. I've seen you," he said, pointing to my mom, "at every game. And you," he said, looking at my dad, "at a lot of them. Mine are hardly ever there. They're proud of me but they work crazy hours and me and my stepdad don't get along at all. I don't know; it would kind of be nice to know you're all there cheering for me as much as for Theo." I saw my mom falling for it; she was a sucker for kids who didn't have parents in the bleachers. She was sold. My dad was not as easy. He stood up, still in his fatigues, arms crossed, and looked down at Cole, every inch of him saying he was bigger, stronger, and meaner than Cole ever would be ... and then he extended his hand to Cole.

"You treat her right—you hear me?"

Cole and I both grinned way too big. I wanted to jump on him and hug him right then and there, but I knew that was way too much since we were hiding the fact that we were already a couple.

Cole played me good and I was stupid enough to fall for it. He kept me around but never went out of his way to show me he cared. He was always flirting with other girls too. Always, and he made me feel bad for thinking it was rude. I started to feel like a mitt he could, and would, replace if I got too worn out or a better model came along. But I had to have him. I hated feeling so dependent and insecure. I was always looking for his favor, desperate for his approval and assurance that we were OK. I tried so hard to make him love me. I had a job at a fast food place on the weekends and spent way too much money on him: forty dollar video games, new pants, concert tickets. He appreciated the stuff but never reciprocated except for, like, flowers for our "monthiversaries," and such. The only nice thing he ever got me was a heart-shaped locket for our six-month anniversary that July. I did what I could to convince myself it was a good relationship. I learned to play the video games with him, even though I would have rather been doing something in real life. I got into the TV shows he liked to watch and let him brush my hair out and massage my head while I sat between his legs; OK, that was nice. We tossed a ball back and forth and played backyard baseball sometimes, but it wasn't enough to make me feel his love. The hazel eyes I loved to stare into, the smooth words that rolled off his tongue like honey, the sex I had become quite accustomed to—it wasn't enough—something was missing. I always felt like he loved me less than I loved him. I loved him big. I knew I would die without him, but despite the fact that he told me he loved me, I doubted him.