The Art of Moving On | ✔

CHAPTER TEN; part one

     It's hard to tamp the pain of rejection that squeezes at my chest as I watch Dres get into his car and drive away. In retrospect, I should've seen this coming. The reality is a guy like me doesn't end up with a guy like Dres.

     Knowing this doesn't make me feel any better. It hurts all the same.

     Some part of me expected this, and wants to walk away unscathed. I wish I could pretend none of it mattered. So Dres and I were just friends. At least it was clear now, and I could stop pining.

     I decide I can't stay outside and wallow forever, but before I can get to the door, my mom pulls it open. "Cas?"

     "Mom uh hi," I say quickly, swallowing the sour taste in my throat.

     "What're you doing out here?" she asks.

     "Nothing—I was just coming in."

     She gives me a skeptical look but doesn't press as I close the door behind me, and shrug out of my jacket, moving to hang it up on a hook by the door.

     She's leaning against the railing of the stairs, arms crossed. She asks in a too-casual-to-be-real tone, "How was your day?"

     "It was good," I respond with a noncommittal shrug.

     "That was Dres out there, wasn't it?" 

     I wince, wishing she hadn't seen him. Her voice says she knows more than she's letting on.

     I don't see any point in lying about it, and since I highly doubt he'll ever be dropping me off at my door again, I nod my head and go, "Yeah."

     She hesitates. "So when you said you were going to the movies with friends..."

     I nod again. "I meant Dres."

     "Is this the first time you and Dres have... gone to the movies?" she asks curiously. Movies suddenly feels like a euphemism for something else.

     I answer, "Yep."

     She raises an eyebrow slowly. "Are you and Dres going to make going to the movies a regular thing?"

     "Probably not," I answer itching to go upstairs and bury myself in my bed. I start for the stairs but my mom reaches for my arm and stops me.

     Both her eyebrows are raised on her forehead in question. "Probably not?"

     "Yeah, it was a one time thing," I say.

     Her expression goes slack, softening. "Are you – are you okay with that?"

     "Yeah," I say as my stomach clenches. "Yeah, no it's fine."

     She stares at me, and I try to remain impassive. This is really the last conversation I want to have. Finally she goes, "Dresden is...different than how I expected."

     I shrug, not really interested in hearing her talk about Dres since he just shot me down. But I like him too much not to hear her comment so I ask, "How so?"

     "He's not as hard as you made him seem," she says. "I think he's a lot more sensitive than you realize."

     I scoff. "Yeah, I don't know about that."

     "You never mentioned he was a veteran."

     "I didn't know," I tell her.

     "You didn't think to ask about the name of his shop?"