Can't Go Home (Oasis Waterfall) by Angelisa Denise Stone Read Free Book Online Page B

with Eleanors, right?
    After the first time Theodore told me about Melody, I called him later that night (drunk) and said, “You should hold out for an ‘Eleanor,’ get married, make beautiful music together, and name her ‘Melody,’ it seems like the right thing to do.” I stated, laughing hysterically, while Sydney shook her head in disbelief at my immature and childish behavior. Break ups are hard. I say deal with them whatever way you want, just as long as you deal with them, and then finally get over them.
    Anyway, so during dinner, while I was fingering my glass, for lack of a better word, Theodore turned to me and said, “I couldn’t do it; I just couldn’t do it.”
    I nodded sympathetically at him, deciding to take a sip of my drink.
    “So, what do you think?” he asked, staring intently at me.
    Since I had no idea what he was talking about, I said, “If you couldn’t do it, you couldn’t do it.”
    “So you think we have a shot, then?” he asked, reaching for my hand. Panic set in as his hand covered mine.
    “A shot? At what?” I asked, nearly choking on my drink.
    “A future. You and me … sorry … you and I.” he answered.
    Apparently, Dre’s chest was extremely riveting, because I missed the part in Theodore’s story where he told me that he’d bought Melody a ring, booked a room at the most expensive hotel in Richmond, took her to a romantic dinner, and then couldn’t, could not, get himself to propose. Why? Why couldn’t he pop the question, you ask? Because it wasn’t me on the other side of the table. Holy Life Twist! I did not see that coming. Dang wine. Dang Dre in a tight t-shirt.
    Since Theodore is forever the intelligent man that I give him credit for being, he said that he knew he unloaded a lot on me (darn straight) and that I needed time to mull it over (his exact words). He didn’t want to pressure me, so whenever I had an answer for him, then I was to give him a call. He hoped “sooner, rather than later.” Theodore wanted to give us another shot, a more adult and more mature effort toward a future together.
    But that was last night. Right now, I am sitting on my balcony, nearly three hours late for work, drinking my third glass of wine. I’m probably going to call off; there is no way I can concentrate on some author’s fictitious story when my reality just blew whatever dumbass story that author wrote out of the water. A part of me wanted to grab and hold on to Theodore for the security he’s always given me. The other part, well, the other part has already moved on. Theodore was my past. I’d finally accepted that. But the safety and security of the past was so familiar and extremely tempting.
    When I woke up this morning, I immediately wanted to call Dre. I wanted to talk to him. I knew that he wasn’t the one to confide in, but I wanted to know if I’d get that breathless feeling talking to him, even knowing that Theodore was waiting in the wings. Did I only want Dre, because I had nobody else? Did I only want Theodore back, because I know deep down that Dre Donley is the unattainable, mysterious heartthrob who will never be mine?
    I didn’t know any of the answers to the million questions that were bombarding my mind. I couldn’t call Dre. I didn’t know his number, nor did I know where he lived. He was a drifter of sorts, so I knew I had to wait until he drifted back to the agency tonight at 5:30 p.m. Therefore, I’m drinking and thinking—in the embarrassingly late morning hours of the day.
    Just as I decide to bite the bullet and actually start getting ready for work, my cell phone rings. I don’t recognize the number on caller I.D. “Hello,” I say, hoping to avoid a lengthy phone conversation with my student loan bill collectors. I needed to dodge them for a few more months.
    “So should I hit up ‘Allie with an i,’ or are we still on for tonight, Kathryn?” he asks, emphasizing my full name.
    “Dre, I was just thinking about you. How’d