These Boots Weren't Made for Walking Read Free Page B

little old lady would catch him with Tweety in his fist.
    “Who is she?” I said quietly but with emphasis on each word.
    He shifted his weight and looked at the floor again. “I'm sorry.”
    “Who is she?” I demanded more loudly.
    “It doesn't matter.”
    “It does matter!” I yelled. “It matters to me!”
    “Just let it go—”
    “Let it go?” My voice was so loud that Felix made a run for it.
    “Come on, Cassie.” He tried that soft pleading tone on me, as if he was going to persuade me against my will, as if I would let him off easy just because he was “sensitive.”
    I folded my arms tightly across my chest and glared at him. “Who is she, Eric?”
    He exhaled loudly. “Well, I'm sure you'll find out eventually anyway.”
    He proceeded to tell me that he'd been spending time with Jessica Brauer, a twenty-something chick who had started coming to our church a few weeks earlier. I was the one who had originally befriended her. I felt sorry for this pretty girl sitting all by herself in the back one day. I'd invited her to our singles’ group that night. And when she came, she really opened up and told the group about how she'd been raised in a pretty messed-up home and how she'd recently become a Christian and wasn't really connected with believers. As a result, I went out of my way to call her occasionally, to invite her for coffee, and Eric and I had even taken her with us to several events this past month. Apparently Eric had spent time with her on his own as well. Who knew?
    “Look, it just happened, Cassie,” he said as if that explained this mess. “The truth is, I think it was a God thing.”
    “A
God
thing?” I tossed that one back at him as if it were a hot potato.
    “God brought us together, Cassie. Jessica and I both feel this way.”
    “You believe God set you up with Jessica so you could cheat on me?”
    “It's not like we're married, Cassie. We're not even engaged—”
    “That's for sure!” I opened the door for him now, like,
Here's your hat. What's your hurry?
    “Come on, Cass,” he said. “Don't end it like this—”
    “How do you expect me to end it?” I snapped.
    “Can't we still be friends?”
    “Friends?” Okay, I'm not a violent person by nature, but I sure felt like hitting him with something big and heavy just then. Instead I gathered up what little self-control remained and said, “Look, Eric, I hope you and Jessica are wonderfully happy” He smiled as though he thought I meant it. “That's—” “Have a great life together!” I shoved him with both hands, then slammed the door behind him.

y grandmother used to say that bad things always come in groups of three. Of course, I never took this adage too seriously. But now I'm not so sure. There's no denying that two very bad things have happened. What if there's a third one coming?
    As a result, I hole up in my little apartment for the next several days, waiting for the third shoe, or perhaps a boot, to fall. And as I wait, I consume calorie-laden foods like Doritos and Pepsi and Reese's peanut-butter cups, as if economists had forecast a serious junk-food shortage. Last night I wore a ball cap and trench coat when I went out to forage for my supplies. I didn't want anyone to recognize me.
    Like anyone would care.
    I sit around all day eating and watching disgusting soap operas and my thighs, which literally expand before me. Sometimes when I'm feeling especially fragile, I hold Felix as though he were a baby, and I tell him my troubles. As long as I scratch him in all the right places, he's a pretty good listener. We take catnaps together, and occasionally I wake up crying. I try to convince myself that I'mcrying over a soap opera I just saw, that I'm brokenhearted over poor Arial, who's having Beau's baby, but he's in love with her sister Bianca, who is sleeping with his father, who has just been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and can barely remember his wife's first name. But I know the truth. And like