Casanova Cowboy (A Morgan Mallory Story) Page 12

  “I seem to be attracted to men who want to control me. And it’s Mathew, Mom, you know what a player he is. I’m afraid he wouldn’t give that up, maybe initially, but not permanently. Shit, I don’t know,” I raged on.

  “Yes, you do Morgan,” Mom said calmly.

  “Yes I do what?”

  “You know why.”

  I did know. He couldn’t say love, “try”, did not mean love. If he couldn’t say it after all we’d been through over the years he must not. Mom painfully listened to me wrangle with my feelings. As a mother, I realized it was hard for her to watch or to coach. When I finally decided I couldn’t take Mathew up on his offer to try and make it work she listened to me cry. As much as I wanted to give it a shot, Max had taught me something about going backwards. I was too afraid to just try.

  I was more broken up about my decision than Mathew would ever know. I cried easily, exercised obsessively, and lost weight. Mom was beside herself with worry. There was a part of me that wished he would swoop in like the white knight and carry me off, convince me he loved me. Like the Cinderella story I didn’t believe in, the happy-ever-after. He didn’t call, didn’t try to make me change my mind, which made me sad, and I had to come to grips with that as well.

  “Ryan called today,” Mom said as I walked in the back door.

  I had been to the beach with Liz. I was sticky with tanning lotion, sweat, and sand. I set my things down on the kitchen table. Ryan hadn’t called before; letters yes, but not phone calls.

  “I’m sure that towel is full of sand; put it in the laundry, please,” she said, annoyed.

  She didn’t mention the sand stuck to my legs and feet.

  “You talked to him? What did he say?” I asked.

  I picked up the towel and tossed it out the back door by the washer. Although Ryan and I had written a few letters back and forth, I hadn’t heard from him in a while.

  “He asked if he could take me up on my offer to visit. Work is slow, and he has some time. Thought it would be good to see California, get out of town for a while.”

  “You told him yes, I presume?” I asked excitedly.

  She put her hands on her hips and cocked her head at me.

  “Of course, we talked quite awhile. He told me about summer in Park City: slow and sort of lazy, but beautiful. Sounds like I would like it there in summer; I’m not big on the cold. Wouldn’t want to do year-round,” she mused.

  “When is he getting here?” I asked impatiently.

  “He’s driving, but he has several places he wants to see on the way. He’ll be here by next Friday,” she answered.

  We hadn’t over dissected my night with Ryan and suddenly I wondered what she thought about his request to visit. I was thrilled he was coming, thrilled to have a potential distraction from my man troubles. He knew about them from my letters. He carefully commented and encouraged me to move on from both men. That single night in Park City had been a fluke. I had felt unnerved, and he had been there to get me through it. We were friends. We could do this. The week drug by slowly as I waited for his arrival.

  “Ryan,” I cried out, running out the side gate to the driveway.

  I’d heard his loud muffler from the backyard, remembered the sound of his van. He grabbed me up in a hug, swaying side to side.

  “It’s good to see you,” he said grinning as he pulled away from me.

  “God, you look good,” I exclaimed as I stood back and looked him over.

  He rocked the cut-off jeans and um his firm tan arms in a body-hugging T-shirt…I had to laugh about the cowboy hat. I was surprised Ryan had even attempted to pull off this combo.

  “Flip-flops, Ryan? Really?” I teased as I squeezed his arms.

  “Why not? I hear anything goes in California.”

  I leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Still hitting the gym, huh?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah, keeps me out of the bars,” he teased.

  I laughed.

  “Right, you were always such a big bar guy. I think you usually left the minute I showed up. You never stayed to party with me,” I said, feigning hurt.

  He tilted his head forward and took off his cowboy hat tossing it in the front seat of the van.

  “I went to the bar with you a couple times. ‘Who’s the heater?’ Remember when that guy asked me that?” he said, chuckling.

  “He was jealous you were with me,” I said.

  “Damn right he was. He wanted the heater,” he said, giving me another squeeze.

  “Ryan,” Mom called, coming out the gate. “Morgan, invite him in, don’t keep him standing in the driveway.”

  “Hey, Patty,” Ryan said walking over to give her a hug.

  “I’m glad you decided to come, Ryan,” she said with a warm smile.

  Mom had only seen Ryan a couple of times: when she and I had gone to Park City to visit Pat and over Christmas when I lived there. She obviously liked him because she was the one who offered up a place to stay if he ever decided to visit. He’d never been to California and had mentioned several times in conversation that he wanted to see the state. Ryan talked to my mom as an equal, and with interest in what she had to say, and I could tell she liked that.

  “Come on,” I said, taking his arm.

  “What can I get you?” Mom asked. “A beer?”

  “A beer sounds great,” Ryan answered, following me into the backyard.

  She disappeared into the house. For Mom, any occasion was one to have a cocktail and celebrate.

  “Long drive, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Not bad,” he said shrugging his shoulders. “I just kind of get in a groove and go. Done plenty of long drives.”

  “When I drove home last spring, it seemed like it took forever. Sit, sit,” I said, sitting down in a chair.

  I was excited to have him here. I felt energized at the prospect of showing him around and thrilled to have another friend to talk to. I knew his presence would help prevent me from dwelling on other things.

  “This is really nice,” he said, looking around the backyard.

  “Not too shabby,” I teased, realizing our large yard probably looked like something out of Sunset magazine to him, a yard that screamed California.

  It had mature eucalyptus trees, palms, and pine trees lining its fenced perimeter. Inside the fence was filled with birds of paradise, bougainvillea, and other colorful flora. A large, kidney-shaped pool sat in the middle surrounding by patio lined with chaise lounges, chairs, and tables. The sliding screen door opened with a squeak.

  “Here, Ryan,” Mom said, handing him a cold Coors in a bottle.

  “Thanks, Patty,” Ryan said, taking it from her with a smile. “When I was in Florida the pilots used to bring us back Coors as a treat, or we’d give them money to buy it for us. Couldn’t get it in Florida when I was there.”

  “Yeah, I remember when you could only get it in Colorado,” Mom chuckled and sat down. “How was the drive?”

  I watched her tap her pack of cigarettes on the table until one came out. She put it to her lips and grabbed her Bic lighter.

  “Here,” Ryan said, reaching out and taking it from her. He flicked the lighter and lit her cigarette for her.

  “Thank you, Ryan,” she said with a hint of her southern accent coming through.

  She gave me a look that I interpreted as see, there are nice ones. She had listened to too much about my love life, too much of it that hadn’t worked out very well. She never said it, but I knew she thought I hadn’t made the best choices in men. She didn’t have to say it, I already knew. I desperately wanted to change that, why I wanted to distance myself from men and take a long hard look at myself.

  Chapter 13

  “This is one of mom’s favorite places,” I said, settling into the restaurants wooden chair.

  Ryan and I had just scored one of Jake’s heavily sought-after window tables. I smiled as I watched Ryan take in the view, the green grass just outside the window that rolle
d down to the white sand, then the stretch of beach down to the blue ocean, crashing and foaming beyond. The heat of the sun radiated off the sand, causing the view to blur slightly now and then.

  There were groups of people spread out, enjoying the sun, their colorful towels and umbrellas marking their spots. Mom and I loved the beach equally, and we would often come to walk or watch a sunset. It’s what made Jake’s restaurant so special to Mom and me; it sat right on the beach, up close and personal with the sand and sea. Its casual upscale atmosphere was comfortable, and it had killer martinis. When the waiter came, I talked Ryan into ordering one.

  “You and your mom have a weird relationship,” he said, as he resumed looking out the window, to the beauty outside.

  “Weird?” I asked, surprised. “How?”

  He looked away from the view back at me.

  “You’re like friends instead of mother-and-daughter. You say things to her I would never say to my mom. You tell her stuff that must make her cringe,” he said.

  I pondered his comment. Mom and I were friends. Why was that weird? It hadn’t been an easy journey, but I thought our relationship, in its current form, was a great thing.

  “When I was young, we were adversaries,” I said. “The move to San Diego was the turning point for us.”

  “Turning point?” he asked relaxing back into his chair.

  “When we first moved I didn’t have anyone else to talk to and neither did she. At first, I tested the waters with what I told her, and what I didn’t. I learned she wasn’t shocked by much. Little by little, it got to a point I could discuss anything with her,” I explained. “As my confidence grew in her acceptance of me, she felt comfortable talking to me about her feelings.”

  “I haven’t ever been around a mother like yours,” Ryan said with amusement.

  “What does that mean exactly? How are you with your mom?” I asked.

  Ryan tilted his head in thought as the waiter appeared with our drinks.

  “Are you ready to order?” the tall surfer looking boy asked.

  “Give us a minute,” I said smiling. “We haven’t looked at the menu.”

  Ryan glanced at the frosty martini and then at me.

  “And your mom?” I reminded.

  “I don’t know. I mean she’s my mom. She’s like…here,” he said, putting his arm up above his head.

  “Where is here?” I asked, copying his movement, “On a pedestal?”

  I reached for my glass and took a sip. I’d ordered the martinis dirty and I could taste the hint of olive juice on my tongue.

  “I guess. Like mom. Mom is always right. Like, don’t tell mom, she’d be mad. Mom. I don’t know,” Ryan said as though I should understand.

  A table got seated next to us and the chair legs scraped on the floor as the patrons went to sit down. I looked up to see an older couple sit down.

  “It’s that small-town upbringing,” I teased. “I don’t think of it as weird; I think it’s good. I’m glad Pat and I can talk to her as an equal. Dad a lot less. We were always afraid he would get mad. I think we kind of viewed him like you do your parents, on that pedestal. My friends love my mom. I’ll come home sometimes, and Liz or Karen will have stopped by to visit with my mom, knowing I’m not home. It’s funny,” I said.

  Ryan didn’t comment, and I looked out the window at the ocean. I noticed there were a few surfers in the water, and I idly wondered if one could be Max. I knew he surfed here often. I hadn’t seen him in eight months. It seemed odd it had been so long already. We’d never spoken again after that night and I hadn’t run into him.

  “Max and I never really broke up,” I said reflectively, still watching the surfers.

  “What made you think of Max?” he asked turning to look at me.

  “The surfers,” I said, pointing. “He surfs here.”

  Ryan looked out the window at the line of surfers in the water; little black dots floating just beyond the breaking point. The thoughts of Max made me feel detached, a little outside myself; muddled feelings welling within. I absently picked up the olive in my drink and took a bite. It tasted slightly salty and good. The waiter came back for our order, interrupting my thoughts. I glanced into Ryan’s eyes after he’d left.

  “What did happen in the end? You didn’t give many details in your letters,” he asked.

  I dropped the half eaten olive on the toothpick back into the glass.

  “Hmm, Max?” I mused. “Max and I had really fallen apart when I moved to Park City; we just didn’t know it. I thought leaving would end it, and suddenly he realized I was important to him. His change of heart confused me, so when I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do I gave in.”

  Ryan’s eyes narrowed and he had a questioning look on his face like why.

  “I know, I thought I should give it a try, give him a chance, I don’t know why. We tried to pretend it didn’t happen, us being apart, me “leaving” him, or I guess he tried to pretend. I had changed, though. I sort of grew into myself while I was in Park City. He didn’t like my independence. He wanted the girl that I was before, and I wasn’t that girl anymore.”

  “In what way?” Ryan asked.

  “Living by his rules, doing what he wanted. We kept trying to make it work, almost forcing it. He was happy at first to have me back, but it didn’t take long for us to start fighting again. I felt like he was trying to punish me for going away, for changing. Then I started finding things,” I said.

  “Finding things?” he asked, puzzled.

  “Like an earring in his bed. I found an earring down in the frame as I was making his bed. He told me one of Dave’s friends had lain down on his bed one night. I didn’t believe him.”

  Ryan listened intently.

  “Another time I found a girl’s name and number on a scrap of paper that he carelessly left on his desk, stuff like that. I definitely felt like he was screwing around on me. The evidence kept mounting. He and Dave were going out all the time. It was clear he was looking, but still holding on. I think he just needed a replacement first,” I said cringing inside.

  I felt a little shallow expressing my feelings about Max cheating on me. Ryan knew I’d been unfaithful to Max with Mathew and him. I thought I should feel guilty about those incidents, but I didn’t. I didn’t when they happened, and in looking back, it’s probably what helped me realize there was something lacking between Max and me. If the relationship had been solid, I knew now I wouldn’t have gone down that road.

  “You never got a second try with Carrie, so maybe that’s why she’s still in your heart,” I said, referring to his old girlfriend. “My second try with Max sealed the relationship’s fate.”

  Carrie had quietly crept into his letters and conversations, little bits of memories he’d shared with me. He’d loved her, and he still hadn’t gotten over her.

  “Why did you bring her up?” he asked pensively.

  “Because sometimes we don’t think things are finished when they were all along,” I said. “And, I wanted to change the subject. Finish your drink, let’s walk on the beach.”

  Ryan grabbed the bill when the waiter brought it, and he wouldn’t take money from me. When we got down onto the beach, Ryan and I took off our flip-flops and carried them, glad to reach the cool sand down by the shoreline. The sand had been warmer on our feet than I’d expected.

  “Which way?” Ryan asked

  “Let’s go that way, towards Torrey Pines.”

  “What’s Torrey Pines?”

  “A pretty exclusive golf course on the bluff. As far as the beach, less people.”

  Ryan never talked just to fill space, so when he was silent, it didn’t feel uncomfortable. We walked a long way and then sat in the sand and watched the waves, and he told me more about Carrie. I scooped sand up slowly, letting it run out of my hands onto my feet, burying them while I listened.

  “So has there been another love since?” I asked.

  “I’ve dated a lot, but no,” he said staring out into t
he distance over the water.

  “Maybe you’re not open to it,” I said.

  I was curious, why. He was a good-looking guy, fun to be with, nice.

  “Maybe,” he answered.

  I wished he had expounded on it.

  “Since this last go-round with Mathew, I haven’t been open to it,” I said, remembering my struggle with my decision not to move to San Jose. “My heart still hurts. If I get asked out, I think oh god, how do I start over again? Do I even want to?”

  Ryan spent a week at our house, giving us time for several conversations like the one we’d had at Jake’s and on the beach. It was so amazing to have a male opinion without him having an ulterior motive; we could talk openly and easily. On the social side, I played tour guide and introduced him to friends.

  He met my good friend Karen, and they hit it off. As much as I loved Karen, she went through men easily. She would be madly in love one day, and then not the next. I warned Ryan about it, and he assured me he understood. I watched as his feelings developed for her and watched the two of them fall for each other. And I worried he would get hurt.

  “I want to see more of California. I’ve heard of so many places that I want to visit. What do you two think of a road trip up the coast?” Ryan asked.

  We were sitting in my backyard that hot afternoon, and we had been in and out of the pool, enjoying the sun. Karen was on the lounge next to Ryan while I sat on the side of the pool, my legs dangling in the water. We’d talked about the places he’d lived over the years, his reasons for leaving them, and more about his upbringing in upstate New York. The three of us talked about our teen years and the vast differences in them, how much more advanced teens in California were. In a week I felt like I got to know him more than I did the entire winter in Park City.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “You, Karen, and me take a ride up the coast,” he said.

  “To where?” I asked.

  “San Francisco. Driving up the coast. I assume it’s a beautiful drive,” he said. “C’mon, I’ve only seen pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge and Lombard Street. I want to ride a cable car. I can’t come to California and not venture out of San Diego.”