"Yes?"

"And it's fun."

"Yes? Don't even try to tell me that the social life at CFC is better than this," I said.

"Um, Courtney?" He coughed. "It's better than this."

In the midst of talking, Mom called. She was adamant about the fact that we needed to talk and said I couldn't keep ignoring her forever. (Maybe not, but wouldn't it be fun to try?) "It's about Thanksgiving," she said.

I sighed. When isn't it about Thanksgiving? She starts planning months in advance for a holiday that lasts 34 hours at most. Not counting digesting.

"Mom, I don't know if I can make it this year. I started out late this year, three weeks late, remember, and I could use the time to finish all the unfinished a.s.signments and . . ."

"No, Courtney. This year it's really important that we all go. Like every year," she said.

"Mother? I came down to visit you recently and you weren't even there," I reminded her. "What makes you think I'm going to fall for that again?"

"Alison's even flying in. I just want to put it on your calendar," Mom went on.

Alison's coming? Good, haven't seen her in a long time. "Well, I can't talk now," I said. "Wittenauer's here."

"He is? Oh good. Do you mind if I talk to him?"

He'd been studying for the LSATs, but he was willing to talk to her. Next thing you know, she'd invited Wittenauer to meet us in Nebraska for Thanksgiving and insisted on his being there.

If that doesn't ruin our relationship, what will?

Honestly.

11/5.

Wittenauer following me everywhere is starting to get on my nerves. Feel like I need a can of Static Guard spray because he's clinging to me. A big can.

This morning over coffee I asked, "So don't you think you should be getting back?"

"Oh no, it's cool. We have this weeklong break," he said as he lounged on the sofa, holding his LSAT prep book. I was attempting to get the reading done for Bigelow's cla.s.s this afternoon.

"Wittenauer. I went there, OK? I know that's not true," I said.

His face turned a mottled shade of red. "Fine. I'm taking some time off, then. A, um, what's it called? Sabbatical."

"But you can't take one of those, whatever it is."

"Why not?"

"Because! You're a student, not a professor. And you have to at least finish the semester! You're going to graduate soon!"

"I know, that's why I'm studying for the LSATs. But I have a lot of flexibility at this point. Hey, you know what would be a good idea?" he suddenly asked. "Why don't we go down to Denver later so I can meet your mom?"

I sighed. "You're just trying to change the subject."

"True."

"I really think you need to be getting back," I said.

"Wow, Court. You really sound like you want me to go."

"No, I-I don't, but . . . I don't want you to flunk because of me, either. And I don't want to fail out because of you. I mean, long view. Long view Wittenauer. That's you, right?"

He laughed. "Yeah, true. But long view, I want us to be together, and the rest will sort itself out. That is, if I get into law school." He leaned over the practice questions again, raking his hands through his hair.

So, everything is sort of OK again, or at least he knows how I feel. He couldn't stay here forever. It was a visit. He wasn't moving in.

I wasn't ready for that. Especially not if he was going to move in here. I didn't know how many more awkward waves and nods I could exchange with Grant.

Wonder how Grant is doing, if he and Kelli are together or not.

11/6.

Didn't hand in a.s.signment for Art of the Essay, as Wittenauer and I went to movies last night instead and then bowling. Skipped cla.s.ses today. Also, didn't write my blog this week.

No time to write in here when BF is constantly hovering at my side, in my bed, etc. Hours formerly known as private time no longer exist. He's sleeping beside me. My bed is not all that big.

Bas.e.m.e.nt feels crowded. Not big enough for me, Wittenauer, and Oscar.

Someone whose name ends in r has to go. And not the one who has fur and likes to run away.

Is it possible I'm falling out of love with W? Or am I even in love or do I just really like him a lot?

No. Just stressed. It's one thing when we both have cla.s.ses and homework; that works.

We went to Estes Park to visit Rocky Mtn. National Park, and Wittenauer is convinced he must move here immediately after getting degree, if not sooner.

Have I mentioned he snores?

Am going to check ride-share postings on Craigslist and other places.

Maybe I really like him, but I'm not in love with him, because maybe if I was truly in love with him, I wouldn't feel this way, like I need more of my own s.p.a.ce.

Maybe I need to burn this journal, right now. Or at least find a better place to hide it.

11/7.

Feel guilty, terrible. Broke Wittenauer's heart this morning.

Over coffee, took a deep breath and told him he had to go home, that I couldn't get any homework done, that we'd never last this way, that I'd found a ride for him on a ride-share board.

"Yeah, but-"

"But nothing. It's not a sabbatical. You're just avoiding reality. I should know, OK?" I reminded him of how unhappy I'd been the year before, until I just bit the bullet and started enjoying where I am. Was. Whatever. "This works better if we're both in school. You know?"

"OK, OK. You're right. Maybe I'll sign up for some cla.s.ses."

"No, no!" I shook my head. "You're not dropping out. I think you're depressed. I know because I felt that way last year when I left Grant behind." I coughed nervously. Perhaps this wasn't the best way to make an argument. "You're Corny. You need to get back to campus and be Corny."

"Depressed and corny. Wow. Sucks to be me," he said.

"Seriously! You're about to get your degree. You have a semester and a half left. That's it! I mean, look at me if you want to get depressed. I'm a transfer student, a soph.o.m.ore, and I work at a nasty smoothie place."

"I am looking at you. That's the thing. I don't want to leave." He was standing there, his face a bit scruffy, looking adorable in his faded blue Milwaukee Brewers tee.

So naturally we had to make out. It all seemed so romantic now that I knew he was leaving. I was crazy about him again.

Or, just crazy again.

"I'll see you in a few weeks," I said when we finally unlocked lips. "At Thanksgiving, remember?"

"Right. Thanksgiving." He kissed me again.

"It'll be a nightmare. I'm warning you."

"What are you talking about? It's only your family."

"Have you spent any time with my family?"

"Not a lot, no."

"Brace yourself. Oh, and there's the fact that my mother and I aren't speaking. But I'm still expected to go." I groaned. "On second thought, take me back to Wisconsin with you. Right now."

Shouldn't have said that. He thought I was serious and I had to talk him out of it.

11/8.

Wittenauer left at 4 A.M. Feel lonely without him but also not pressured to entertain him. I am so far behind in my reading, I must set aside personal writing in order to . . .

Dozed off for a second there. Textbook on environmental history is so boring. And you know, why did they print it on paper in the first place? Probably should have been an e-book.

But then people would fall asleep over their computers or e-readers and bash faces into keyboards. Giant fluffy textbook pages make for softer landings.

11/9.

Sterling came to take me to dinner. On his own. Claimed he was on business and just wanted to treat me to a more nutritious meal than pizza. Highly suspect. I don't even eat pizza due to my cheese issues. Much.

Sterling asked me, like, ten trillion questions about school, and how things are going with Wittenauer, and whether I needed any groceries and stuff like that.

He is totally trying to win me over. He even insisted I have the flourless chocolate cake for dessert.

But it takes more than that. Like, a to-go box, maybe. An entire cake to share with roomies instead of just a piece.

I have to know he is a decent person who will not let my mom down. She might be annoying but deserves to be happy. Is Sterling the guy who makes her happy?

Probably. He's really into statistics. She's all over that. She likes Excel spreadsheets better than 400-count cotton sheets. They probably sit around and plot graphs together.

Then again, maybe not. I have seen them kiss for minutes on end. Well, I looked away, but I could still tell.

What if she was to get . . . like . . . I can't even write it. Married to Sterling?

And what if they, you know. Decided to have children together? Because I think technically it could still happen, Mom's age might be an issue but it wouldn't be impossible. And then I would have a one-year-old brother or sister at my graduation, no doubt screaming and crying? Oh, that would be embarra.s.sing.

Well. It's not going to come to that. I mean, that would just be ridiculous.

On the plus side, I did find out some interesting facts about Mom's man-friend.

One, he is younger than her. By a couple years.

Two, he has kind of a good sense of humor.

Three, as a corollary to two, he likes Judd Apatow movies.

Four, he partied too much his freshman year in college at CU. He flunked out. His parents made him take time off, work, get his act together (what act?), then go back for his degree later, paying for it himself. Warned against that.

Warning taken.

Art of the Essay Description #4:.

Sterling Vickers.

Your average man, I guess.

Middle-aged, forty-something.

Nice. If you like that sort of person. I guess I do.

Genuine? Maybe.

Short. Not his fault.

Drives a large SUV. His fault.

Is a consumer credit counselor. Helps bankrupt people. Not bankrupt them, he helps them after they become bankrupt. Bankrupted people?

After a while that word looks very weird. Ban-krupted. (Bless you.) Turned to running as a way to get discipline in his life. (Hey, he said that, not me. To me it sounds like an ad for the army.) Agh, I can't write tonight.

Well, I can, but. Not when I really don't care what I'm writing.