It's Grant.

LATER.

Recovering now. Sort of.

First thing he said was that he's known for days that Wittenauer and I were going to move in together in June. Days! Dara told him at the Humane Society last Sunday. EIGHT DAYS AGO!

And he was so mad at me because he was waiting for me to tell him, but I just acted like nothing had changed, nothing was different.

Well, it wasn't-yet! And none of this was my idea!

Second thing he said is that it's crazy for me to talk to him about me and Wittenauer and ask what I should do.

"I've grown up, I've changed. After what happened with you . . . when I temporarily lost my mind and kissed Beth that one time, I decided I'd never do that to someone again. So when you moved back here and I started having feelings for you again, I broke things off with Kelli."

"I thought she broke up with you," I said.

"No. Wrong. And since you obviously have feelings for me, too, you could do that. But no. You refuse to make up your mind. You just avoid things and people and hope the problem will go away. And then you tell me you're moving in together and you don't want to be-what am I supposed to do with that? Do you want me to call him for you? Why would you say yes?"

"OK, but, Grant, you don't understand."

"Clearly."

"He didn't ask me, ask me. He just started saying we should do it, that it would be cool, and logical, and a good plan. The plan! I never said that was the plan."

"It takes two to . . . plan," said Grant.

I couldn't argue there. I mean, I could have told Wittenauer no, right away. So why didn't I? Was it the stuffing in my veins?

"And now you're leaving me notes trying to get me to tell you how I feel, when you won't tell me how you feel? I mean, seriously. What are you going to do, wait until he's almost finished packing the U-Haul and then tell him? The way you treated me at spring break? I'm not going to be part of that. I hardly know him but I wouldn't let you do that." He shook his head. "Man. How can you be so mature when it comes to certain things, and so immature when it comes to others?"

He looked at me like I would have an answer for that. Am I suddenly a Psych major? "Uh . . . Grant. Look. I . . ."

"Are you ready to say how you feel, or aren't you?"

"The thing is . . . I . . ."

"See, I knew it. You're not sure you want to choose. Even though you know how great we are together and how-"

"We are great together. But I'm scared. Is that so wrong? I mean, look at what happened last time."

"Yeah. But we're older now, we could handle it better. Or at least, I could."

Can't stand his superior Superior att.i.tude!

"You know what? I don't even know what I'm doing here. I've got two finals tomorrow."

He was about to leave, and then all of a sudden he turned around and came back.

Then we had this really pa.s.sionate, absolutely hot kiss that I was still seeing stars from when he headed for the door again, saying, "Call me when you get it figured out. But not before. Don't leave me any more cute notes, don't text me, don't visit me at work! Don't even eat at the Pyth, OK? That was my lunch place before you came to town."

So what does that even mean? My heart is still pounding and it was, like, half an hour ago.

Why was he talking like a western sheriff in an old movie?

Oh, and he has two finals? What about me? I do, too.

12/15, 12/16, 12/17 AN ETERNITY OF FINALS.

My love life has been temporarily suspended.

Must pa.s.s all of my cla.s.ses.

Still, can't stop thinking about Grant.

Am I ready to be with him again? Am I ready to break up with Wittenauer? The fact he's been strangely quiet, and everyone is in finals h.e.l.l, means I may have a few days to just do nothing. Which I'm very good at, so, cool.

I mean if I tell Wittenauer now and he's upset . . . it'll be just like how I ruined Grant's A in Chem, or whatever that was.

If I tell him now and he's not upset . . . I'll probably be upset.

And if I even think about seeing Grant, I'll be too distracted to find the building for Final #1.

Agh! Focus. Not here for the love connection. Here for the bachelor's degree.

s.e.xist term. Bachelor's degree.

12/18.

Done. I am done. I have handed in my 2 papers and taken my 3 finals.

I am done with school until the middle of January.

I don't have a job.

I am headed home to Denver to be in Mom's wedding.

I've broken up with Wittenauer- Oh, wait. Knew there was something major left on my to-do list.

Everyone is doing it by Twitter these days.

Can't I just do that?

No. OK. Try to be brave, like Grant said.

I was kind of waiting until we were ALL done with finals. Now I have no excuse. And that's too bad, because I so love excuses.

Well, things could be worse. I could be driving to Seattle with DeathKitty, Sylvia Plath, and DeathCutie in a cat carrier. (The white one has been adopted by a poet friend and named Frosty, for Robert Frost.) LATER.

I did it. I've done it.

I drove up to the buffalo overlook, my calming place up on I-70. Called Wittenauer, who was in the midst of Christmas shopping with his folks. He slipped off into a coffee shop so he could have some privacy. From his parents, anyway.

I hated to have to break his heart like this over the phone. During the Christmas season, no less.

"So, uh . . . there's something I have to tell you," I said.

"Oh, me, too, me, too," he said, sounding all excited.

Started feeling like world's worst person, or at least, Colorado's. "I'll go first," I said. Because if he was going to tell me he was coming out earlier than for Mom's wedding, or had bought me a ticket to visit him over the long winter break, I wanted to squash those ideas ASAP.

"I've been thinking about it, and I don't think you should move out here after you graduate, and I definitely don't think we should live together," I said.

"Really?" he asked. He didn't sound crushed. He didn't sound thrilled, either.

"Yeah. I don't think we're ready. And actually, I don't know if I'll ever be ready. The thing is, Wittenauer, I love you, but . . . well . . . I guess I need to break up with you. Actually. Because I think I'm kind of in love with someone else."

My heart was pounding a million times a minute, hands shaking, etc. Meanwhile, complete and utter silence on other end.

Then he finally said, "You're not."

"Well, maybe. I mean . . . yes," I said, trying to be a little clearer. "Evidence suggests."

He laughed.

Laughed?

"Grant?" he asked.

"I'm really, really sor-"

"That's OK, Courtney. That's totally OK. Because, um, I think maybe . . . I'm in love with someone else, too. Or at least I have a serious crush."

"What?" After the anguish he'd put me through, insisting we make a commitment when I wasn't ready, now HE wasn't ready and wanted to break up, too?

"Remember Baby Corn?" he said. Then he laughed. "She's my apprentice. I spend a lot of time with her."

"Yeah, but-that's crazy. Why did you talk about moving in together at Thanksgiving if you were already falling for her?"

"Did I talk about that?"

"Yeah, you said it was the plan," I said. "The logical plan."

"I thought we were just kicking around ideas. Weren't we?"

"Just kicking around ideas? I want to kill you," I said.

"So probably we shouldn't live together," he joked.

And then I started laughing so hard that I was doubled over. I could tell he was, too.

"I just thought-you know, that's what you're supposed to do when you graduate," Wittenauer said. "And you were so far away and so unhappy that I wanted to save you."

"But I wasn't," I said. "Unhappy."

"Oh. Well, maybe I was then," he said. "I missed you a lot. And I really like Colorado, and I'm still going to apply to law school at Boulder. But, like, the minute we talked about it, and I went back to campus, I knew I couldn't do it; I'm not ready. That's why I've been avoiding you. I felt so guilty for, like, leading you on."

"You didn't have to feel guilty," I said. "I was just as confused."

"The thing is that I'm probably not ready to settle down because I seem to have this awful habit of falling for someone new every November. Did, uh, Mary Jo tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

"She saw us. Holding hands. We acted like it was nothing, but I thought she knew."

"Oh. She might have tried to tell me," I said. "So, um, do I know Baby Corn? What's her name, anyway?"

"Let's not go down that road. I mean, you've moved on and all."

"What's the big deal? I'm not going to call her," I said. "Just tell me."

He let out a loud sigh. "Her name's Courtney, OK? But it starts with a K. And don't give me a hard time about it, just don't."

We talked a lot longer-more serious stuff, not joking around, about how much we meant to each other and how we wouldn't regret anything and how much fun we had. I knew I should mention the part about Dean S. calling to offer me the chance to come back, but it just didn't seem relevant. Whether I got the offer or not, I still wouldn't be going back.

So weird. I'm free and clear. And the first person I want to tell is Grant, but I can't. Not yet.

12/20.

We picked up our bridesmaid dresses yesterday morning, then went to a fancy restaurant in Cherry Creek for a so-called ladies' luncheon. Mom gave us all little mementos, a pair of silver ski earrings that I will probably not wear in a hundred years, but I appreciate the gesture because presents are always good, even when they're not your thing.

"Why do we have to do all this?" I asked.

"It's tradition," said Mom. "When is Wittenauer meeting us?"

I bit my lip. Here came the uncomfortable parental questions. "Um."

"Um, what?"

"He's not."

"Courtney!" Mom yelled. "If he doesn't come, then the whole seating chart will be messed up!"

"Mom, I think it's a little bit more important what's going on with your daughter than what happens to your perfect seating chart," said Alison. She scooted closer to me. "What's going on?"

"We broke up," I said. "Yesterday."

"I know the feeling," said Grandma Von Dragen. "Completely heartbreaking."