While I was pushing the door open Georgia yelled at me, "GET OUT. GET OUT. I don't want you in here. Get out of this room right now."I stood looking at her for a moment then said, "This is MY bedroom and MY bed. I intend to sleep in it. I really don't want to see you either so if you don't want me with you I suggest you get out. I have no intention of doing so."I walked into the bathroom to wash my face and take care of my nightly ritual. I never heard Georgia leave but when I returned to the bedroom to climb into bed she was gone. I didn't even go look for her. At that point I didn't care if she left the house or was just in some other room.The next morning I found Georgia had used the guest room. She was sitting at the kitchen table with her coffee and the paper when I walked into the room. She never looked up and said nothing as I got my coffee and walked to the patio door and then outside.What a mess I thought. What is the answer? What do I do?The rest of the weekend Georgia and. Why was I being so hard on myself? I could explain it in four simple words.I never called Becky.All weekend long, I agonized about what I would say to her, after Saturday. I have never been good at making small talk, that chatty, unimportant chitchat that comes so naturally to some people. I would get tongue-tied, and my brain would freeze up, and the pauses in my already stilted conversations would get long enough to become uncomfortable for me, as well as the unfortunate I happened to be conversing with. My solution? Why, to avoid potentially troublesome situations, of course. Which, as we all know, only makes matters worse. But I was sixteen. Not facing up to my responsibilities in relationships was a specialty of mine.Not that Becky and I had much of a relationship. It was kind of a budding one, I suppose, but I still had not given up hope that Kristina and I might be able to get back together, either. And Becks and I had never talked about boyfriends and girlfriends, and dating.
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