Page 61 of The Sweet Spot

LucaCardoso: I see what you did there. wren<3angel = Wren Angelos

wren<3angel: *applause gif*

LucaCardoso: ;)

When it becomes apparent that communicating through the app is too cumbersome, DMs turn to texts. My heart flips when he asks for my number, and I hold my breath until he uses it.

Luca: Hey.

Wren: Hey

That brilliant exchange dangles there for a minute. I yank nervously at my chain, tempted to wax poetic about cloud formations or the epic veggie burger I had for lunch, but then decide to be brave and go for the kill. I’m tired of being tentative.

Wren: Are we ever going to hang out again?

It takes a minute, but the dots appear, the ones that tell me he’s responding.

Luca: I don’t know. Are you available?

He doesn’t ask when, and it takes me a moment, but I think maybe what he’s really asking is if I’m single. Well, I’m single and my schedule’s wide open, so the answer’s the same.

Wren: yes

Luca: What are you doing Friday?

The butterflies return with a vengeance. Mentally reviewing my weekend schedule won’t work—I forget things—so I open my phone calendar to check Friday.

Wren: Last class is at 2. Other than that, not much.

Luca: Text me your address. I’ll pick you up at 7.

* **

The tea kettle whistles shrilly, pulling Mom from her laptop. She pours herself a cup of tea, clearing her throat. “Arlo wants to visit for your birthday.”

I select my favorite teacup from the cabinet and turn to look at her. “Oh, yeah? What did he say?”

“He was just asking about the hotels in the area. I guess he has a little bit of time between assignments,” she says, shrugging.

Arlo knows he has my “permission” to come to Santa Cruz, but I appreciate the effort he’s putting into making sure my mother is comfortable, as well. “What did you tell him?”

“I asked if he wanted beachfront or just some little motel in town. He said beachfront, of course.” She drops a sugar cube into her tea. “I think he thinks he’s going to entertain us while he’s here.”

I lean against the counter, stirring my tea. “Why wouldn’t he?”

She sighs, smiling the tiniest smile ever.

Outside, a tall spindly palm tree sways in the chilly January breeze. The cloudless sky is marvelously bright. “Thanks for being cool with this. For giving Arlo a chance.”

“Yes, well, thanks for being patient with me while I got used to the idea,” she says, sitting back in her chair. “It wasn’t fair of me to keep you from having a relationship with your father just because mine left when I was little.”

I nod, blowing on the steam curling up from my cup. I understand why she was reticent at first—her dad’s absence growing up wounded her, createda void. She raised me to feel whole despite my own fatherlessness, but it’s not easy for her to keep the two situations separated.

But she’s trying, and that’s enough for me.

* * *

Luca texts the next day around noon. I’m walking from one class to another, trying to stay in the sun, when I hear the silvery chime I’ve assigned to his contact. Stepping out of the flow of foot traffic, I read his text.

---