Page 110 of Playing Flirty

I continued scrolling and found photos of the board game area where I met Gandalf before my phone died. Included was a photo I’d taken of Gandalf versus Hulk during their epic duel. I zoomed in on the poor-quality photo, and a warmth of memories washed over me.

It had been the best day. Perhaps my mom was right, and I should upload the photo on social media. I smiled, imagining Gandalf seeing it and the two of us reconnecting after so many years.

And then I’d have a third man to worry about. Great idea.

My gallery continued through my college years. Suddenly, Neema, Lincoln, and Claire’s smiling faces were in every photo. And then came Patrick.

And still I felt no longing.

“There she is!” a familiar voice called out—a voice so familiar I would’ve known it even if it called to me from across the world, which it often did.

My mom pointed at me, and my dad followed her finger with squinted eyes. A rush of pure love flooded through me, and I burst into a smile so wide I could feel the stretch on my cheeks. They wobbled toward me with their lopsided luggage.

I ran to them and was immediately pulled into a three-way hug.

“Rosie!” my mom exclaimed. “You have grown!”

I grinned. “Still the same height, Mom.”

She laughed. “No, baby. Your face.”

She cupped my chin and studied me. Any other person might feel uncomfortable under such close scrutiny, but not me. This was how she evaluated my state of being.

“A lot has happened in the last few months, hasn’t it?” she said.

“Yeah. This face is what happens when mothers don’t warn their daughters about their ex-boyfriends planning a proposal in front of her best friends and a hundred strangers.” I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping she knew how unimpressed I was.

There was a touch of resentment I needed to work on.

My mother’s mouth dropped open, but my dad interrupted her and pulled me in for a squeeze. “Rosie.”

“Yes, Dad?”

He squeezed me tight for the longest time. I tried to break free of his hold after a couple moments, but his grip was too strong.

“Feels nice being able to hug you again,” he said.

Once the Jones family finally managed to function without holding on to one another, we headed to the car. I tossed their bruised and battered luggage, now almost beyond recognition since the last time they visited, into the trunk. I could only imagine the stories we were about to hear.

“Mom, Dad, where am I taking you? Are you staying with us?”

“Yes, if that’s okay with you,” Mom said. “Neema insisted. I think she wants to make sure I finish all the candles before the wedding.”

“Sure. You two can take my bed, but no hanky-panky.” I shot her a stern look. “I mean it.”

My dad’s giggles in the backseat were not reassuring.

When we reached the apartment, Neema flung open the door. “Surprise!” she shouted as we entered, though I had clearly already experienced the surprise.

My mother pulled Neema in for a hug that might’ve been even tighter than the one she greeted me with at the airport. “You are radiating love and happiness.” She cupped Neema’s face in her hands as she’d done with mine.

Neema squeezed my mother in another hug while my dad nodded and patted her on the back in the same way he always greeted my friends. She grinned and nodded back.

“Rosie says that everything for the wedding is sorted.”

“Except the candles,” Neema said with a nervous laugh.

“I’ll start on them tonight.” My mom wiggled with excitement.

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