Page 33 of Ticket to You

Again, Ophelia’s jaw drops. She stammers for a minute, trying to make sense of it, and then looks at her nails, clearly trying to downplay her embarrassment. “Well…don’t tell me you can’t find a Vibram sole-loving, cliff-scaling, slacklining partner to spend your days with,” she says. “Someone who has deep shower thoughts and is introspective and above all,notvapid.”

Ophelia may have tried to end on a sarcastic note, but I’m not letting her go that easy.

“You sound awfully concerned with my romantic life,” I tease, raising my eyebrows. “And don’t think I forgot about those magazines that you’re hoarding.”

“Oh yeah, Abrams, I’mobsessedwith you.”

It’s hard not to grin when I see Ophelia’s flustered expression. Though I would love to double down on the jokes, I don’t want to risk making her hate me more.

“It’s your turn to ask a question today,” I remind her. “Do you want to know why I don’t date?”

“No…I think I know why you don’t date—or rather, why girls don’t date you.”

She really can dish it as well as she can take it, something that has me constantly on my toes, something I strangely adore.

“You said El is your sister. What is the rest of your family like, your parents, siblings?”

I groan and run my fingers through my hair in exasperation. “Wouldn’t you rather want to know my favorite movie or something?”

“No. It’s probably something pretentious likeAnnie HallorCitizen Kane.”

“Fine.” I groan again for good measure. “Long version or short?”

“Do you really need to ask that?”

“I guess not.” As much as I hate talking about myself, I’m not quite ready to leave Ophelia for the night, anyway. “My parents were high school sweethearts, went to the same college, the whole ordeal. They had four sons—Joel, a doctor; Micah, a doctor; Jude, a dentist; and then me, alowlyjournalist.

Ophelia smiles.

“And you met my only sister, Eloise—or El—the youngest.”

“And is she a doctor or a dentist?” Ophelia asks sarcastically.

“She’s two years into her residency to become a neurosurgeon.”

After a minute of silence, Ophelia reaches over to slap my shoulder. “That’s it? That’s all you’re giving me about your family? What do your parents do? Do they play golf together? Does your dad buy your mom cheesy heart-shaped jewelry?”

“So you don’t like heart-shaped jewelry?”

“Adam,nobodylikes heart-shaped jewelry.”

“Good to know.” I pause for a minute. “My dad is a doctor, my mom is an English professor. They aren’t together anymore. I always thought they were so in love—I guess most little kids probably do. But then they got divorced when I was in middle school.”

Ophelia doesn’t speak for a few minutes. When she does, she fumbles over her words a bit. “I’m–uh, I’m sorry. I bet that was hard.”

“I guess. But they’re okay now. They still get along. They’re friends. What about your parents? Are they still together?”

Ophelia ducks her head, but I can still see the corners of her mouth downturn. “No. Well, I don’t think so anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

Looking back at me, Ophelia smiles. But by now, I can tell when her expression is genuine. And this is her fakest one yet. “It’s not your turn to ask questions, remember?”

I could be mistaken, but I think I see Ophelia’s eyes glisten like they’re welling with tears. My breath catches in my throat.

“So what is everyone actuallylike?” Ophelia continues. “Who’s the favorite child? Who gets way too competitive playing Monopoly? Who gets sloppy drunk at family dinners?”

“You’re sure you want to hear about the Abrams family? They’re a matching-pj’s-during-the-holidays, turkey-trot-on-Thanksgiving, L.L.-Bean-wearing crew. I’m afraid they’re just a normal, boring family.”

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