Page 28 of The Serendipity

“He’s not the love of my life,” I whisper, but they’re yelling too loudly at each other to hear me. “He never was.”

This argument might continue, but the home phone attached to the kitchen wall rings. All three of us sigh in relief.

My dad leaps out of his chair, almost knocking it over in the process, and answers the phone with an excited, “Hello?”

Mom watches with hearts in her eyes and a smile on her face.

Me? I’m still frozen in my chair, iced over by the knowledge that Trey is engaged. To someone else.

He (presumably) bought another ring and (in all likelihood) got down on one knee for someone else.

It’s okay. You didn’t want him. You made the right call, I tell myself.

And while this might very well be true, the thought of Trey proposing to someone else and—this is the real kicker—is moving here withherleaves me feeling bruised and vulnerable.

Yeah, my very favorite home-cooked meal is definitely ruined.

Goodbye, chicken and dumplings. You have been spoiled because I got blindsided with news about an ex I don’t even have feelings for. It’s not you, it’s me—and it’s complicated.

“Oh, is that right?” Dad’s saying into the phone. “You’re selling solar panels? That’s great. I’m definitely interested. And I have questions. A lot of them.” Dad drags his chair closer to the wall and sits down, wrapping the curly phone cord around his arm. He almost looks like he’s deep-sea fishing, settling in to battle some big catch on the end of his line.

Which isn’t all that far off from what he’s actually doing.

“His latest thing is timing how long he can keep them on the line,” Mom says, giving my hand a squeeze. I’d forgotten she was holding it, and my hand has lost all feeling. “His current record is forty-seven minutes. I think he’s going for an hour.”

“Tell me about your silicon production in the panels,” Dad says. “Is it ethically sourced?”

I pull my hand away from Mom’s and start clearing the table. I need to move, and I don’t particularly want to be touched right now.

Dad’s really picking up steam now. “Do you only install them on human houses? What about henhouses?” A pause. “I see. Outhouses? Doghouses?”

I hold back a snort. He’s referencing a Tommy Lee Jones quote from one of Dad’s favorite movies,The Fugitive. I’ve watched it enough times with him that I think I could quote most of it at this point.

Mom joins me, taking Dad’s empty bowl and stacking it on top of hers. “At least he’s creative. And never rude.”

“The argument could be made that wasting someone’s time is rude,” I say, placing my bowl in the sink and taking the dishes from her hands.

“But if these are scammers, not just salespeople, he’s saving someone else from making his mistake,” Mom points out. It doesn’t make me feel any better, though, because it reminds me that Ialsotook my parents’ money. And if Serendipitous Sweets fails, they may never see it again.

I know they’d tell me it’s fine and not to worry, but I also know how hard they’ve worked year after year for teachers’ salaries. It’s why Dad’s train set took literal decades to build—he has to scrimp and save for every piece.

Now I’m almost as bad as a scammer. I had such high hopes for my business, promising to pay them back with interest. Then, promising to pay them back in full.

Now, I make no more promises. The money is a subject we don’t talk about, I think because they know it’s been slow, even if I try to avoid the subject.

“I’ve got this,” I tell Mom, shooing her away. “Go watchWheel of Fortune.”

She kisses me on the cheek before darting in to watch her favorite show. I never thought she’d survive Pat Sajak leaving the show, but as much as she moaned and groaned abouthis replacement, I think she has a burgeoning crush on Ryan Seacrest.

With the wheel spinning in the other room and my dad asking ten million questions about solar panels he won’t buy, I get to work on the dishes. There’s always been something therapeutic to me about washing up after a meal or after making a big batch of cookies. The warm water and the smell of dish soap make me happy.

Good thing considering the sheer number of dishes and utensils I have to wash almost daily.

“I’m sorry for surprising you about Trey. Are you okay?” Mom asks, coming into the kitchen as I’m starting in on the pots and pans. Ryan Seacrest must be on commercial break.

“I mean, I’m not sure how you can ever prepare for that kind of news. It shocked me. But I’m fine. It’s not like I’m still in love with him.”

“Mm-hm,” Mom says.

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