Page 87 of Fake Dating My Best Friend

CONNER

And I don’t judge YOUR Spotify history, Miss “I’ve Been Listening to Asher’s Gym Playlist on Repeat.”

ISLA

How did you-

Never mind. Truce?

CONNER

Fine.

ISLA

Also, I think I’m going to text Dad back.

CONNER

You sure?

ISLA

No. But I think I need to.

CONNER

Alright. But call me if you need anything.

Myfingerstrembleovermy phone, the screen’s glow stinging my eyes in the dim room. I tap the contact, hover over the edit button, then type Dad and hit save.

I pace my apartment. Twenty-one years. Twenty-one years since Dad walked out, leaving me clutching that teddy bear, thinking he’d come back for Sunday movie nights. He’d come back for Conner and my birthdays. Or at least write a letter back.

I type, “You don’t get to just—” then jab the delete key, watching the words vanish. I try again. “What do you want—” Nope. Delete. My heart’s racing, and I toss the phone onto my bed like it’s scalding me.

Anger and sadness rise together, hot and sharp in my chest.

ISLA

Why are you reaching out now?

I hit send, my pulse hammering. I collapse onto the lumpy sofa, clutching the phone so tight my knuckles ache.

My phone buzzes, and I flinch.

DAD

I know I don’t deserve to even text you. I’ve made so many mistakes. But I miss you and Conner. I think about you both every day.

My jaw tightens, tears pricking my eyes. He doesn’t get to say that.

ISLA

You didn’t think about us when you left.

DAD

There’s no excuse for what I did. I’d like a chance to apologize properly. Maybe meet you and Conner if you’re ever willing.

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