Page 157 of The Rom-Commers

“He’s fine,” I said. And then amended: “I assume he’s fine.”

“Not still in touch with the writer?”

I shrugged. “He turned out to be disappointing.”

My dad nodded. “Most people are.”

“I liked him,” I clarified. “But he didn’t like me back.”

My dad was appalled on my behalf. “Then he’s much worse than disappointing! He’sa dolt.”

I’d never really appreciated the worlddoltbefore. “Thanks, Dad.”

“We’ll find you somebody good, sweetheart,” my dad said.

“We definitely will,” I said, not believing it at all.

And then my adorably out-of-touch-with-pop-culture dad gestured with his thumb at the door that Jack Stapleton had walked out of not fifteen minutes before and said, “How about that Jake Singleton guy? He’s not bad looking. I think he’s got a future.”

Twenty-Nine

TWO WEEKS WENTby.

Sylvie and Salvador took a forty-eight-hour mini honeymoon on Galveston Island.

Kenji started a marine biology summer camp at the science museum.

My dad left the hospital for a stint at an inpatient physical therapy rehab to strengthen his limbs.

And I…

I didn’t do much. I’d taken the summer off from teaching when I got the Charlie Yates gig. So, when I wasn’t visiting and fussing over my dad… I binge-watched TV. I ate scoops of peanut butter straight out of the jar. I slumped by the window like an unwatered houseplant.

Any day now, I’d start figuring out my life. Any day, I’d start feeling better and come up with a future I could get excited about.

I was a little disappointed in myself, to be honest.

Was all this hopelessness really necessary?

I’d had an adventure. I’d seen a bit of the world. Experienced a little heartache. And now it was time to learn from it and move on.

But if I’m honest? Really honest? Honest in the way you can only be when you know for sure the person you’re telling won’t judge you?

(Don’t judge me, by the way.)

I missed Charlie.

I knew it was pathetic. I knew it was indefensible. I knew that moping over a man who didn’t appreciate me was ridiculous. I didn’twantto miss him.

Wasn’t that the number one rule of standing up for yourself?

Don’t like people who don’t like you.

It wasn’t complicated, I told myself over and over.

It was just hard.

Because everything had been better with him somehow. Swimming had been more fun when he was sitting grumpily on the steps. Writing had been more fun when I was sparring with him about love. Grocery shopping had been more fun when he was making me watch him juggle oranges. He just… lit me up.

---