Page 20 of Perfectly Grumpy

“Unlikely,” I reply. “Lauren likes chaos and adventure. I’m more predictable.” And predictable isn’t nearly as attractive as wild and reckless.

“Yeah, well, maybe she’s tired of chaos,” Leo says. “Maybe shewants someone who alphabetizes his socks and studies physics for kicks.”

Brax strips off his jersey before addressing the locker room. “Hey, it’s pasta night, everyone. Jaz sent out a group text.”

I reach for my phone and see the text from Jaz, plus a missed call from Dad. My stomach twists as I press play on the voicemail.

“Tate, it’s Dad. Call me when you have a few minutes. It’s important.”

My parents almost never leave messages. Lately, they’ve barely even mentioned my games, too busy living their best lives as empty nesters—taking up new hobbies, going on separate adventures—and hardly contacting me.

I know I’m busy, but it’s almost like my parents are even busier than me. It helps that I usually go home in the summer, the only time I can focus without interruption on my secret project—the fantasy novel I started in high school. I finished the first draft after college, but the edits have dragged out ever since. Mostly because I still haven’t figured out how to end it.

This summer, I’d planned to finally finish the edits at my parents’ house. Query a few agents. Maybe even let someone read it so I can get some more feedback. My parents’ house is quiet and perfect for writing, unlike Rose & Thorn, and for once, I was actually looking forward to the visit.

I shake off the uneasy feeling, head to the showers, and call them on my way home.

“Hi, Tate,” Mom answers. I hear her muffle the receiver with her hand as she calls out, “Ed, it’s Tate on the phone. Do you want to get on the other line?”

“Is everything okay?” I ask. They rarely call me together.

“Everything is fine,” she says, but something about her tone is off.

“Tate.” Dad’s voice comes through the other line. “How’s it going?”

“Playoffs are going well,” I say. “We’ve gota real shot at winning this year, especially with the new coach. And after the season, I was planning to come home for a couple weeks, like usual.”

A silence stretches longer than normal, tipping me off that I’m not going to like what’s coming next.

“That’s actually what we wanted to talk to you about,” Mom says hesitantly. “Ed?”

“This might come as a surprise,” Dad says carefully, “but we’ve decided to give each other some space this summer.”

“Space?” I repeat, not understanding.

“Your mom and I”—Dad lets out a sigh—“are separating.”

I freeze, my mind reeling, replaying what I just heard. “You won’t be living together?”

“I’ll be staying with Aunt Nancy,” Dad says.

I blink. “Aunt Nancy…with her four cats?”

“She offered, and I need somewhere temporary,” Dad says. “We’re renting out the house for the summer.”

“Wait—what? You’re renting out the house? Without telling me?”

“And I’ll be visiting my cousin in Florida,” Mom says quickly. “Until we decide next steps.”

“I don’t understand.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to organize my thoughts. “Every relationship has problems. What makes this one unmanageable compared to the previous twenty-nine and a half years?”

“It’s been coming for a while,” Mom says quietly. “We’ve just been…avoiding it.”

“And you pickedthissummer to deal with it?” I ask. “Knowing I already had a plan. You didn’t think I should know sooner?”

“It’s not about you, Tate,” Dad says.

That’s the part that stings the most. Because they’re right—and also wrong. They made this decision, rearranged their entire summer, and not once did it occur to them to loop me in.

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