Page 6 of More Than a Good Friend

I’m not going to tell her the exact words—Goldie can make her own decisions—but I spin it. “He didn’t say no. Said it’s up to you.”

After a heavy sigh, she stares out the window. “Maybe he won’t mention it.”

Her phone buzzes, and her face lights up. But the way she has her phone tilted, I can’t see the screen. And running off the road would only make her birthday worse.

She swipes at the screen. Three swipes to the left; then she swipes right.

A dating app? When did Goldie get a dating app?

There are weirdos on those apps. Not the kinds of guys Goldie deserves. And I should know because I have all of them on my phone.

“What you got there?”

“Nothing.” She slides her phone into her purse.

That wasn’t nothing. I know what I saw.

“It looked like a dating app.” Why would she keep it a big secret?

“We’re meeting everyone at the restaurant. Do you know where it is?”

“The new place up in the next town over?”

“That’s the one.” Arms crossed, she goes back to staring out the window.

The silence feels like someone repeatedly poking at me with a hot branding iron.

“I don’t think your dad likes me.” I went in prepared to plead my case.

“He knows we’re friends.”

“Your mom leaves no doubt. She thinks I spend too much time chasing the ladies. But I wasn’t going to keep doing that. I mean, if you’d said yes.”

Goldie pinches her lips, then flips the mirror down and freshens her lipstick.

“You look good, but I think you look better without all that stuff on your face.”

She snaps the mirror closed. “I didn’t put it on for you.”

Her tone catches me off guard. “Don’t be mad. I said it looks good.”

Nothing I say is the right thing, so I guess we’ll revert to the branding-iron silence. One thing’s for sure. We are definitely not okay.

When I park outside the restaurant, Goldie is halfway to the door before I’m even out of the truck. I wish she’d just tell me what I did wrong.

“Marigold! You’re late. I was worried about you.” Mrs. Flores hugs her daughter and shoots me a sideways glance.

“You said we were meeting between five and five fifteen. It’s two minutes after five.”

Mrs. Flores waves her hand. “No matter. I’m glad you made it safely. But why did you bring him?”

I’ve been to every one of Goldie’s family birthday dinners for the last twenty years, and this question gets asked every year.

“He’s my friend, Mama.”

“You need a husband, not a friend. And we all know he will never settle down.” She opens her arms and motions for me to hug her. “I like you, Hidalgo, but I’m not sure you’ll ever be right for my daughter.” Mrs. Flores doesn’t use nicknames. And there is a distinct possibility that she blames me for everyone calling her daughter Goldie.

“It’s good to see you.” I pretend not to take her words to heart, but they sting. It’s not that I didn’t earn that reputation, but once the label’s attached, there’s no hope of walking away from it.

---