Page 11 of Merritt and Her Childhood Crush
Definitely not my future.
* * *
My phone buzzes justas I’m stepping out of the shower. It’s a number I don’t recognize, an area code I don’t know. A lot of people who hire me are new folks, moving down to Oakley and snatching up old homes to renovate them, so calls from unknown numbers aren’t all that unusual. But they never come in this late.
Then again—this could be Isabelle’s handiwork.
My daughter has recently decided that I need a new wife. It’s probably because Cass is having a baby. Her mom is nesting; Izzy is matchmaking.
First, there were the dating apps that mysteriously appeared on my phone. I’m not sure how many women responded to the profiles Izzy set up with misspelled words and a photo she took while I was glaring and telling her to give my phone back. But respond they did, and let me tell you—I am ill-equipped for the dating scene. Cass was the last girlfriend I had, and considering we got married at eighteen, I’ve pretty much got no game. Nor do Iwantgame.
Despite a long conversation about how I’m just fine on my own, my daughter’s stubborn streak is about as long as mine. She is so far undeterred.
Now, based on the last strange call I got from someone named Gail, Isabelle has shifted from dating apps to handing out my business cards to random women, not-so-casually mentioning that her daddy needs a new wife.
Of all the things Idon’tneed in my life, a new wife is at the top of the list.
I let the phone go to voicemail as I pull on sweatpants, but it starts ringing again almost immediately. This time, it only rings once, then stops. Then starts again.
“Hello?” It comes out a little sharper than intended, but it’s late. And I’m not really in the mood.
“I have an issue with the tile choices.”
“Merritt?”
“It’s too expensive. And I don’t like it.”
I sink down on my bed, rubbing a hand over my jaw. She’s been here less than a week and she’s already upending things. Or trying. I don’t plan to let myself be upended any more.
“It’s already been ordered.”
“Isn’t it on back order? That will cause delays. And I—we—want this project done as soon as possible.”
So you can run off again?
I don’t say it, but it takes all my effort to bite back the reply. “Why don’t we discuss this tomorrow at a more civilized time? I try to limit my conversations about tile to the hours between eight and five.”
She’s quiet for a moment, and I catch myself trying to analyze her silence. Which is so stupid. I need to stop pretending like I know this woman. Or like Ineedto know her.
“You got divorced.” A statement. Not a question.
I don’t notice until she says the worddivorced, but Merritt sounds like she’s slurring a little. Not quite a slur. More like her syllables are playing a little loose.
I guess it shouldn’t shock me so much that Merritt knows I was married at all. Oakley is a small town, and small towns talk. Her grandmother probably filled her in on the whole situation. I can’t imagine it painted me in a good light. It’s always a scandal when you get your girlfriend pregnant during your senior year of high school. I did right by Cassidy, as best I could, though I was hardly husband—or father—material at eighteen.
So many mistakes. Why does Merritt arriving suddenly seem to highlight them all?
“Have you been drinking?” I ask.
“No.” Her tone is way too defensive, and I’m not even a little surprised when she adds, “Not thewholebottle.”
I catch myself before I can laugh. “Good.”
“It was a big bottle. The biggest.”
Her last word sounds likebiggesh. So—NOT good.
“Merritt, do you need help?”
