Page 16 of Absolutely Not in Love
Summer pulls out her wallet and hands her credit card over to the waiter, her light brown waves shimmering as she smiles up at him.
“Wait, wait, we’re splitting the check,” I say, reaching for my wallet.
“We aren’t,” Summer says, waving the waiter away. “My treat tonight. My promotion came with a raise, and I ordered two different appetizersanddessert. That’s double what you would have ordered.”
I swallow my pride with a huff. “Fine. But this is the only time. We’re splitting everything else for the rest of the weekend.”
“Deal,” Summer says.
I study my best friend, a wave of gratitude washing over me.
Maybe Ishouldintroduce her to Felix. She’s gorgeous. Successful. Funny and easy to be around. She could distract him away from me.
Which is what I want, right? For him to leave me alone?
The same jealousy that reared up before fills me up, claws at me, making my throat feel tight and my stomach feel queasy.
I sigh and let my shoulders drop.
I am in so much more trouble than I thought.
Chapter Four
Felix
“I’mjustsaying,darling,”Mom says, “he’s the perfect person to ask if you have questions about renovating an old building. I don’t know why youwouldn’task him.”
I can think of a lot of reasons why I wouldn’t ask my father for his opinions, but as late as it is, I’m not in the mood to hash it out with Momnow.We’ve had a nice night. Great dinner, a great symphony concert. I don’t want to ruin it by talking about Dad. Especially not when I’ve got a game tomorrow. I’d rather not do anything to mess with my headspace.
My mother leans over my kitchen table, eyes scanning over the four different plumbing estimates I’ve gotten regarding theveryold pipes in my building. Well, inhalfmy building.
I knew the pipes were old when I first renovated, but the plumber who did the original work claimed they still had years of life left and there was no reason to replace what was still fully functional. Only the pipes in my apartment are new; the ones that lead from the main water line into the building, and then everything in Gracie’s apartment, are all still original.
That decision came back to bite me pretty quickly. The old pipes are copper, giving our water a terrible, bitter taste, so I had to install a filter at the main line that cost more than replacing the plumbing would have. By the time I realized it, Gracie’s apartment was already fully renovated and finished, so the filter was the easiest solution. But now, there are a couple of places on the first floor where the pipes look like they’ve corroded to the point of being soft, so I’m having to replace them anyway.
It isn’t going to be cheap or convenient—especially since it will displace Gracie for a few days. She might have friends or family close by where she could stay, but I’ll have to at least offer to put her up in an Airbnb. She could always stay at my place—I have a guest room she’s welcome to—but I have a feeling she wouldn’t be comfortable with that particular arrangement. If she doesn’t date hockey players, I doubt she’d want to live with one either.
A familiar pang of disappointment shoots through me at the thought. Logically, it makes sense for me to move on from Gracie, drop the idea of taking her out, of getting to know her. But so far, I can’t seem to shake it.
Either way, I’m kicking myself for not consulting with more than one plumber before I had the original work done. I was probably a littletoofocused on handling the project by myself.
Or, more specifically, handling itwithoutmy father’s help.
“I seem to remember Derreck talking about pipes in the old Franklin building,” Mom says. She taps her finger against her lip. “The one near Willis Tower. You know how hands-on your father is. I think he’ll know what to tell you.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” I say, gathering up the estimates. I hadn’t meant to have this conversation at all, but Mom saw them on the table and asked what they were.
“You know he just wants you to be happy, Felix,” she says, clearly reading my mood more than she’s listening to my actual words.
“I know, Mom. I’ll talk to him. I will.”
Maybe. Eventually.
She rolls her eyes and moves into the living room, mumbling something that sounds an awful lot likestubborn boyas she goes. She reaches my bookshelves, pausing her steps as one hand slides over the titles.
If we can avoid talking about Dad, Mom and I could talk about books all night long. That’s the good thing about Mom. She has feelings about the relationship I have—or mostlydon’thave—with my father, and she never stops trying to push us back together. But even when I refuse her efforts, she doesn’t let it ruinherrelationship with me. She still comes to see me play even though Dad won’t. She still finds ways to make sure I know she cares.
“Have you read this one yet?” she asks, pulling the latest Andrew Sean Greer title off the shelf. “I’ve been meaning to grab it, but I haven’t had the time.”
