Page 69 of My Book Boyfriend
“I miss you,” I say.
“I miss you too,” my dad says. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t say all this when I left.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was barely holding it together. I went to England and sat in my hotel room the first few weeks. I didn’t leave.”
“But you sent me happy postcards.”
“I didn’t want you to worry,” my father says. “Are you sure this call doesn’t cost anything?”
“I’m sure. Let’s visit South Korea together. I will figure it out,” I say. “And now you can call me more regularly. Now that you see how easy this is.”
“Is the garden okay? I saw some articles inThe Upper West Side Ragthat its existence was being threatened by some developer.”
“We’ll see. We’re fighting it.”
“Good luck. If anyone can defeat them, it’s you and Mrs. Potter. I should go. But I’ll call you more often. I love you.”
“I love you.” I hang up. A sense of completeness fills me. I also feel bad that he was hiding his pain from me. But then, I was also hiding my despair from him. I pretended to be okay when he said he was going to travel.
I did tell him once that I didn’t want him to sell the apartment.
And he said, “But it’s too big for me, and it has too many memories.”
How could a place have too many memories?
And when I’d wandered through the empty apartment the day before it transferred to the new owner, taking pictures and trying to commit it to memory, he’d said, “You don’t need a place to remind you of your mom. She’s in you and me.”
Maybe I don’t need the garden. I’ve created this community, and it will go on even without the garden.
I need to prepare for that mentally. Mrs. Potter and I have discussed contingency plans. We could raise funds to organize a monthly get-together for the seniors at Banter & Books. Maybe we could have planting sessions with the kids at the library and grow seeds in small pots in our windows.
I stare at the photo of my mom on my desk. It’s the two of us at an environmental protest. I’m about ten and dressed as a polar bear. She looks so healthy and vibrant there—no sign of the illness to come.
My mom was a fighter to the very end.
Ultimately, it’s up to me to save the garden. It’s not Rupert’s responsibility. It’s mine. I can’t wait on the sidelines for him to resolve this.
Chapter twenty-one
Lily
Iwaitfortheelevator in our hallway, Miranda’s words echoing in my head: “Remember to move like an older person. Be a little stiff. I think that’s where I went wrong.”
I pat my black pants pocket, which has my index card with notes for my speech, if necessary.
Everly’s high-pitched voice pierces through the door to Aiden’s apartment. It’s been impressive how little I’ve seen Aiden since they started dating. Bella said I should take it as a compliment—that we weren’t entirely just friends because then he wouldn’t have ghosted me once he started dating someone. But apparently, we weren’t friends at all.
Everly comes out and does a double take to find me—an older woman—in the hallway.
I look like the seventy-year-old neighbor Aiden described.
I ignore her. That’s one benefit of this disguise. I don’t have to act friendly or nonchalant, like she didn’t crash my date and all my expectations of dating Aiden. Though, I should probably thank her for saving me from him.
“Are you visiting someone?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say. Short and sweet. The joys of being older and not giving a hoot about what anyone thinks.
