Page 25 of Booked for the Holidays
“Sounds good. And Dad?”
“What’s up?”
“I’ve never seen you with a girl… or a guy, and… well, you know you’re allowed to date people, right? It’s not like I’ll be mad. Justine’s mom downloaded Tinder and she’s having a great time.”
“I amnotdownloading Tinder.”
“Okay, but if youdidwant to start something with someone who, maybe, like, owns a bookstore, I’d be fine with it. Really. Think of all the free books!”
“Jesus.” I rub my temples and shake my head. “No points for subtly on that one. I’ll keep your approval in mind.”
“Alright, Dad. Don’t forget to tell Bridget hi.”
“I will. Love you, punk.”
“Love you too.”
I take a second after I hang up the phone, replaying her words. We haven’t talked about why I don’t bring women around, and she hasn’t asked. I don’t think it’s necessary to dole out introductions for people I can tell right away aren’t going to be a permanent, lasting addition to my–our–life.
It’s not about jumping at the chance to get with the first woman who looks my way or tosses me a flirty smile. It’s not just about me, and it hasn’t been for a long time. I have another person I have to think about when it comes to these decisions. Another person’s wellbeing to consider. It’s important shit, and I can’t afford to be selfish.
I’m most afraid of letting my kid see my insecurities. My fear of whoever I seriously date next might leave me like the last one did: Alone. Confused. Picking up the pieces and wondering what the hell I’m doing wrong.
I don’t want the next one to run.
I want them to stay.
“Are you okay?” asks Bridget.
It’s tender, a soft caress over my taut muscles. The tension loosens, a slight uncoiling of the invisible weights that sit there. The spool unravels. The block of dread lightens.
“I’m good. Sorry about that,” I answer.
“Please don’t think you need to apologize for talking to your daughter.”
“I’m just used to apologizing for it, I guess.”
“That’s shitty.”
“People are shitty,” I counter.
She hums in agreement. “Yes. They are.”
We walk to the counter and pick two stools side by side. Should I have left one in between us? Is this too close? She would have moved over if she was uncomfortable, right?
Why the hell am I overanalyzing it?
Her foot taps against mine as she gets settled. Unbothered by my proximity, she pulls out her laptop. A press of a button, and music starts from the speakers mounted to the wall above the coffee machines. I expect some popular Christmas song to play, rocking around trees or building snowmen. Instead, I hear the opening notes of “Janie Jones” and I smile at her stellar song choice.
Impressive tattoo. Impressive playlists. Impressive, Impressive, impressive.
A woman full of surprises.
“Ready to get started?” she asks.
“Go for it, Boylston.”
“Travel Livingwants to know what your company would do if you won the contest. How would you spend the prize money?”
