Page 39 of The True Love Experiment

When I open them again, she’s watching. “So.” She leans casually against the countertop. “What’s the verdict?”

“To be honest, I expected noise and traffic and two tired, cranky ten-year-old girls—which I’m sure we’ll still get—but I was also sure I would hate every minute. I was wrong. You may now gloat.”

“You were dancing,” she says with a grin.

“I wasswaying.”

She lets this one slide. “I’m pretty picky about who I’ll bring to a concert, but you were a good sport, Hot DILF. I may invite you again if I find myself needing a concert buddy. But know there are usually fewer ten-year-olds, more booze, and the occasional bad tattoo at the end.”

“I look forward to it,” I say, and glance back at the girls, unexpectedly struck by Fizzy’s praise. The group launches into another song and Stevie looks over, searching for me. This one’s her favorite, the song that plays on my way to work every Monday morning because it was the last one Stevie played Sunday night. She excitedly points to the stage before turning back to watch.

“She totally adores you,” Fizzy says.

I don’t know why that word in particular stings the backs of my eyes. Most kids love their parents. I don’t like my dad, but I do love him in my own way. It’s a love tangled up with grief and hurt and a messy pile of other complicated emotions, but it’s there. Toadoreis to cherish, to treasure, and for Stevie to visibly feel that for me after all the ways I’ve fallen short fills me with so much pride it’s almost hard to breathe.

If Fizzy catches any of this, she’s polite enough not to say anything. “Thank you for bullying me into bringing her,” I say. “I’ve never seen her like this.”

Fizzy gazes at both the girls fondly. “She’s definitely in her element.”

“How did she know everything that was going to happen? The set list, even what they’d be wearing. Where’d she learn all that?”

“It’s what fangirls do,” Fizzy says with a shrug. “It’s the same way you know when a new Shimano derailleur is coming out for your fancy mountain bike.”

My attention snaps back to her and I grin. “Look at you talking about bike parts.”

She reaches for a cookie and breaks it in two, handing half to me. “Some might say I’m an expert at typing things into the Google search.” She studies her cookie. “Even went hunting for pics of you.”

“Me?”

“You know, on set, mountain biking.” She pauses, shrugging causally. “With girlfriends.”

“And?” I lean against the counter at her side, smothering a smile. She is so bloody obvious. “What did you find?”

One side of her mouth turns down into a frown and carves a small dimple in her left cheek. “Nothing. Your Instagram name is a bunch of random letters and numbers that I was only able to track down because I know Jess who knows Natalia who happened to tag you in something, like, five years ago. You have four followers and two posts. It was both a relief and disappointing.”

“We’re supposed to be focusing onyourlove life, Fizzy.”

“Just feels unfair,” she says, and her smile is easy but her eyes are tight when she looks at me, “now that we’re becoming friends, that we’re only focused on finding someone for me and not you.”

I look out to where the show is winding down and Wonderland is saying their final goodbyes. Nothing good can come from this. We both know it and yet we keep ending up here. “Well, I’d be surprised if there are photos of me with women anywhere. I don’t date much these days.”

“Have you ever tried DNADuo?”

“Me? Definitely not,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s not that I don’t believe it or anything, I just… if I had a match, I’d want to take it seriously, and I just can’t right now.”

“Jess was the same way. With Juno,” she says, clarifying. “She wasn’t interested in getting involved with anyone until Juno was in college.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“I’ll tell you what I told her: that makes for a boring fucking book.”

“Well, maybe one day,” I say. “I tried dating a few times when Stevie was younger, but any woman worth pursuing wants more than the occasional weeknight together. Plus, whoever I’m involved with gets me, Stevie, and Nat.”

“How long have you been divorced?”

“Stevie was two.”

“Oh wow. She was so little.”

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