Page 37 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

“Oh, honey. How old is he?”

“Um…older than me.”

Fiona raises an eyebrow. “How much older than you?”

“Let’s just say older than me.”

She nods as if she understands completely, which, given Fiona’s world-weariness, I wouldn’t be surprised if she does. “Well, if you’re going to date an older man, he’s at least gotta be mature.”

“True.”

“What’s the point otherwise? You shouldn’t be trapped in the talking phase with someone older than you. That’s a red flag.”

I gulp. “Red flag?”

“Yeah. Like he’s just trying to pass the time.”

I’ve tried to hold tight to Hunter’s words and actions from the last time I saw him. He seemed to be adamant. Felt so adamant in the way he kissed me. I’ve justified his lack of planning as the downside of dating (seeing? Talking with?) a very busy man. I can’t rush him. He’s older. Way more established. Maybe he’s trying to figure out how to fit me in his schedule.

“It might be sweet, Amy, but words won’t keep you warm at night,” Fiona says pointedly.

“I know, I know…” I grumble and lean on the door to watch the city pass by.

Fiona sighs. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be a downer. As long as you’re having fun, that’s all that matters.”

I don’t know if I’m having fun. I know if Hunter stopped sending me sweet messages it would break my heart. But how long can I live on sweet messages and well wishes? None of that is real or tangible. How many more women does he send these to?

You have to trust, Amy. You have to trust or else you’ll ruin it for yourself.

It’s not like I’ve been blessed in the trusting department. After all, my mother left our family not once but twice. The only people I’ve ever trusted are my sisters. And my dad. But after Mom left, even that was in question. What if he left too? I thought my parents couldn’t leave and then one of them did. What would stop Dad?

I’ve worked through that in therapy. Dad is Dad. He’d never do that. And he didn’t. Doesn’t.

Can I afford to trust another man?

Maybe.

“Here we are…” Fiona says in my silence.

The bookstore appears on the right, Gregor’s Worldly Words in Sherman Oaks. It’s just the usual. A reading and then a signing for local parents and kids. I’m starting to get tired of toting this volume of Petunia around. Reading it used to be cathartic. Now it’s just a reminder of my tragic backstory. And then I remember the next Petunia I haven’t even started writing because I can’t seem to nail down an idea for it.

“Now to find parking…” Fiona drawls.

That’s why, in LA, you arrive a half hour before you have to be anywhere. Of course, that is if you care about being on time.

* * *

The reading goes great. I don’t get any weird looks from parents this time which is a first. In fact, I think word has gotten round about what this book is really about and it seems that the communities that need it are showing up in droves. I see a lot of single parents here with their kids, smiling to themselves.

That’s a nice feeling. As much as this book is for kids, it’s for parents too. Of course, not my mom. My mom didn’t leave only to stick around. But if I can aid in parents being able to explain their big life changes to their children, then I’ve done a good job.

The signing is a record breaker, at least for me. I think every person who came for the reading stays to get a copy. By the last ten people, my hand is aching.

“Just a couple more, Ames,” Fiona says, patting my back.

I toss my hair out of my eyes and take a deep breath as I reach for another book. I open it up to the inside cover. “Who can I make this out to?” I ask without looking.

“Um…” a man’s deep voice replies.

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