Page 155 of Can't Help Falling

“Your favorite,” Mom says.

They go through their get home from work ritual, which includes way too much over-fifty kissing, so I make myself scarce to avoid having to talk to my therapist about more than just the fire.

That also leaves me to stew about what my mother said. Surely, she’s wrong about all of it.

This crush has always been one-sided, and I don’t think that’s changed.

But why would Owen buy me flowers and not say anything?

For absolutely no reason?

I think back on the thoughtful things he’s done since he got back. Kind things. Little things. The way he pulled me aside during my panic attack so nobody else would see me break down. The way he insisted on walking me to my car. The way he showed up here when he heard I was sick.

They were simple things. The kind of things a friend would do for another friend.

But is my mother right? Are they also romantic?

I look up and find my parents, thankfully not playing tonsil hockey, each moving around the kitchen in a quiet choreography. He pulls three bowls down from the cupboard and sets them next to the pot on the stove where she’s cooking. As he passes by her on the way to get spoons from the silverware drawer, his hand grazes her back, not in an amorous way, just in a way that lets her know he’s there.

It’s always been like that. Her being there for him. Him being there for her.

They live with an unspoken, coded language that nobody else understands. I thought they were boring, but now, I see they’re anything but.

How had I missed it before?

Maybe I have been holding out for the wrong things.

My mother walks over to the opposite side of the counter and stands in front of me. She reaches out and quietly readjusts the sunflowers, smiling directly at me, and says, “Time to eat!”

And then she walks over to the table, and I’m still standing here, trying to sort through all of my many confusing thoughts.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Emmy

“He might not be practically perfect in every way, Floundering in Florida, but there’s room to hope! It sounds like he’s open to trying new things, and that, I believe, is worth keeping an open mind.”

I click the Stop button.

I’m recording a new episode. I’m off-schedule, but I have the time. I make sure to pick questions that will not veer off into any real-life feelings, and by the time I’m finished, I’m feeling restless.

I scroll over to my inbox and find a notification on something I’ve never used before.

Chat.

It’s right there, right under “Mail,” with a “1” in a red circle.

Should I click on it? This feels way more. . .I don’t know, close. . .than just regular email.

Curiosity gets the best of me.

It’s from Practical in Poughkeepsie.

Practical:

How’d your attempt at practical romance go?

It shows a time stamp on it, next to a blue circle icon with a capital P in it.

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