Duffy DUFFY The next night, when I was on my way home from work, I got a text from Connor that said Don’t cook anything for dinner. Me: What does that mean? I still hadn’t recovered from Thursday Night Football, so the idea of more surprises was a little overwhelming. The game had been a blast, he’d played great football, but Connor’s appearance in the suite afterward had been the best part. He’d made my father the happiest man on the planet—truly—and I was thankful for that, but it was his little bit of playfulness with me that wouldn’t leave my brain. I haven’t properly said hi to your daughter yet. God, the man was swoony, even when he was faking it. Give me some sugar. He was such a shit and I couldn’t think about it without giggling and kicking my damned feet. Connor: Your boyfriend’s a thoughtful guy. Are your brothers going to be at the house for dinner or is it just you and your dad? Me: Just me and my dad. Connor: Perfect. Have a good night. Me: What are you up to? Connor: Just shut up and enjoy it. Right when I pulled into the driveway, a Door Dash delivery driver was on our porch, dropping off a full meal from Carson’s, our favorite Italian restaurant. “Did you order this, Duff?” my dad asked with a frown as I got out of my car. “That’s a lot of money to spend on food.” “This isn’t me,” I said with a laugh, because the bag he was holding was huge. “I think Connor sent this.” “What?” “He sent a text about not making dinner,” I said as I followed him inside the house. And sure enough, when we grabbed the takeout containers, there was a note on top. Duff— Take the night off from cooking. —C “All right, I’m a big fan of this guy,” my dad said. “Anyone who sends dinner from Carson’s is a good boy.” “You were a big fan of him already—spare me,” I r eplied, shaking my head as I looked at the note in my hand. I was a big fan of his notes. The other day, he sent an absurd little note with the beer bouquet.
Distefano, These golden hops can’t hold a mug to your full- bodied, effervescent beauty. I want to get buzzed on you. Your boyfriend, Connor P. S. I was told that poems don’t have to rhyme, which is good because nothing rhymes with full- bodied OR effervescent. Also, I suppose two sentences probably don’t qualify as poetry. I remember ARISE FAIR SUN AND KILL THE ENVIOUS MOON from a Shakespeare course I took in college— does quoting that count for something? P. P. S. You get it, though, right? I like you more than this beer. ;) “He’s a good boy,” my dad said, smiling as he tore into the food. “He’s okay,” I said, feeling a little weak as I opened the box with the bruschetta. This is fake, this is fake, this is fake. I knew it, but I wanted to remind myself, because a girl could get used to this treatment. This was probably normal romantic behavior (on an NFLer scale) in a new relationship (that wasn’t fake), but I’d usually been demoted to a friend before the gifting portion of the program ever began. And I couldn’t believe it, but as my dad and I wolfed down delicious Italian food, I realized my brothers were right. My dad’s sudden amusement over the Connor situation put a halt to his complaints about the oxygen. Instead of growling about the “damn nose rope” and how it was going to mess with everything normal in his life, he was talking about my new “boyfriend” and all the amazingness that seemed to surround him. It was nice to see him relaxed and acting more like his old self. Comforting. I actually felt good about the lie by the time I got into bed, because my dad deserved a little bit of joy. — But the next day was trash, of course. Because from the minute my eyes opened, I couldn’t stop thinking about one year ago. That she was still with us. That on this day last year, I talked to her on the phone over my lunch break and she told me about the new hair color she wanted to try out. That on this night last year, she texted me about the episode of the Real Housewives she was watching. That one year ago, I’d had no idea I’d never hear her voice again. I woke up to all those thoughts at once, and when I went into the kitchen, I could see my dad was having them, too. He’d never mention that, of course, but he didn’t say a single word from the moment I walked into the kitchen until I left for work (we were both going in for a few extra Saturday hours). He didn’t mention the weather, he didn’t mention football, he didn’t mention how runny the eggs that I made were; his brain was far away from me. Which made me realize I couldn’t leave him that night. Even though the anniversary of her death wasn’t until tomorrow, I’d completely missed the fact that today was the anniversary of her last day of life. I texted Connor, disappointed to cancel because somehow, landing that “official” second date felt imperative to the getting-past-the-friend-zone thing. Ellie called it an essential goal and insisted I needed to do everything short of murder to ensure that the date happened ASAP.
Please don’t be mad, but I have to cancel for tonight; I think my dad’s going to need me. Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my mom’s passing. Connor: Are you okay? God. Was I okay? Was I okay? Something about the question, the fact that he was asking me, checking in on my feelings, made me feel like crying. I blinked fast, trying to ke ep it together because I didn’t want to let that simple question trigger a crying jag I was unable to stop. But also, it kind of felt like no one had asked me that in a really long time. It’d been a year of chaos—and sadness—but through it all, it’d seemed like I was always the one asking that question to everyone else. Me: Yes, but I don’t want him to be alone tonight. Connor: Good call. And you’re a really good daughter btw. Me: Don’t be nice, for God’s sake. Makes it harder to ke ep emotions in check. Connor: I should be an asshole? Me: Yes, please. Connor: Okay, then you suck and I’m glad you can’t go out with me because I was going to have to stab myself in the face with a fork if I had to see you again. How did I like him so much already? I texted: Poured it on too thick so now I know you’re lying. You’re obviously dying to see me again. Connor: Perhaps. I sighed and wished I could just talk to him all day. I texted: I have to go to work now, but thanks for being understanding. I wanted to add please please please raincheck me!! but I restrained myself. I didn’t want to seem desperate, especially when “coy” and “elusive” were the adjectives I was supposed to be striving for. Connor: Of course. I’m a hell of a guy. Me: You just might be. “I’m leaving,” I said as I put on my jacket. My dad was watching Good Morning America—he watched it every morning until he left for work—but I knew he wasn’t really watching. “Do you need anything before I go?” “Nah. Drive safe, kid.” I wanted to hug him, to say something to pull him out of himself, but I was pretty sure just mentioning my mom would bring on tears and I knew my bawling wouldn’t help him. So instead, I went to work and threw myself into spreadsheets until my dad called a couple hours later. “Hello?” “Hey, are you going tonight?” he asked. “Going where?” “To Connor’s thing. Your brothers all said they’re going, and as long as one of them can take me because I can’t drive after dark,
I’m thinking I’d go, too. But Connor didn’t mention if you were going or if it was just a guy thing.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, truly confused. “Cunningham called because apparently he’s got some beta version of that old World War II COD and since you told him we used to play, he invited us to come over tonight because his access ends tomorrow.” “Wait. What?” A beta version of a relic of a game? “Yeah, I don’t know, I don’t really understand the details, but I guess it’s a special version he has a code for or something.” “So let me get this straight.” I felt, for the thousandth time since meeting Connor, completely confused. “You and Matty and Ty and Joey are going to Connor’s house. Tonight. To play COD.” “Yeah, what don’t you get, Duff?” My dad sounded vaguely amused. “I don’t know,” I said, because I really didn’t. “Get this—I asked if any of his teammates will be coming over and he said he’d see if they’re free.” What the hell? “Yeah, I don’t think I’m invited,” I said, trying my hardest to get a grip on this. It felt a lot like Connor was doing something very nice to distract my dad tonight, but I couldn’t be understanding it right because that was just too selfless, for him to let a bunch of near-strangers come over and play a video game at his house to ke ep them from being sad. People just... weren’t that nice. “So he really just invited us and not you—that’s hilarious,” he said, sounding incredibly happy I wasn’t included. “Yeah,” I said, still reeling from what was happening. “Hilarious.” “You gonna be okay home alone? I can—” “Get back to work, old man; I’ll be fine,” I teased, letting him off the hook. “I will, you little wiseass,” he r eplied, and my heart was happy that he sounded so light. I hung up in shock and didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to call Connor, but another part of me didn’t want to unravel it all. Because I felt like he should’ve asked me first. If he were a normal guy, it’d be weird that he made plans with my family after one date and a hockey game, especially when I hadn’t been included at all. Especially for a day that was so important. But also—he wasn’t a normal guy. Also—we weren’t in a normal situation now that we’d added this faking-it-in-front-of-Pops aspect and he’d gone through the trouble of entertaining us all in the suite the other night. And my dad needed this, dammit. So I didn’t do anything at all. I decided to leave it be and just see what happened. Only what happened was that Connor texted me during lunch. I was halfway into a leftover cheese quesadilla when I got his message. Connor: Distefano. You hanging in there okay today? Need anything? I set down the tortilla, not sure if I wanted to laugh or cry. How did his casual thoughtfulness make me feel so weak? It was just really nice to have someone check in on me, I guess.
I mean, Ellie had brought me lunch and a sweet treat because she was the best, but it was different coming from him. I texted back: I’m good but thank you. Seriously. Connor: Let me know if you change your mind. Also, I kind of invited your dad over to play video games because I sometimes fail to think before speaking, but I can cancel if that makes you uneasy. This guy, I swear to God. I still didn’t understand exactly what was in play with the video game invite, but I was surprisingly okay with whatever it was. I texted: If you want Tony, he’s yours. Connor: Excellent. And when I got home from work at the end of the day, the house was empty. I texted Joey. Are you with Dad? Joey: Yeah, we’re at Cunningham’s. What do you want? Me: Nothing I just wanted to make sure Dad was OK. Joey: Yeah, he’s having the time of his life. Josh Reed and Justin Teeders swung by, so Dad went on a beer run with them. Josh Reed, the quarterback of the Coyotes, and Justin Teeders, Hall of Fame tight end, were on a beer run with my father. On a night that should’ve been terrible for him. What the hell is happening? Connor couldn’t be this nice, could he? It didn’t make sense that he would be this generous with his time, but I couldn’t come up with any other option on how this worked for him. He seemed to be interested in me at the moment—I was still in disbelief over that and would probably always be— but at a normal level. The vibes were not I’m-so-unhinged-and-stalkery-that-I’m-going-to- go-de ep-with-your-family, so I had no idea what to think. I went to my room and changed into comfy clothes, unsure of exactly what to do with myself. I’d gotten so used to spending my time either studying—which was pointless today when my brain couldn’t stay in the present—or running errands for my dad, that having a few free hours seemed almost overwhelming. Too many possibilities. TV, movie, nap, book... the choices were limitless. But then I decided to go see her. I had plans to go to the cemetery the next day with my dad and brothers, but suddenly I wanted a little alone time with her. When I got to Oak Hill, I walked in the dark until I reached her headstone. For some reason, I was never scared to be there after dark. Anywhere else in the city I was gripping my Mace and making sure my Taser was handy, but when I was at the cemetery I felt oddly at peace, like I was being protected by everyone who lived there. “Hey,” I said, dropping to sit crisscross-applesauce beside her. “I know I’m going to see you tomorrow, but I ditched Dad, so I thought it would be fun for us to have a girls’ night.”
I rolled my eyes at myself, because I always got stupid when I talked out loud to my mother. I pretty much became my teen self anytime I wanted to connect with her from beyond the grave. My mom was gone, so the idea that communicating with her at the cemetery reached some connecting portal was kind of ridiculous, but I didn’t care. I felt closer to her here. “I can’t believe a year ago this very minute, you were watching trash TV. Maybe that’s what actually killed you—you let too much of that nonsense into your brain,” I said, knowing she’d appreciate the dark joke. “God. It’s just been such a weird year without you. On the one hand, I’m closer to Dad than I’ve ever been in my entire life, so thank you for that, I guess,” I said. “He misses you so much that he needs me. The most capable man in the world needs me because he doesn’t have you, so that’s just like the biggest blessing and curse ever,” I said, smiling even as it became difficult to swallow. I closed my eyes and pictured her smile, the way her whole face lit up. “I just miss you so much,” I said with a muffled sob, no longer able to hold back tears. “I just want to hear your voice and smell your perfume and see your face so badly.” My chest hurt, my heart hurt, and in an instant, I needed to unload everything on her. “And shit, Ma—I want all the wisdom that I was supposed to get from you when I got older. I was still young and dumb when you died, still the mental equivalent of a college kid. All the things that you were supposed to teach me about being an adult, like why people care about cleaning baseboards and how do you even do it—I still need all of those things from you. How am I going to ever have babies without you holding my hand through it?” The hole in my chest made it hard to speak, or maybe it was the sobbing. “How am I supposed to know anything about how to live without you? Who do I call now? I don’t know how long Dad’s going to live. I don’t know if this lung thing means he’s just going to have shitty lungs for the next twenty years or if it means he’s only got five left. I’m too afraid to ask the doctor and I feel like the boys are the same way. And I don’t know if he knows. I don’t know how to ask Dad if he understands what they’re saying or if he wants to or if he wants me to. And my fucking CPA exams,” I said on a sob; it was like a centuries-old dam had been released. “Everything is so hard—it’s all too much, and it wasn’t like that when you were here. Just having you made everything better.” I wiped at my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. “I suppose I didn’t come here to bitch at you—that’s selfish, right? I’m supposed to be honoring you and your memory, not complaining about your absence.” I cleared my throat—well, I tried, but it didn’t do any good. “I’ll never understand how I got lucky enough to have a mom who was the funniest person in the world, and I’d give anything for five more minutes. I would. I know I can’t have that, but just know that I would give everything to have those five minutes because that’s how much I loved you.” I was a bawling mess and I didn’t even care because it was like I was bleeding out. Nothing in the world mattered or compared to how much I missed her at that moment.
I sat there for a long time, just crying in the darkness. It felt like all I could do. All I even wanted to do. After God knows how long, the tears dwindled, noises of the wilderness beyond the cemetery bringing me back to reality. “I’m sorry, I’ve got to go, Mom. I need time to de-swell my face before Dad gets home.” I curled up against her headstone, wishing to absorb even an ounce of my mom’s essence. “I hate saying this, but I think this was a terrible idea. I never feel better after I come here, and I know you know it. I feel closer to you in a way, to just talk to you, but Mom, I still feel so lost, because you’re still gone. I love you and I just wish you weren’t dead.” I wiped my nose on the back of my sleeve and stood, exhausted and empty as I walked back to my car. My phone buzzed as I buckled my seat belt. Dad: Can you come pick us up? I sniffled again and blinked, my eyes still stinging slightly. What the hell? I texted: Why? How did you get there? Dad: Joey drove us but he had to leave early. Connor offered his driver, but I had to put my foot down. We’ve imposed enough. Had to lay down the law on him. No way was I driving into the city and rolling up to Connor Cunningham’s apartment, especially looking like this. Me: Can’t you just take an Uber? I was too exhausted to deal with this. Dad: The surge price is nuts right now—you can’t come get your old man? “Dammit,” I muttered under my breath as I texted: Send me the address. But I’m just going to text you when I get there and you can come out because I’m basically in pajamas. Dad: You can’t pretty yourself up and come up? My dad, ladies and gentlemen. Me: No, I cannot. I knew it was a terrible night to be short with him, but I just couldn’t leave the car. I couldn’t. I got on the freeway and headed for Connor’s place, which, according to the map, looked like it was right by the Target Center. I cranked the Blue Stones as I flew down the freeway, trying to get out of my funk. By the time I got off at the exit, I was feeling better. I was pretty sure I could handle picking up my dad and brothers without them seeing I was an emotional wreck. But when I pulled up to a meter spot in front of the building and texted my dad, he didn’t respond. Matty and Ty didn’t respond, either. I texted Connor and he also didn’t respond. I sighed and called my father. “Tony here,” he answered, sounding like a social butterfly. “Dad, I’m in front of the building.” “Oh, I need you to come up,” he said. “No, I told you I’m not going to do that. Just come down when you’re ready.”
“You gotta come up—it’s important,” he said. “The code is 9281. Punch it in the door panel, then punch it in the elevator. Takes you right into his apartment, isn’t that something?” “I don’t even have on shoes,” I lied, not budging because I would rather be eaten by actual wolves than go up to Connor’s place in my current state. “Cunningham owns the damn building—he doesn’t care if you have shoes on—” “I’m sure he doesn’t own the building, Dad—” “Oh shit, you gotta get up here now—” And then the call was disconnected. I sighed and rested my forehead on the steering wheel. My dad was a shit. A shit who was playing games with me. I knew him well enough to know nothing was going on that I needed to “get up there” for. He wanted me to engage with Connor and he wasn’t giving me another option. If it were any other night, I would just stubbornly sit in the car and wait it out until he was forced to give in. But I needed to be selfless. My mom would want me to take care of my dad tonight, even though it was a pain in my ass. I got out of my car, trudged over to the fancy doors of the fancy high-rise, and punched in the code. Sure enough, the doors slid open and I was inside. Thank God no one was in the lobby, because any human who lived in that sleek, modern building would take one look at me and assume I was an unkempt interloper who should be kicked out on sight. I slunk over to the elevator, punched the code into the keypad, and the shiny doors opened as a ding echoed around me. I got in and groaned aloud at my reflection in the mirrored wall. I actually looked worse than I’d thought, so I licked my finger and worked hard at scrubbing away the black makeup streaks that’d settled beneath my eyes and smoothed out my hair. I wondered yet again what the hell was going on in my life as I rode up to the thirty-first floor. I lived paycheck to paycheck and currently had only about three hundred dollars left on my credit card limit, yet I was in a private elevator on its way up to an NFL star’s condo. I didn’t belong in a place like this and nothing about the situation made sense. And that thought screamed through my head even louder when the elevator doors opened, because Connor’s apartment (or condo—I didn’t know the details of his financial portfolio) looked like something from a Bravo real estate show. “Hello...?” I said, because I wasn’t sure how it worked when an elevator went straight to someone’s apartment. Was there some other door I needed to go to and knock? I st epped out into a small foyer of sorts, sleek and beige, and I could hear all kinds of noise coming from down the hallway. I could also see three fluffy cats—two gray, one orange—lying on top of each other on a fancy chair that didn’t look like it was meant to hold a pile of tabbies. I could hear Matty laughing down the hall, my dad talking, other voices I didn’t recognize; it sounded like a full-on party. I slowly walked in that direction, very aware of the fact that I was wearing my threadbare Coyotes jersey with paint stains, as well as sweatpants that had a hole in the knee. My hair was in a messy bun and I knew there were still a few black mascara streaks under my eyes from
my emotional meltdown at the cemetery, so yes, please—force me into a party situation. But when I got to the end of the hallway, my mind was blown by two things. The first—his living room. Dear Lord. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire unit, as far as I could see, and all the furniture and trims were light colors and warm wood. It was stunningly beautiful, the kind of place that would be included in an article about “clean lines” and “simple elegance” in Architectural Digest. I knew nothing of design aesthetics, but living somewhere like this would be sublime. You could literally see down into the field where the Minnesota Twins played, which was, frankly, too overwhelming for words. Talk about perfection. But the second thing that blew my mind made me smile despite my grief and annoyance, because my father was standing there with a game controller in his hand, laughing with Josh Reed and Justin Teeders like they were all best friends. He looked so damn happy that I felt like crying again. “There she is,” I heard, and when I turned around, I saw Connor coming toward me from what appeared to be a kitchen. “How old are you?” I blurted out, because he didn’t act that different from any of my friends from college, but this place was unreal and nothing like a place someone my age could own. “Twenty-four, right?” “Why do you want to know?” he said, his eyebrows furrowed. “Curiosity. I know you were drafted last year but I’m not sure—” “Yeah, twenty-four,” he said. Twenty-four, holy shit. So impossible. “I can’t believe you’re my age and own this.” Oh my God. I quickly said, “Wait—you understand that I’m not talking about money, right? I just mean—” “No, no, I get it,” he said with a funny smile. “I feel the same way every time I come home. Two years ago, I was living in a shitty house that smelled like beer with three roommates who threw ragers twice a week. So how the fuck do I own this? And I’m not even sure I like it.” “What?” I asked in disbelief, lowering my voice because I’d just mentioned the most personal question topics and I was in a room full of people. Idiot. Thank God it was chaotic and loud. “It’s beautiful. How do you not love it?” “I mean, I do. My sister did a lot with the decorator and whenever I come home, it’s very relaxing and I can’t even believe it’s mine. But I also don’t feel equipped to own property, if that makes sense. Like what the hell do I know about real estate? I was the guy who sl ept on a futon at the last place I lived.” I smiled at that, because it made total sense, even to a pauper like me. “Isn’t it weird how in college you’re totally treated like a teenager by your professors and your parents, but then all of a sudden you graduate and you’re supposed to magically be a functioning adult? I have my big-girl job now and I’m trying to manage my dad’s doctor appointments and pay his property taxes but, like, I have no idea what I’m doing. Where is the education for that? You don’t have any training on how to live in a fancy high-rise
building, and I don’t have any training on how to figure out what the circle attachment on my mom’s vacuum is for. Like, shouldn’t there be some adulting class we have to take before we’re thrown into the world?” “Holy shit, I feel like this all the time,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and laughing. “You do?” I couldn’t believe it. “That is shocking. It makes sense that I would feel this way because I’m a fresh college graduate and I’m not successful at anything yet. I guess I assumed a top-ten draft pick and someone who’s, like, the best in his field would have a little more command of his place in the world.” “Yeah, I would have thought so, too,” he said, sounding a little more serious than I liked. When I glanced over Connor’s shoulder, I saw my dad—who had yet to notice me—and suddenly remembered what I came here for. But I also didn’t really know what I came here for. “What is this?” I asked quietly. “What do you mean?” he r eplied, his eyes roving over my face in confusion. “I mean, what is all this with you inviting them over?” His eyes narrowed like he wasn’t sure how to play it and then he said, “I just thought it could help your dad today, and maybe you, too, so you don’t have to shoulder everything alone. As soon as I invited him I realized I should’ve asked you first, but he was already running with it, so I couldn’t stop him. I’m sorry.” “But why? Why would you do this?” He watched me for a long minute, like he was working through exactly what I was trying to get from him. “Because he’s your dad,” he said with a helpless shrug. Because he was my dad. “Damn it,” I muttered under my breath, shaking my head in irritation because how was I supposed to handle this? How was I supposed to stay grounded in reality when the NFL star who was pretending to be my boyfriend k ept doing the nicest things for me? Odds were not in my favor that I’d es cape emotionally unscathed. “Do you want to go out to the balcony?” Connor asked quietly. “What?” “I just thought you might want privacy when you yell at me,” he said calmly. “And this unit has a great view.” “I’m not going to yell at you,” I r eplied, resisting the bizarre urge to touch him, to assure him that I was definitely not mad at him. Instead, I gave a nod before turning and walking toward the balcony because I did want privacy. “But I actually would like a moment.” I felt him follow me outside, and after being hit in the face with the stunning view below—you could actually see the whole city—I took a de ep breath and turned to face him. “What’s up?” he asked, looking concerned. The autumn breeze moved the ends of his thick hair, and as the cool evening air chilled my face, I realized I had nothing to say. Nothing I knew how to express as those earnest blue eyes became the only thing I could see. So I kissed him. I was a fool, filled with emotions, but I was helpless to do anything but show him how grateful I was, how appreciative I was of his kindness. His arms came around me and squeezed me tight, so tight that he lifted me off the ground a little bit.
I could barely breathe from how tightly wrapped his arms were around my body and I loved it. More. I’d never needed a physical connection more than I needed those big arms at that moment. And the man did not need to be asked twice, dear Lord. It was like we’d kissed a thousand times before, like his mouth was intimately familiar with mine, even though our lips had never met before now. I’d never been kissed—and I had never kissed—in such a way. One second my lips were daring to touch his, and the next? Dear God, he was on the attack, the former Rookie of the Year proving he was always on the offensive. His teeth dragged over my bottom lip before his tongue went de ep, a noise rumbling in the back of his throat as he angled his head and devoured my mouth. Holy shit. I slid my fingers into his hair, needing grip as he pulled me closer because suddenly, I could feel his every ridge and muscle pressed against my body. I was on fire as he held me against him, but at the same time I was drowning, a captive between states of matter as electricity shot through every one of my veins. “What is this?” he said against my mouth, pulling back a little but not letting go of me. “Not that I don’t love it.” “Um, it’s, uh,” I stammered, distracted by the heat in his blue eyes as he watched me and the way his cologne engulfed my senses, leaving me utterly under his influence. “This is just, like, thank you, I guess.” “Well, I reject this as a thank-you,” he said, frowning slightly. “Jesus.” “What? What does that mean?” “It means I want more of this, but not attached to gratitude.” He said it like he was offended. “I mean, it isn’t only gratitude,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm because there was no way he couldn’t see on my face how into him I was. “Then give me the breakdown, Duff,” he said, the scowl morphing into something else. Intrigue. Anticipation. “How much is gratitude, and how much is you wanting to kiss me?” “You want a number?” I asked quietly, feeling flirty as I lowered my hands and rested them on his hard chest. “I’ll take a number,” he said, his face playful yet still sexy as his fingers flexed on my lower back. “Duffy!” my dad yelled from inside. “Where the hell did you go?” “I—I’m out on the balcony,” I said, st epping back from Connor and wiping my mouth. He looked amused as he watched me yell back to my dad, “Are you ready to go?” My dad came outside and cringed at my stained jersey. “That’s what you wore?” “I told you,” I said, ignoring the way Connor was grinning, “I wasn’t going to get dressed and that you should just come down.” “I think she looks great,” Connor said. “Holy shit, what the hell happened to you?” Ty said to me as he walked out with my dad. “Did you lose a bet with that outfit?” “I’m going down to the car,” I said, flipping him off. “Anyone who wants a ride home has five minutes.”
“I thought Joey was giving us a ride home,” Ty said. “I thought Joey left,” I said, remembering my dad’s call. “I left to go get more beer,” Joey said. “But I’m still driving.” My eyes shot to the little shit who called himself my father. “Dad?” “I just wanted a plan B,” he said defensively, not even trying to hide what he’d been doing. “Okay, you’re hilarious, this is great, I’m going home,” I said. “Good night, Connor. Have fun with my insane family.” “Oh, I will,” he said with a wink. On my way home, I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh. This definitely hadn’t been on my one-year-death-anniversary bingo card. I was overwhelmed by Connor, truly confused over what was happening with him, but the guy was incredibly good at making me smile.