As I’m pulling out, I see Franco stalking out of the house in the same gray sweatpants and a tight-as-hell tank top. It’s a shirt, but not the one I’d feel comfortable with him wearing around a very hungry and inappropriate Olivia.
18
FRANCO
If Chloe is rememberingme while she’s away, she sure as shit has a funny way of showing it.
All day Sunday, I check my phone for messages or texts. So much so that both Earl, who’s back from his fishing seclusion and managing the early stages of amicably filing for divorce from Carol, and Jack give me shit about it.
By Sunday night, I’m looking back at her texts, trying to read any little clue into what she’s thinking or feeling.
I got a Saturday night text that said, “I made it.” Followed by a “Miss you.”
Monday is a repeat of Sunday. But worse.
So, I grump through all of Monday, checking my phone every five minutes and worrying that I’m a shit boyfriend. I’ve ruined myself being single and fucking free all this time. Yeah, I’ve had no strings, no drama, but I’ve also got practice at the long game.
“Franco, you got a minute?” Earl’s scratching his neck, a pair of reading glasses on his nose.
I nod and storm from the bay where I’m working over to Chloe’s desk. It’s hers now that Carol has filed for divorce officially and let Earl know she’s not planning to come back to the shop.
“What’s up?” I lift my chin at him and quickly take a look at my phone. Nothing. Again. No missed calls, no texts. Not even from my mother. That makes me realize that maybe someone else has heard from her. I’m thinking about asking Ma and Gracie if they’ve heard from her, but then that’s going to start a whole thing that I’m not sure I’m ready to face either. I pocket my phone and look at Earl, who’s got a stern look on his face.
“Son,” he says, “in all the many years I’ve known you, I’ve seen you in a lot of moods. But this is one for the books. Can I ask what’s going on? You’re stomping around and cursing under your breath and obsessively checking your phone. Are you in some kind of trouble?”
I bark a rough laugh because, yeah, I suspect I probably am. Instead, I sigh again and shrug. “It’s Chloe,” I say. “Haven’t heard much from her since she left for Pennsylvania.”
Earl lifts his brows, white and bushy, one of them sprouting a single renegade hair that seems hell-bent on poking the man in his eye. “Oh?” he asks.
I haven’t officially told anyone that Chloe and I are seeing each other. Keeping my private life private is such a struggle. I definitely wasn’t in any rush to share the fact that I’m seeing her at work.
But now, with Earl looking me over curiously, not saying something feels like a lie. “We’ve been seeing each other for a while now,” I say. “So, not hearing from her while she’s back home makes me think of all the shit I’ve done to make me seem like a real asshole boyfriend.”
Earl nods, and I wonder if I’ve already said too much. “You feel like talking about it any?” he asks.
I don’t, but I can’t very well say nothing and confirm that I’m an asshole. “She tells me how she feels all the time. She’s so affectionate and thoughtful, and my ma got her this beautiful necklace as a gift before she left. I feel like all I’ve done is…” I swallow the words “fuck her,” because I’ve already said way too much.
He gets it, though, and shakes his head. “So, do you love her, son? Or is this a casual, sexual thing?”
“I…I am falling in love with her,” I say. “It may seem to be too soon, I know, but—”
Earl holds up a hand. “Who says it’s too soon? Go on. What else?”
“I’ve never dated anyone, not seriously like this. Never someone I’d see a future of more than a couple months with. We were dating two weeks, and my ma thought she was moving in to my place.”
Earl’s just nodding. Listening. Waiting.
“It’s all just moving fast, and I don’t like this feeling I get right here.” I touch the middle of my chest, trying to push down the knot under my bones. “Maybe she’s having second thoughts about me or about staying in Star Falls.”
Earl takes in a deep breath and scratches his neck again. His hair is an ashy gray, the color of dirty snow, and he keeps it short. He’s a man I’ve known all my life, and yet I realize I’ve never had a serious conversation with him. I’ve never asked how he’s doing, losing his wife. His marriage of however many fucking years is ending, and I’ve never once given him a hug or asked if he’s okay.
I suddenly realize it. That I’ve been hiding too. I may not wear bulky sweaters to cover my body, but I hide in plain sight. Behind a big personality and a pair of brass balls. If I’m always slick and hard to catch, no one will ever catch up to me. It’s a great way to stay safe. Unhurt. Untouched.
I feel the opposite of that now. Raw. Vulnerable. Worried to distraction that Chloe is going to be done with me. I’m terrible at multitasking, and I feel like all I’ve done is worry since Sunday.
“I think, in relationships, we’re each good at some things and not so good at others,” Earl finally says. He claps a hand on my shoulder. “Son, when you love someone and you put their happiness before yours, you think about what you’re not good at. And you try to be better. You won’t always do it right. But if she loves you, she’ll see you trying. And that will be more than enough.”
I swallow against the knot of dryness in my throat. “That sounds like real good advice, Earl. Thank you.”
