“That’s if you have any balls left to tee off with,” Kline interjects.
It’s pretty clear that my dad and Kline are back to being friends, though one might complain the timing is complete shit now. I mean, it would’ve been nice if the bastards could’ve sorted their crap out when I still had a shot at making Julia fall in love with me.
Now, I’m out of her life, and our stupid fathers are the only ones with a fucking friendship.
I tune out the Three Stooges, reset my stance, and try again. This time, the ball soars straight down the fairway, landing clean.
“There he is!” Thatch cheers. “Only took some warm-up swings and a minor emotional crisis, but we’re back, baby!”
I don’t bother to respond. My head’s not in it—not with Kline casually mentioning back at the first hole that Julia was having brunch with her mom, grandma, and sister at the Plaza. Said it like it was no big deal.
Which, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But it is. I used to be part of those brunch recaps. Used to know what she ordered, how annoyed Evie was through the whole damn thing, and how Savannah kept trying to sex-therapist Julia’s mom.
Hell, there’ve been plenty of times that I’ve tagged along. Today, I probably would’ve. Golfing with my crazy fucking dad is always a last-option kind of gig.
But now, I’m finding out about the brunch through her dad, and I’m not a part of it all.
I’m not part of anything when it comes to Julia.
My dad and Wes and Kline walk ahead, arguing about whoseturn it is to pick up lunch at the clubhouse. And I hang back and pull out my phone.
Julia’s name is still pinned at the top of my messages.
Still no new texts from her.
Before I know it, I’m typing.
How’s brunch?
I pause and backspace each letter away.
What the fuck is going on with us, Julia? Everything feels wrong
Delete.
I miss you so much it hurts
Delete.
I stare at the blinking cursor until it disappears, and then I lock the phone and shove it in my pocket.
“Acer!” Thatch is waving me forward. “You good?” he calls out.
“Yeah,” I say and start to jog to catch up with them. “All good.”
But it’s a lie. I’m not good.
I’m not good at fucking all.
Monday, October 6th
Ace
Two weeks.
That’s how long it’s been since I was face-to-face with Julia and said her name and almost kissed her at the Double C black-light after party.
Fourteen days of radio silence between the two of us. I guess she and Drew are still going strong, though I’m doing my best to avoid them entirely. It’s too fucking painful at this point.
