Wild indeed.
Back downstairs, Dad made small talk with Ethan’s parents. Or maybe not small talk: they might be new to me, but he’d known them for years at this point. Still, Dad’s smile looked strained, so I expected he’d be happy to get out of here ASAP.
Dad had always been shy. I’d always thought he should date, but he never had. “I’m too busy,” he’d said once, when I’d asked him why he never went out. “Maybe someday.”
Fine, but someday wouldn’t arrive if he never put himself out there. Dating at Dad’s age wasn’t like it’d been in his youth: he wasn’t going to have a meet-cute in the grocery store and he didn’t hang out at bars. I’d tried to hint about dating apps, but his brow had done this thing where it drew up in a triangle in the very center, lines of worry radiating outward.I don’t need to date!he’d said, and when I’d argued he needed company, he’d countered,I have you.
Which, yes, he did for now. But I was going to college in a few months, and then what would he do?
“There you are.” Dad looked relieved as I walked over. “Ready for the grand tour of Nantucket?”
I was ready not to be in Golden Doors, wary of running into Ethan Barbanel at any second. “Sure.”
We parked on the outskirts of town before Dad led me on a very enthusiastic walking tour. Nantucket exceeded my expectations: relentlessly quaint, with flowers bursting into bloom on every corner. I loved not just the endless roses and hydrangeas, but also the window boxes with flowers I couldn’t begin to name—bursts of yellows and elegant whites and madcap, multicolor arrangements set against vibrant greenery.
Dad pointed out the library—called the Atheneum—and the Whaling Museum, and the restaurants he thought I’d like. On picturesque streets, he obligingly took pictures of me whenever I asked. Which wasn’t often, because I’d forgotten how bad Dad was at taking photos. “You have to take ten in a row,” I said, examining the single photo he’d taken of me pretending to sniff a flower. “My eyes are half closed here.”
“I like it,” he protested. “You’re laughing!”
Dad showed me a street lined with old-school mansions, pointing to a house painted white with tall, fluted columns. “This belonged to a whaling captain. It was built in 1846.” He gestured to three brick buildings across the street. “Those belong to his brothers-in-law. See how the captain’s house is much higher? On purpose! The captain wanted toliterallybe on higher ground than them!”
Thank god for people like Dad who appreciated history.
By six we’d worked up an appetite, and Dad led me to a restaurant’s patio. “They have great burgers here,” he said as we sat. “And the fries are really good.”
I picked up the menu, fiddled with it briefly, then put it down. “Dad, staying at the Barbanels’ house is going to be so uncomfortable.”
He sighed. “Jordan—”
“It’s weird. It’s so awkward staying in some stranger’s house.”
“They’re not strangers,” he said promptly.
“They’re strangers to me.”
“You’ll feel better once you meet Ethan,” Dad said, as though I didn’t hate Ethan Barbanel from my very tiptoes to the crown of my head. Dad checked his phone. “He should be here soon.”
My water glass clattered against the tabletop as I set it down, hard. “He’s joining us?”
Dad nodded. “I wanted you two to meet.”
My jaw dropped open, but then I shut it, swallowing my anger and frustration and all the negative feelings that spurred through me. Dad wasn’ttryingto piss me off by inviting Ethan to our first dinner together. It didn’t make sense to freak out about how much time Dad lavished on Ethan instead of spending it with me. That wouldn’t be, as Aunt Lou put it,productive.
Sometimes I didn’t want to be productive.
Today, though, sure. Today we were getting along. “Neat,” I said, unable to keep from sounding 75 percent withering. I picked up my menu and held it in front of my face.
Huh. Some of these optionsdidsound really good.
“There he is!” Dad waved. I didn’t turn because I was spiteful and petty like that, instead waiting until Dad’s prodigy had reached the table, until he was pulling out a chair and Dad was standing next to him, saying, “Ethan, I want you to meet my daughter, Jordan—”
And then I looked up and almost spat out my sip of water. Because Chair Boy stood at my father’s right hand.
Three
In retrospect, I should have known Chair Boy would turn out to be Ethan Barbanel.
That’s the way my life worked, after all. My sixteenth birthday party: a thunderstorm broke out after two traffic-filled hours driving to the beach. Prom three weeks ago: my latest fling, Austin—who’d ghosted me when I brought up trying out a relationship the month before—introduced me to his new, serious girlfriend.
