“Better.”
And then he leaves, the door softly clicking behind him.
I fall back on the couch and drape my arm over my eyes. God, I’m in so much trouble.
Because I can’t decide if I like Eli or if it’s the hormones. Either way, my body is reacting to him in a way that I can’t control, and I know it’s only a matter of time before this tight hold I have on my emotions and needs will slip.
* * *
The cool,sweet feel of a pint of Cherry Garcia rests on my chest as I delight in the comedic styling of Melissa McCarthy rolling around on a car. I love her so much. If I could be friends with a celebrity, I’d choose her. She’s not only funny but also down to earth and very kind. I feel akin to her in a way that is so strong I have the temptation to message her on Instagram and ask her if she wants to be my friend.
Would she accept?
I smooth the ice cream off my spoon and give it some good thought.
“I’m a good time,” I say out loud to no one. “Possibly strange at times, but who doesn’t like a little odd behavior in a friendship? Keeps things alive and slightly unpredictable, which is key to maintaining longevity in a relationship.” I pause and then say, “Am I really talking out loud to myself?”
Knock. Knock.
I quickly turn to the door. Who the hell is that?
It’s clearly not an appropriate time for a visitor. It’s past eight, which to me is the time when everyone crawls into their homes and strips down to troll status. Hence why I’m wearing my pajama pants and don’t mind the ice cream stain on my shirt.
I strip out of my blanket cocoon, set my ice cream down, and walk to the door, where I look through the peephole to see a large bouquet.
Oh. Flower delivery.
I open the door, and instead of taking a bouquet from a delivery person, I’m bombarded by the happy glees of my mother and father.
What.
On.
Earth.
“Penny!” Mom shrieks as she passes the bouquet to Dad and pulls me into a large hug. “Oh honey, we are so happy to see you.”
Uh . . . what are they doing here?
Am I missing something? Did I miss an email? Correspondence that they were coming? Was Pacey supposed to tell me they were on their way and forgot to mention it to me?
Either way . . . THANK GOD the boys are on an away trip because that would have been incredibly uncomfortable to explain to them why a six-foot-four hockey player, shirtless—because God forbid he wear a shirt—lived with me.
And then a bolt of sweat forms on the back of my neck as I remember said six-foot-four beast moved in with me. What if there’s evidence of his residence here? As my mom hugs me and my dad looks at us lovingly, I desperately scan the living room to see if he left a sock or a man item around the apartment.
I can’t tell from this angle, but that’s not to say I’m in the clear.
“Oh, you feel so frail. Have you been eating?” She pulls away and spots the ice cream stain on my shirt. “Well, I guess you have.”
“Take these, Tina,” Dad says as he gives her the bouquet and then pulls me into a hug, jostling me around. “Oh, my baby girl, how are you?”
Frantically trying to see if there’s any evidence of my live-in baby daddy.
“Surprised,” I answer as my dad traps me in a giant bear hug. My face is buried in his chest, making it impossible to look around. “Did you guys say you were coming?” I muffle into him.
“Nope,” Mom answers with pride. “This was done on a whim. We thought we’d surprise you. Hopefully catch a game when the boys return, but until then, we’d love to spend some time with our girl. And before you freak out, don’t you worry, we have a hotel room.”
Look at that. Miracles still do exist.
