“He looks really good,” Jemma says, as if that makes ambushing me acceptable. “Like, really good. He's been working out.”
“Hold on.” Henry frowns, setting his croissant down. Flakes scatter across the coffee table. “I thought we were having family board game tomorrow night. It’s the only chance we get all year.”
My mom purses her lips, pressing them into a thin line. Her fingers drum against her thigh—a tell since childhood.
“Henry… this will be good for Devin.”
I sit up properly now, annoyance prickling along my skin like static. “What do you mean, good for me?”
“You’re all alone on that island, Devin.” Mom's voice softens into that concerned tone that makes my teeth clench. “Wouldn’t it be nice to find a partner?" She sighs gently. “When's the last time you went on a date?”
“I…” The answer slips away like water. Years? The last real date, the last time I dressed up and wondered what might happen...
Not since I broke up with Oliver.
But what does it matter to her? She raised us alone by choice. She had me and Jemma because she didn’t want a relationship. I’ve seen her date maybe three men my whole life, and none of them lasted past a few dinners. So it’s pretty rich that now she’s telling me I need what she never did.
“I hooked up with this guy I met at a bar three months ago,” I say, letting my voice drop deliberately casual, wanting to creep her and Jemma out just to get them back. “It wasn’t great, but he did have a nice?—"
Mom covers her ears, hands flying up so fast she nearly knocks over the lamp. “Oh, Devin!”
Henry bursts into laughter, the sound rolling through the room. “No, no. Go on. I want to hear the rest of the story.”
“Well, it’s pretty short, if you know what I mean.” I cross myarms in satisfaction, watching Mom’s face turn progressively redder.
My dad puts the remote down—he’s been flipping through movies this whole conversation, the screen cycling through options no one’s watching. “If she doesn’t want to date, don’t push her. What do you think would happen anyway if she and Billy did hit it off? They live halfway across the country from each other.”
“Thank you!” I gesture vigorously at him, hands cutting through the air.
“Dev.” Jemma's voice drops low, taking on that serious tone. “We're just looking out for you. Whether you and Billy turn into anything, it’s something new to do. Something to get you out of the funk you've been in the last six months.”
My jaw drops. The words hit like ice water. I can’t believe she just said that to me.
Heat floods my face, rising from my chest. My hands curl into fists, nails biting into palms. That “funk” is me learning how to live with POTS. That “funk” is me fighting every day just to stay upright. Is she trying to hurt my feelings?
I open my mouth to yell this at her, to let all the frustration of the last six months pour out, then think better of it. The words pile up behind my teeth.
“Can I talk to you alone?” Each word comes out precise and sharp between tight teeth.
Her eyes flash with suspicion, but there’s understanding too—she knows she crossed a line.
I lead the way to our childhood room, bare feet silent on the hallway carpet. My hands stay fisted, anger making my vision sharp. The moment she shuts the door with a soft click, I whirl around.
“What the actual hell?” The words explode out.
She draws a breath, but I go on.
“I'm not in a funk,” I seethe, voice low and dangerous. “Youknow that I've been dealing with this new diagnosis. For God’s sake, Jem, I’m busy trying to not pass out at work every day. I don’t have the spoons for dating. You know that. It’s like you haven’t heard anything I’ve told you the last six months.”
My voice rises despite my efforts to keep it down, aware of family down the hall. “Anyway, if I were going to date, it wouldn't be with some guy I haven’t even talked to since high school! Some guy who probably still thinks I’m the same person I was at seventeen!"
I stop only because I’m out of breath, chest heaving. I fold my arms across my chest, creating a barrier between us.
She blinks at me, her face shifting through emotions—surprise, hurt, understanding. “I thought you would be happy.”
I stare back. “I…” Damn. Now I feel like an ass for yelling at her. The anger drains, leaving exhaustion.
“I know for a fact that you still check Billy’s Facebook every once in a while.” She tilts her head, studying me. “And you were crazy about him in high school. Remember how you used to write his name in your notebooks?”
