“Let’s just say that was the last time I ever pretended to enjoy football. And I never painted another guy’s number on a tearstained cheek. But I think we can all agree I’m probably better for it.”
Ro’s head tilts back and forth like he’s weighing it all out. “You and your dad all right now?”
“Uh, no.”
Over the years I’ve found that if you just leave it there, people rarely ask for more. They’re probably relieved not to have to listen to another story about another girl with daddy issues.
But Ro doesn’t rush to fill the silence or change the subjectthe way so many do. He’s not suddenly avoiding eye contact or looking at me like I’m broken. There’s no race to find that toxic silver lining to make it all better. He’s just waiting. Listening.
Which is probably the reason I keep going.
“The only way my mom could handle my dad leaving was to decide he’d made the decision under some sort of duress. A temporary break from reality. She was so sure he’d come to his senses and come home. But I knew he wasn’t coming back for us. He’d woken up one day and wanted an entirely different life. One that didn’t include me and Zola. And that hasn’t changed.”
I hear truths tumbling from my mezcal-loosened lips, like this is normal dinner conversation. Like I’m not sharing my world and my wounds with him, when I hadn’t even planned to share this bench.
“Call it whatever you want—a midlife crisis, a psychotic break. Leaving was the first honest thing he did. Maybe ever. Who would choose to go back to living the lie?” My laugh is darker than I mean for it to be, but I guess it’s what’s real. “The first guy to ever ghost me.”
“And now you think that’s all guys.”
I fold what’s left of my slice into the grease-stained paper plate. Grateful to give my hands something to do other than sweat.
“But am I wrong?” I ask. “Take tonight. I tried it Zola’s way and still ended up on a dirty bench with a slice.” When I realize what I’ve said, I try to save it. “No offense,” I say, leaning into him in apology.
“Oh, I’m offended,” he says, shouldering me, so I know we’re okay. “But not by that comment.”
“I’m not even hating. I just think everyone’s so desperate to find theirpersonthat they don’t bother finding out whotheyarefirst. I’m not gonna waste my time trying to become the thing somebody else wants, just for him to look at me one day and decide he doesn’t want it anymore.”
Ro watches me thoughtfully, considering my words. Likely trying to find the safest point of entry. “Isn’t that the whole point though? To find somebody you don’t have to change for?”
I shrug, and I’d usually leave it there, but there’s something about the space Ro leaves open that makes me want to fill it.
“It’s a nice thought,” I admit. “But even basic attraction is all presentation. An act. That’s why I prefer the apps. At least people on there are more obvious about it. I respect that more than a guy undressing me with his eyes while telling me that it was my sparkling personality he noticed from across the room. Lying to get into bed, lying to get into a relationship, and then we both have to keep lying to make it work.” I continue, because I can’t not. “As soon as one person stops lying, everything falls apart. Because none of it was ever real to begin with.”
I should quit, but then another wave of mezcal-flavored truth serum bubbles out of me.
“And no, this isn’t me thinking every guy’s my dad, it’s me knowing what happens when a woman accidentally lets herself be honest or human. Or worst of all, inconvenient.”
“Ah,” he says. “We’re not talking about whatpeopledo in relationships. It’s men.”
“Come on. Guys’ll throw a whole life away when it stops being easy. Stops being fun.”
Ro nods, but I wouldn’t call it agreement. “Maybe some guys. But no shot that’s what everybody’s doing. Or no relationship would last.”
“They don’t! That’s the point.”
Ro collects my discarded plate with his and reaches a long arm out to deposit them in the trash can at the far side of ourbench. He doesn’t say a word, but I can see in his eyes that he has Thoughts™.
“Don’t worry,” he says finally. “I’m not gonna try to change your mind tonight.”
“You couldn’t if you wanted to.”
“Yeah, I’m kinda gettin’ that,” he says with a look I can’t quite name. He lets out a heavy exhale and with it, he releases the heaviness of our conversation. “How we feeling over there, E? That pizza help?”
“If I close one eye, there’s only two of you now,” I say, only half joking. “I think I’ll do one more for the road.”
Ducking inside for a last slice gives Ro a chance to grab the truck, and me an opportunity to find the off switch for whatever valve has malfunctioned in my brain. Talking to Ro is way too easy—it’s a liability—and as much as I’d love to blame the alcohol, the truth is, it’s him. It’s every time I see him.
Just this once, I’d love to leave him without having to dissect my every social failing.
