I laugh. “Yeah, you’ve told me a million times.”
“Well, I’m going to tell you a million more times. She said some loves are temporary, and some are forever. It’s all about timing. Timing guides our lives more than love. Love is just an emotion—timing is our destiny. Missed opportunities. Serendipity. Fate … it’s all about timing, not love.”
“That’s why Grandma always talks about destiny.”
“Yep.” She steals my phone. “So explore this. See if it’s your destiny.” She types “hi” back to Flynn and presses send.
“Mom!” I grab the phone back. “I’m not ready.”
She rolls to her side, pressing her hand to one cheek while kissing my other cheek. “My mom was my best friend, my world in many ways … until we adopted you. I love her, but I love youmore. So don’t do anything that doesn’t speak to your soul.” She sits up and pads her bare feet to the door.
“Responding to Flynn doesn’t speak to my soul.”
She chuckles. “Yes, it does.”
I stare at my phone and the three bubbles of his impending reply. The summer after my parents met, my mom used to text my dad:
Hi. Remember me?
And he texted back:
Hi.I’m pretty sure you’re still my greatest memory.
And they’d end each conversation with a song title, something that made them think about the other one. My parents had a million obstacles that threatened their happiness, but they never gave up, and the other’s net worth never factored into their love. That’s why my gut tells me Flynn can’t love me that way. And I don’t blame him. His past is beyond anything I can imagine, and I know there’s probably so much more I don’t know.
Flynn: I hope everything is ok with your family
June: It’s not
Flynn: Sorry
June: Thx
Flynn: Want to talk about it?
I stare at his text for a few seconds.
June: No
Flynn: I’m sorry
June: U said that
Flynn: I’m sorry about the way things ended
Flynn: I’m an asshole
June: I know
The screen flashes three bubbles, then it stops. Three bubbles again. Then nothing.
I toss my phone aside and stare at the ceiling. How did life get so messed up?
Before dinner, I swim laps in the pool and shower. With wet hair, shorts and a tee, I join my family for dinner. It’s always a five to seven-course meal. Grandma has had a private chef for as long as I can remember. An entire staff to take care of the house and everyone in it.
“You play Saturday night,” Grandma says with a proud smile while resting her cloth napkin on her lap. “I already called and arranged everything. They’re excited and honored to have you as a special guest.”
I squint, shaking my head. “I’m not ready. I need to practice.”
