Mom squeezes my wrist. “Honey, everyone develops on their own schedule. You’re still a young man.”
“I know.” I rub the back of my neck. “Tell me this. What good is being able to create a cool game when I have no ability to walk up to a beautiful girl and say ‘hi.’”
“It helps more than you think.” Dad grins.
“How?”
“Your gift is focusing on things you like and sticking with it.” He swirls his fork in the air. “You never quit anything important halfway through.”
“Dad’s right. Hope isn’t some finish line, she’s a person. With her own characteristics and faults. Try talking to her about how the songs make you feel. Start there.” Mom reaches over and nudges my plate a little closer. “Eat.”
I pick up my fork. Take another bite. Chew. Swallow.
“You’ve built a beautiful life.” She pats my shoulder. “You’ve got a great job with bosses who value you. The kind of money I never dreamed of making at your age. You exercise and take care of yourself and own a condo. Sweetheart, you don’t have any reason to feel unworthy.”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Dad taps the table lightly. “Did your friends give you any advice?”
I think about Jamie and Daniel. “Yeah. They gassed me up. Kept telling me to go talk to her. Said I had a shot.”
“And?” he asks.
I shrug. “I got close.”
“Not close enough?”
I don’t argue.
“You know…” Mom stands and circles behind me, resting her hands on my shoulders. “You look the same as you did at eighteen.”
I blink. “What?”
She musses my hair. “Same clothes. Same haircut. Same everything.”
“Mom—”
“It is. You’ve changed everything else.” Her fingers press lightly into my shoulders. “Why not upgrade your look?”
I stare at the table. “I don’t think about it.”
“Maybe it’ll give you a boost of confidence.” She sits next to me.
Dad nods. “She’s got a point. Continuing to dress like a teenager when you’re a man might keep you in the wrong headspace.”
“Seriously?” I shift in my chair. “You’re saying if I get a new wardrobe, suddenly I’ll have a personality transplant?”
“No.” Mom chuckles. “We’re encouraging you to stop hiding behind an outdated version of yourself.”
I don’t love the advice. Which probably means they’re right.
“Fine. I’ll try anything. What do I do?”
She frames my face with her hands. “Start simple.”
“Upgrade the basics.” Dad nods.
“Basics,” I repeat.
