“I really should get going, anyway,” says Thomas to Rose, one eye still trained on my father behind her copper-colored hair. “Thank you for the offer.”
Mom looks like she’s about to stop him, but before she can say anything, he’s gone again. She stares after him for a moment and then returns to our small coffee table, slumping down on a seat, dejected.
“What’re you ladies up to tonight?” asks my father, oblivious. He takes out Lottie’s favorite porcelain mug. It has a chip on the lip. “Am I finally going to get to see my Gardner girls tonight?”
He leans against the kitchen sink, looking disturbingly at home. I’m irritated by how carelessly he’s taken up space in our house, like he has some sort of natural right to everything that is ours. A smaller part of me is also mad at Mom for allowing him here. All throughout my childhood, this would periodically happen. My father would deign to appear in various states of sobriety, and Rose permitted the disruption. I never understood why. Especially for a therapist, it should have been a clear boundary.
“I have plans with William tonight,” says Rose. She hands him the coffeepot. He takes it, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of what they might have been like as a couple: the same routine and rhythm that I saw last night between Henry and Mary. Effortless.
“You have plans with William again?” I ask.
“Yes, again,” says Rose, her tone still a little sharp. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” I say, although I do wish she would be around more often. Besides, she seemed a little eager to invite Thomas inside for someone who has a date tonight. “I have plans tonight, too, actually.”
An excited, mischievous expression overtakes Rose’s face. “With who?” she asks, hope evident in her tone.
“Theo,” I admit, sheepish.
Rose yelps. “I knew it! Yes! This is exciting! I adore Theo.”
I tell my mom about karaoke and Theo’s serenade, ignoring my father’s presence and his increasingly disgruntled expression.
The memory makes me smile again now, but I’m also nervous. I’ve suspected there might be something between us, but I was enjoying living in the in-between period where we could still claim to just be friends. It’s like when I have a new idea for a painting and I’m struck over the head by the inspiration. It explodes out of me, fills every inch of my being. But then, as soon as I paint the first stroke, the doubt seeps in.
Dating is like that, too. Right now, Theo is sunshine on my face, someone I look forward to seeing every day but I’m not overly anxious about. Once we take this next step, that will change. Relationships always end, and I was hoping to keep Theo around.
Regardless, I can’t back out now. He made me promise to go on a proper date tonight. I hoped he would forget or go back on his word, but he texted again this morning:7 p.m. reservation for two at Galley Beach.
I covered my face with a pillow when I read the message and let out a loud groan. Galley Beach is one of the nicest restaurants on island. Obviously, he’s trying to be a gentleman and pull out all the stops. Located right on the beach, Galley has the best sunsets and a menu neither of us can afford with our pay.
“Who’s Theo?” asks my dad. “Should I give him the talk?”
Rose and I both give him a look. “When’s the last time you gave anyone ‘the talk’?” asks Rose, amused.
“Is this research?” I ask in a mock-supportive voice. “For a new movie you’re producing? Are you trying to learn how to be a real dad?”
“You girls are pretty but you’re cruel,” says my dad, retreating back into the hall. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be entertaining Aunt Elizabeth’s latest rash again.” He cracks his back. “And this couch sucks, by the way.”
“We won’t worry!” Rose calls out to him. She turns to me andsqueals again. “What time is your date? Because I promised William that I’d pick him up, but if you need the car, we’ll figure something else out.”
She has considerably calmed down some since her freak-out about Thomas, and she is now sitting at the kitchen table, tugging open a sugar packet to pour into her coffee.
“It’s at seven. Galley Beach.”
“Well…” Rose chuckles and stirs her coffee. I watch as the sugar dissolves. “That’s a funny coincidence because mine is at Galley, as well.”
“Excuse me, sorry,” Theo says as he scoots into the back seat of Lottie’s Jeep several hours later. “I must have opened the wrong door.”
William moves across the seat, making room. The friction of his Nantucket reds against the leather makes a long squeaking sound. “No problem, boy. Lovely to meet you. I’m William.”
He extends a hand for him to shake, but Theo is busy trying to enter the car and misses the gesture entirely. William’s mouth screws up in a taut, sour expression.
I’m driving and my mom is in the passenger seat.
“Hi, Theo!” Rose calls out. “How’s my favorite coach doing?”
“Good,” Theo responds, pulling the seat belt across his chest. “I get to see both of you tonight, so I can’t complain.”
