“Rosie,” he scolds. “Where’s the fun in that?”
“We’re just checking in on you,” Mom says. “Is everything going okay?”
“Everything’s great.” Just like it was when they called to check in three days ago. And two days before that. No changes here.
My parents have been on permanent vacation since they retired two years ago. Cruises to tropical islands, rented beach bungalows, walking tours across Europe, they’re doing it all. They want to experience as much of the world as possible, and they’re filling their Google drive with pictures to prove it.
They come back to Sunshine for a few weeks every six months or so, but they’re in touch all the time. And I meanallthe time. Daily texts, twice-weekly phone calls, and video chats before I’meven out of bed. I feel like a sixteen-year-old left home alone for the first time and her parents can’t enjoy themselves because they’re too afraid she’ll burn the house down while they’re gone.
“Is the A/C giving you any trouble?” Mom asks.
“Working perfectly.”
“If you see wasps along the back support wall in the garden, they probably have a nest in the bricks,” Dad says. “Call an exterminator. Don’t try to fix it yourself. You’ll get stung.”
“I haven’t seen any wasps yet this summer.”
“And don’t put your hand in the air conditioner fan.”
“Why would I ever?—?”
“Just don’t do it. I had a dream you were four again and playing in the air conditioner wires.”
Of course he did. They’re excited to explore the world, but they still feel guilty about leaving me here all alone. I wish they wouldn’t. Their guilt just brings out mine. Like they could be happier if only I had myself more together.
“How are things at work?” Mom asks. “No rude customers today, I hope.”
“Everybody was on their best behavior.” I usually don’t tell them about the one-off rude interactions anyway. That just makes them fret more. They liked it better when I had an office job in a nice, safe cubicle where nobody ever got fussy with me about the difference between oat and soy milks. Unfortunately for them, I quit that soul-sucking job and never looked back. “We decided to do a coffee cart at the new summer concert series every week, though.”
Score another one for Rose. Not that I’m in competition with Reed, but it definitely counts as a win.
“And?” she prompts. “Any other news?”
I scoot lower on the couch until I rest my head on the back cushion. Twice-weekly calls, and she acts like it’s a brand-new question every time.
“No other news to report.”
“Nothing of a morepersonalnature going on?” she presses.
“She means boys,” Dad says.
“I got that.” Astronauts on the space station got it.
I’ve been dumped six times by short-term boyfriends in the last several years.Six. Times.As much as guys seem to like me at first, that rush of affection never lasts. Something shifts, and their interest fizzles out like a time-lapse video of cheese going moldy. I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong, and the harder I try, the quicker the break-up comes.
Last year, I promised myself I wouldn’t add to that number. I’m not officially off dating or on a self-imposed man ban. I could go out if I wanted to. I’m just over getting my hopes up only to have them crushed again. If I want heartache, I’ll watch a coming-of-age movie where somebody’s pet dies.
And you know what? I’m doing just fine without a man. I’ve got my romcom books. An assortment of YouTube grannies teaching me how to knit. I’ve got my cat, who will start loving me any day now. Everything’s great.
“Do you ever see Shepherd around town?” Mom asks. She’s so hopeful that maybethis timeI’ll have good news to share.
Her favorite of my exes, Shepherd Callahan was my last semi-serious boyfriend who also happened to be a genuinely good guy. Of course Mom can’t let him go. She casually asks about him every other month, her fingers perpetually crossed for a second chance romance story. Incidentally, we stopped seeing each other three years ago, not that a little thing like that matters to her.
To be honest, I see him around town all the time. He owns the bike shop down the street from Perk Me Up and is impossible to miss. He looks over-the-moon happy with his fiancée, a fact I cannot reveal to my mother. If she finds out that another single man in Sunshine is off the market, she might abandon her plans to see the world in favor of coming home to be my full-time matchmaker.
My parents met and married at twenty-three. To them, being single at thirty-one is like being an accessory to a crime, man or woman. But it’s especially bad for me.
“I don’t see him much, Mom.”
