Page 125 of Love Felt Like This

“For me?” Mom asks, ghosting fingers over the bouquet.

“Always for you,” Dad answers.

My dad is a romantic and always has been. I side-eye Griffin and see how he stares at the flowers too, as if he’s considering them as well. He’s a musician. Of course he’s a romantic.

I know what I like.

God, what does it mean?

Every time I try to read it at face value, it feels impossible.

Who do I think I am? What fantasy am I pretending to live in that Griffin, this man who could have any woman he wants, is attracted to me?

Dad sniffs the bag of treats in my mom’s hand. “For Steak?”

“Skateboard in a week,” my mom emphasizes, leaning closer with a smile.

I love the way they look at each other. Griffin doesn’t look at me like that, does he?

“Anyone seen Greg?” Nana asks.

“I thought I saw him with Rob,” I say, peering over to the corner where Polished Shoes was performing. Rob and his friends are now on break, and Uncle Greg is nowhere in sight.

Momma suddenly grasps Nana’s arm.

“Oh my God, Greg is with Daisy,” Mom hiss-whispers. “Look!”

We follow her pointed finger to a stall in the opposite corner of the barn. Uncle Greg is at Daisy’s egg stand. She’s looking down at a clipboard, but his gaze is leveled on her.

“I’m gonna go see what they’re talking about,” Mom says.

Dad groans. “Honey, don’t mess up your brother’s game.”

“Game? What game?” Mom asks. “He’s wearing cargo pants and Crocs.”

“Cheryl…”

“Let’s go, Glenn.”

Momma loops her arm in Dad’s and pulls him away, leaving just me, Griffin, Nana, and Ava strolling in relative silence.

“What a lovely day,” Nana says, beaming. “Fantastic day for couples, isn’t it?”

I tense. “Yeah, Dad and Mom are enjoying themselves.”

Griffin tongues his cheek, continuing to push the stroller, from which Ava’s tiny legs kick out and back down.

Nana smacks her lips and nods. “Well.” She doesn’t finish, though, instead looking between us.

Does she know what happened in LA? How could she?

“You know what, I think I missed the asparagus booth,” Nana says. She twists around, peering at nothing and letting out an “Ah” before shuffling off.

Thanks a lot, Nana.

Below, Ava’s fist pokes out from the stroller, making grabby hands toward a booth with hand-carved wooden birds. I follow her lead to do something—anything—that isn’t being here by myself with Griffin, overthinking and forcing a silence between us.

We’re friends.