Page 26 of Fall Over You

“My what?” he snaps.

“You can’t tell me you don’t know what DILF means.”

“I know what it means. But that’s not me.”

“Oh, quit with the humble routine.”

He scoffs. “You think she’d really go for the guy who lives in a one-bedroom over his auto shop and lets his daughter have the bed while he takes the couch?”

I know he’s trying to say how uncomfortable he is. How self-conscious he is. Maybe he just needs to be gassed up.

“Ellie thinks the world of you. She’s happy. That’s the most important thing.”

“Doesn’t feel like it,” he says quietly. “I can’t afford full-day preschool. And anyway, it’s damn near impossible to get into.”

“They don’t do the vouchers?”

“I make just a little too much, but I’m paying off CJ’s rehab bills. Which is ironic, considering.”

Considering that she’s gone now, and as far as anyone knows, she’s still alive? We haven’t really touched the elephant between us.

His baby’s mom. His ex. My ex-best friend.

“Yeah. Considering.” I agree. I try to sound airy asking about CJ. “You heard from her?”

“No,” he sighs. “You?”

“Nope. Somebody told me she was working at a resort down South. I thought maybe she’d try⁠—”

“She doesn’t try,” he snaps. “I gotta get gas.” He cuts the wheel to pull into a gas station. He walks in to prepay and my stomach drops with each step he takes. I don’t know why I expected him to commiserate over the person we mutually lost. My hurt is great, but I know his must be greater.

Though, as Ernest always says, there’s no winning in the Suffering Contest.

Tyler emerges with his hands full and his eyes cast down. He opens the truck door and slips a Red Bull into each of our cupholders.

“You didn’t have to get me one,” I say.

He holds out two paper bags. “Blueberry or banana bread?”

“Blueberry,” I say, and with a glance down into the paper bags, he hands one to me.

“Good. I wanted banana bread.” A tiny smirk hooks his lips upwards. Is this an olive branch after he snapped at me? Whatever, I’m not one to turn down a blueberry muffin.

“Thank you?” I ask. “You really don’t have to get me anything.”

He just shrugs. “They were two for one.”

When he gets back in after pumping gas, I pull out a thick wad of dollar bills. “Let me pay for your gas since you’re going out the creek for me.”

I count off $10 in ones and he scowls over at me, the skin on his neck turning red.

“You were gonna ride your bike with a pocket full of cash and wearing Daisy Dukes?”

“I mean, a passerby wouldn’t know about the cash,” I try.

“What do you got all that cash for, anyway?”

“I cleaned house at poker a few nights ago at the hall.”