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Something tells me that Noah has what it takes to bring that old girl back and help me to lose this depressive assrat that I’ve become. I need the old me back so desperately, but I can’t get there by myself. I need his help.
This past week with the twins has been incredible. I haven’t had such positive human interactions in so long. I can already feel the grave being dug for this pathetic version of myself. Maybe the old me didn’t die after all?
I lay down on my bed and reach for Tully’s Kindle once all the housework is done and the place is spotless. It’s such a good feeling, one that I know is going to disappear the second dad walks through the door, drops down into his recliner, and kicks off his boots, leaving them in the center of the living room, waiting for me to pick them up. Not to mention, when I have to unpack everything I just put away to cook dinner, but I guess that’s just the way of life.
Shit, there I go ranting again. I should just learn to accept things the way they are.
My phone chimes on my bedside table and I place the Kindle back down to replace it with my phone. I unlock the screen and stare down at it in confusion as a strange number stares back at me.
The only people who would be messaging me are Noah, Tully, possibly Rivers, and dad, yet I have all their numbers saved into my phone.
I open the text and my confusion slips away before it’s replaced with irritation.
Unknown – Babe, it’s Spencer. What do you say I take you out tonight?
I resist grinding my teeth together as I save his contact info and hit reply.
Henley – Bit late in the day to be asking me out. What happened? Did all the other girls cancel on you? Am I the consolation prize? How’d you get my number anyway?
Spencer – All questions I can answer at dinner.
Henley – Smooth! But, no thanks.
Spencer – Is this because of the whole puddle thing? I told you I’d make it up to you.
Fuck me. If buying a new phone wasn’t so damn expensive, I probably would have thrown this one across the room by now. I mean, is this guy for real?
Henley – No, it’s because of the whole ‘I’m not interested’ thing.
Spencer – Bullshit.
Henley – Alright, fine. Book a restaurant, get yourself all dressed up, and take your seat. We can play a game – How long will Spencer sit there alone before he realizes I wasn’t bullshitting?
Spencer – …
Spencer – You’re a bitch.
Henley – You’re a cocky asshole that allows your friends to dictate your life and can’t take no for an answer.
Spencer – Is that seriously what you think of me?
Henley – Have you ever led me to believe differently?
There is a few minutes pause before his next text comes through and I find myself waiting with bated breath, hoping the world isn’t about to blow up in my face. I can handle a catfight with the bitchy cheerleaders, but taking on the jocks at the same time; that’s probably more than I can handle at once.
Spencer – I guess you’re right.
Say what? Did King Jock just agree with me?
The vibrating sound of a heavy engine outside my bedroom window has me throwing down my phone and completely forgetting about the jock who hurt my friend. I bound out the door like an excited puppy seeing their owner after a long day at work. Only in this case, it’s an excited daughter seeing her father after nearly a week out on the road.
“Daddy,” I squeal as I slam my way out the front door to find his huge truck in the middle of reversing back into our narrow driveway. The way he drives this truck is incredible. I don’t know how he does it. Dad let me play around once to see if I could do it, but after the third time of nearly taking out the house, we decided enough was enough.
Dad’s window is down and I have no idea how he hears me over the roar of the engine, but he looks up and gives me one hell of a cheesy grin and a thumbs up. “Hey, Squish,” he hollers out the window before returning his attention to reversing this beast into our drive.
I walk down the back of the driveway to help direct him in, knowing the right-hand corner has a bit of a blind spot. Though he’s done it so many times before, he wouldn’t need my help, but there’s nothing quite like being helpful.
Dad finishes up reversing the big fucker and it seems to take forever, though I know as a general rule, dad does not do this slow. He is a freakin’ pro at this shit. I’m just a little impatient turd and can’t handle having to wait for what I want.
