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To different.
Ideas like that always sound good when you’re at the beginning of them, don’t they? I’m going to change! I’m going to be better! I’m going to stop jumping into bed with losers!
Six weeks into my renewed pledge to change my life, and I’m basically bored and lonely.
Other than going to work, I haven’t been out much. I’m too skittish to go out, as if I won’t be able to control myself and I’ll let some guy’s dick fall into me accidentally. I haven’t had a drink since the Night of Gin and Bad Choices. I’d miss that more if I was going out, but since I’m not, it sort of works. And hey, I’m all caught up on at least five different series on Netflix, so I have that going for me.
But right now, different is dull.
I grab the two bags of takeout and head into the building where my dad lives, then sign in at the front desk and take the food upstairs. I Skyped Dad before I left, so he’s already sitting at his little dining table when I come in.
“Hey sweetheart,” he says.
I can tell right away he’s having a good day. His face is relaxed and his eyes aren’t tinged with pain. “Hi Dad.”
I set the food on the table and get plates and silverware, hoping he can hold his fork okay. I bring everything out and dish us up. “Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve been by,” I say as I sit down. “How have you been?”
“As good as can be expected,” he says.
At least he’s honest. “Are you keeping busy?”
“Oh, sure,” he says. “What about you? Are you dating anyone?”
Ugh, really, Dad?“No, I’m definitely not dating anyone.”
“Why definitely?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’m focusing on me right now.”
“That sounds like a bunch of magazine mumbo jumbo.”
I laugh. “I just want to date the right guys instead of the wrong ones for a change.”
He takes a bite. It’s slow, but he manages. “You’ve been dating the wrong ones?”
“Well, obviously—because hi, pushing thirty and still single,” I say.
Dad puts his fork down. “You’ll find him, sweetheart. You just make sure he’s good to you. You’re a bright, beautiful woman, and you don’t deserve anything less than a man who treats you well.”
A lump rises in my throat. “Aw, Dad, you’re going to make me cry.”
He just smiles at me.
I’m not used to him being quite so … emotive. He’s usually lawyer-serious.
“So, does this working-on-you plan include finding a new job?” he asks.
I do my best not to groan. My career choice is a sore subject between us. He wanted me to go to law school. Instead, I went to art school and got a degree in graphic design—which I have yet to actually use, because I couldn’t find a graphic design job for the first few years out of college. Since then, I’ve more or less stopped looking.
“Work is fine,” I say. That’s not even a tiny bit true. My job is stupid and boring. “But I’ve been thinking about doing some freelance stuff.”
He looks skeptical. “Well, that’s something.”
I try not to let him get to me. I’m holding my own, supporting myself. That’s not failure, right? Just because I don’t have my dream career, doesn’t mean I should have gone to law school.
But I don’t want to argue with my dad. We did enough of that years ago. So I change the subject and ask about his favorite sports teams. It’s a surefire way to keep him talking, and away from sensitive subjects.
We finish our meal, and I clean up. I can tell he’s worn out, so I say my goodbyes and leave him to get some rest.
