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“I just don’t want to see you get hurt, sweetie,” he murmurs.
“Brandon’s an old friend, and he might stay here a few days or get himself a hotel room. But I’m trying to say there’s no need for you to make animpression. Not like this,” he says, eyeing the room again but trailing off once he can see he’s only making it worse.
I go quiet. My insides feel like a knot because a part of me knows he’s right.
I’m a sweatpants and hoodie girl, jeans and tee if it’s warmer. And trying to doll myself up to look like something I’m not is just a stupid idea.
I just want Brandon to notice me, to look nice for him. Not that I’d ever tell my dad that.
“I won’t embarrass you, Dad,” I finally tell him, sniffing back a tear and remarking that I was only trying out some new make-up and going through my clothes.
“It’snotbecause Brandon’s coming,” I assure him, sounding a little too sure of myself.
But my dad’s no dummy, and he’s also not one to start an argument over nothing, so he lets it go.
Patting my knee, he apologizes for jumping the gun and reminds me that dinner will be soon.
But as he gets up and goes to leave, the look he gives me tells me that he knows a lot more than he’s letting on.
He’s got eyes and ears and a brain too.
And I know he’s right when he says he doesn’t want me to get hurt or feel disappointed. I don’t either.
He’s just being a dad. My dad.
He’s a good dad that has my back.
“I’ll clean all this up,” I say, giving in to my feeling that he’s right. That there’s no point trying to impress a guy like Brandon.
He could have any girl in the world, although he’s good at making me feel like I’m the only girl in the world whenever he’s looked at me, like twice in the past six months. I tell myself he’s probably just like that with everyone.
“Hey, Dad?” I ask before he reaches the door.
“Yup?”
“The place next door sold. I saw the agent putting the sign up when I came home,” I tell him, glad to get off the topic of Brandon and my hopeless, inner romantic fantasies about my dad’s old friend.
“Well, about time,” Dad exclaims. “I wonder who’ll move in? Hope they know what they’re in for. That place needs some work.”
Smiling before he closes my door, it appears he’s relieved his little talk has had the effect he wanted.
Over dinner, I can tell dad’s still mulling things over in his mind.
Seems I’m not the only one who noticed Brandon was looking at me the way he did, even if he is like that with every girl.
Which I hope he’s not.
“Y’know,” Dad says, mopping up the last of his spaghetti sauce with a hunk of bread. “I can put off things tomorrow. Maybe I should go pick Brandon up instead,” he offers.
I feel my belly tense with emotion, but I don’t want to be as transparent as I was dressing up and putting on make-up for Brandon.
“Sure. If you want,” I shrug, pretending not to be annoyed by the news. Fighting hard not to let my emotions show.
Having Brandon all to myself, even for just a few hours to talk, that’s what I wanted.
How else could I know if I’m only imagining things? Not like I could just come right out and ask him if he’s into younger, heavy-set girls.
I know once dad gets his schedule clear, he’s going to want to spend all of the time with his best friend. Catching up on old times, going fishing or kicking tires, and talking about the weather.
