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“It sure is,” Dad nods. I watch the way his eyebrows rise in realization, like he is just remembering something, as he glances at me before saying to Daria, “Oh, I’ve been bugging Caden about this, but I’d love for you to join us for lunch or dinner one day while I’m here. You and your little girl.”
“Oh, uh—” Daria blinks in surprise, her gaze flickering to me. I hadn’t gotten the chance to bring up her and Elaine having a meal with us at Dad’s request, given the way things have been.
She looks at me like she is unsure of what to say—or, more specifically, like she doesn’t know what I want her to say. Daria looks at me as if she believes I want her to make up some excuse to get out of it, to avoid the potential awkwardness that may arise with her and her daughter sitting down to eat with my dad and me. But despite our conversation and the dull ache in my chest, Daria is still my friend. If I can’t have her wholly the way I want, I still want her in my life. I still want her as my friend, because I’m a selfish bastard and I would rather have her in some way than not at all.
Not sleeping with her anymore is to just draw a line that we crossed a long time ago, for both of our sakes, to keep a lid on our confusion. And a way to torture ourselves, I guess, but I am not that good of a man where if I sleep with her again, that I will be able to stop myself from wanting more from her, even though I know where she stands in all of it. So, just a friendship is where we land on unbalanced feet. Right where we began.
“Would day after tomorrow work for you?” I interject, catching Daria’s surprise expression as I keep my tone casual, untroubled. “Dinner, when you’re home from work?”
I raise my eyebrows at her, silently telling Daria that it’s okay. That things between us will be okay enough for us to go back to how we used to be before we ever started hooking up. Or, at least, that’s the fucking hope.
“Uh,” Daria sounds, gaze flickering between my dad and me before she purses her lips for a brief second. “Yeah, that sounds good.” Her throat works. “Are we, uh, going to be eating here, or—”
Something twists low in my stomach, but I ignore it. “Yeah, we’ll eat here.”
Daria gives a single nod and Dad, whose gaze had been on me for a second, looks back at her with a smile and asks, “Would seven work for you?”
She smiles, and I can see the way she forces it, see the way it doesn’t completely reach her eyes. “Seven’s perfect,” she answers with a nod. With another glance to me, Daria lifts her chin and says, “I should get back downstairs. But I’ll see you at, uh, dinner.” She adds the last bit to my dad.
He nods, grinning. “Looking forward to it,” he says and after Daria gives him one last smile, she heads towards the door—towards me.
Her eyes meet mine as she approaches, and my chest and stomach tighten, my skin warming the nearer she gets. Emotion swims in her blue eyes, disappointment lingering with something else—something that hits me in the heart with a heavy hand. I’m not entirely sure the same look doesn’t reflect in my eyes as well as she opens the door and walks out, and I clamp my jaw shut to stop myself from calling her back, from undoing everything that just happened.
Instead, I just lock the door behind her, the tension in my muscles not easing in her absence as I feel Dad’s stare burning on my back. He is only quiet for about twenty seconds before he asks, “Everything okay?”
A breathless scoff escapes me as I allow myself to be truthful. “I have no fucking clue.”
13
DARIA
The hum of the engine of my car echoes subtly in the parking garage beneath the apartment building as I drive down the slope. Music plays in my car and a smile tugs at my mouth as I hear Elaine half mumbling, half babbling along to the lyrics. I drive around the space toward my spot, and as I slow down, my eyebrows pull together.
“What the—” I cut myself off by pressing my hand to the horn, frowning at the BMW in front of me that is trying to park in my assigned residential spot. The horn echoes shrilly in the garage and I roll my window down as the car’s break lights glow red.
The guy in the car rolls his own window down, throwing his arm out and calling out an annoyed, “What?!”
I don’t really recognize him, so I’m assuming he is a new resident. I keep my own annoyance out of my voice as I lean my head out the window and respond, “There are assigned spots, and you’re about to park in mine.” I refrain from adding on a sarcasticbuddyat the end of that, my hand tight on the steering wheel.
I see the guy turn his head to look at the parking spot ahead, as if he is just now realizing the spots are assigned, which I doubt. He lets out an annoyed breath, turning his head over to look at me. “Sorry—” He doesn’t sound at all apologetic. “My wife is parked in our spot, and I was just trying to find a vacant spot for my car.”
I literally don’t care. But I just give him a close mouthed, tight smile and gesture towards the opposite end of the garage. “There are empty, free spots on the other side of the garage.”
He gives a single nod. “Thanks,” he mutters before pulling his head back inside his vehicle.
I wait, somewhat impatiently, as he backs out of the parking spot and then drives off, and I let out a breath and park in my rightful place. Once I park, I look at Elaine from the rearview mirror and tell her with raised eyebrows, “Never take something that isn’t yours, baby.”
Elaine nods seriously, like I’m giving her some intense life advice, and it just makes me smile. Getting out of the car, I help her out and grab my purse and her backpack, walking across the garage and inside the building. Before we head to the elevators, I grab my keys and walk over to the wall of mail lockers, checking the mail. Most of the envelopes are spam, unimportant promotions, but then I still when I see the handwriting on the last envelope.
More than that—it’s the return address and sender’s name in the top left corner that has my chest tightening up. Clenching my teeth, I tighten my grip on the mail in my hand, not entirely caring if I am crushing it, and take Elaine’s hand and bring us to the elevator. As we ride up, I’m acutely aware of the envelope in my hand, feeling as though it is burning my skin. The elevator lights feel too bright, and my pulse quickens as we travel up. Part of me wants to tear into the letter in my hand, while the other just wants to tear it up without even reading the contents inside.
But curiosity rears its ugly head, so when we arrive at the apartment and Elaine runs off to her room, I take a breath and drop our bags by the couch, and then drop the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter while gripping that one envelope. It is addressed to me, from Heather and Archer Riley.
My parents.
Cody had told me that they were going to possibly be inviting me to their anniversary party, and he had figured that they would reach out to me before doing so. I haven’t gotten a phone call from them, nor have I received an email, so I’m assuming this envelope probably contains a letter or something. I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s how they chose to reach out to me; they have always been a little. . . Traditional, I guess.
Exhaling sharply, I finally slide a finger along the edge of the envelope and use my nail to rip it open, biting down on my bottom lip out of nerves as it tears open. Sliding my fingers inside, I pull out the paper tucked in, and confusion mounts as I pull out nothing but an invitation paper. For a brief second, I look inside the envelope again, sure that I missed something, and then check the paper I’m holding, flipping it back and forth as if something else will fall from it. But no. This is all that is inside.
