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It’s been a little over six months, and we are still thankfully getting along great. Holding up my phone screen, I tell her, “I signed up for a dating app.”
“Dick pics already flooding in?”
“Yes! What is wrong with these men?”
“You know, the funny part is I doubt even half are actually their own penises. Like they just find one online and use it because they think it’ll get them laid.”
“I’m not talking to anyone who sends me photos of their junk, especially hairy ones or ones shaped like a can of soda!”
“It’ll get better, not much better, but better in a few days when the slightly less perverted ones take time to actually read your profile and attempt to engage in small talk.”
“You’re on dating apps?”
“Unfortunately. I’ve had some hot one-night stands, but so far, that’s it.”
“I want more than a one-night stand, but I’ll take whatever I can get at this point.”
“It’s been awfully quiet around here since you stopped seeing that biker guy. He was your friend’s dad, right?”
“That is correct. We haven’t spoken since the day she came home, and I haven’t had the guts to tell her we fooled around.”
“No reason to tell her now. If you were still seeing him, then she should know. But if it’s over…”
“Yeah. No point losing a friend for a man I stopped seeing.”
“Exactly.”
“I just feel so…wretched! I’ve been a horrible, horrible friend.”
“Would you mind if a friend of yours slept with your dad?”
I consider her question and shrug. “Only if he were still married to my mother. I don’t even know if my parents are still together or not.”
“Maybe your friend wouldn’t care either.”
“Oh, I think she would. I think she would be angry at me but feel sorry for me at the same time.”
“Why is that?”
“Because Lyla’s told me how her dad doesn’t date. He has no interest in relationships again ever. He pays women for sex.”
“Damn.”
“I know it sounds bad, but I think it’s because he doesn’t want any strings to get in the way. No attachments. No expectations. I wanted that all after just a few nights…”
“Why doesn’t he want those things?”
“Because his wife, Lyla’s and Laurel’s mom, died when she was a baby.”
“Jeez. I guess it would be tough to put yourself out there after that kind of love and loss.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” I agree.
“Well, good luck with the dating apps.”
“Thanks,” I tell her. “Good night.”
After Brooke returns to her room, my phone continues pinging with messages. I delete about nine out of ten, responding to the occasional friendly greeting.
