Page 38 of My Best Friend's Dad

“The internet doesn’t tell anyone much of anything about anyone.”

At least that’s true. There’s not really that much about Mika, Marlene, or Rowleigh, but plenty about the vase he found in the trash—the vase. There are all these facts about how Rowleigh tried to find the owner. After putting up posters, he waitedsix monthsfor someone to contact him, but the only two people who did couldn’t describe the vase since only a sliver of it was photographed, and they couldn’t name the location where it had been thrown out. No one was interested, and no one wanted it. Even after he sold it, he still tried to find the owner to split the money, but no one came forward. He tried harder than anyone on earth to be a good person about his good fortune. There’s also some stuff about his hotels and a little bit about his background, but not much. But those are just facts. Cold, empty shells of events.

“She’s great. She marches to her own drum, which is a good thing.” He’s clearly not finished, but he walks out of the barn. I stay right where I am, my heart pounding weirdly.

He returns with the water bottles and passes one to me. He cracks the lid on his, lifts his mask, and pours the entire thing down his throat in one long chug-fest.

I watch the muscles in his throat bob as he swallows repeatedly. My mouth is so dry that I have to shed my mask and down half of my own bottle.

Rowleigh pulls the mask all the way off and wipes his mouth, smearing dirt over his chin. Wanting to lick it off for him is not a sane impulse.

“I’m not sure we’d have any kind of relationship if she didn’t have an independent streak. She’s her own person in every way, and it’s both wonderful and terrifying.” Right, we were talking about Mika. “Not for me, but I’m sure some people think so. She’s been into goth for years now. I don’t know how much she actually believes in the ideals, but she likes dressing that way. She works at a cool little store that sells gothic clothing and accessories. She loves it, and that’s what’s important. She’s a great person all around. Kind, smart, and lovely on the inside and out. I had almost nothing to do with raising her, and I can take no credit, but it fills me up with pride all the same.”

The sadness in his voice is unmistakable. It fills him up with pride and sorrow, regret and joy. Every emotion has to be bittersweet. He sounds like he needs a hug, and I want to give him one. I want to wrap my arms around his back, hold him close, and promise him that everything will work out. That it’s not too late. That Mika loves him, too, and she’s found a way to make her peace with the whole thing. She just wants her dad. She doesn’t have stipulations about how it happens, even if it makes sense that she should. She’s the kind of person who can be hurt but comes back at life even harder.

She’s so inspiring and beyond lovely inside and out.

I want to tell him that Iknow.

I want to hug him hard and then harder until my ribs crush into his ribs, and we’re pressed that tightly together. Until neither of us can breathe because we’re so squished. Happy squished.

I want him to turn around and hug me on his own. To take off my mask and his mask and, even though we’re both covered in dirt and grime, kiss me filthily.

Probably legit filthy.

But metaphorically too.

I want—

No, I can’t want. That’s what I have to remember above everything else. I drink some more water, then go about spouting wisdom I have no real notion of. “Even when things are good, there’s always room for it to get better.”Take chances. Paint the condo. That’s wisdom for me. Hope for the future Bellatrix, where I underwhelm my parents more than I already have, with extreme disappointment in finding my inner badass artist.Put up wallpaper. Hang art. Make art. Be loud. Take up space. Mika said all of that, but I don’t know how. I was taught to be quiet, to conform, to behave. Breaking free is painful. I’ve had to emerge from that cocoon slowly, and after years, I still only have my head peeking out.

And I’m currently looking at the world’s most beautiful scenery in the form of Rowleigh, who looks dirt-encrusted, grimy, and sweat-soaked.

My mouth goes dry, and my panties do the opposite.

“I have no idea what it would be like to be in love with my life,” I blurt. “I have no idea what I’m even saying right now.”

I stop because I’m shaking, trembling. If it gets worse, I’m going to stir up dust without even moving a single step. We’re both too quiet for too long.

The barn fairy dust specks dance around Rowleigh in the slants of light, framing him like an angel. A dust angel. Even dirty and grimy, he’s so attractive.

Zaddy? Whatever that means, it’s probably a yes. DILF? For sure, because yes, no matter how many talks I give myself or howmany boundaries I set, I want him. I want to break free of all those restraints.

This was about saving him by showing him that life could be great, but I’ve opened my eyes too.

It’s terrifying.

He’s terrifying.

And also good enough to lick. Like a popsicle just dropped in the dirt.

Who thinks stuff like that?

I’ve never wanted anything so strongly. I’ve never had a clear direction that I knew my life should go in. I was never like my mom, who knew she wanted to be a doctor when she was just a kid, or like my dad, who wanted to help people since he was a teenager and took a social justice class in school. I’m not one of those people who can just alter the course of the world. I’m not a helper. I’m not someone who makes a huge difference.

I didn’t think so until right now. I do help people, and I love doing it. I love making people’s dreams about their love and a day they’ll remember forever come true. It might not be saving lives, and it might not be keeping people out of jail or helping them find justice, but itmatters.

Also?