Page 39 of Dream House
I snort. “Not since June.”
Pen’s eyes are all question marks. “Child support?”
“Pu-leeze.” I say, giving that question the ridicule it deserves. “He dropped off Maisy’s birthday present at the salon.”
Pen frowns. “But Maisy’s birthday is in May.”
“Are you beginning to see why younger men hold no appeal?”
She bats her lashes thoughtfully. “I think our new tenant has an old soul.”
I love my best friend. I don’t know what I’d do without her. She is the rainbow in my Skittles. But that girl is forever trying to get me to go on a date.
“Stop.”
“Seriously, you can’t let Brody put you off younger guys as a rule.” Her voice rings with disappointment.
“Oh, I’m not.”
Hope brightens her eyes. “Really?”
“We’ve been through this.” We seem to have to revisit this topic once every couple of months. “I’m off guys in general. Younger. Older. Breathing. You name it.”
Again, those lashes flutter with theatrical suggestion. “And you haven’t had second thoughts about playing for the other team.”
She’s trying to make me laugh. It works. “Sadly, no.”
“Well,” Pen says primly. “Just remember that you’re not in as much control as you think you are.”
I almost choke. “Have you looked at my life, oh, in the last five—ten—twenty-eight years?” My eyebrows are probably disappearing into my hairline. “What illusions about being in control do you think I have?”
Pen purses her lips, considering. “Good point.” But her witchy smile emerges anyway. “Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I roll my eyes. “No warning necessary.”
As if to make my point for me, my phone rings. The screen declares it’s my dad. Perfect timing.
My Nanna taught me a lot of things. One of the hardest lessons to learn was that even when people close to you disappoint you, you can’t just flip a switch and stop loving them. Or stop wanting them to love you.
If only it were that easy.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Stella, my star,” my dad croons. “Any chance I could swing by for a haircut?”
“What, now?” I pull the phone away from my ear to check the time. “It’s after six. I need to get dinner on the table and spend some time with Maisy.”
“C’mon, Stella. You can make time for your old man, right?” He chuckles. “After all, who put you through beauty school?”
My back molars grind together, but I make a conscious effort to relax my jaw before speaking. “Dad, we aren’t inGrease.It’s called cosmetology school.”
“Cosmetology school. Got it. How about I pick up burgers for you and the squirt and you could keep me from looking like a degenerate for my client meeting tomorrow?”
It won’t do me any good to argue, but I can’t seem to help myself. “You know, you could have called me earlier and made an actual appointment.”
“And pay that ridiculous mark-up to your boss? Ha. Fat chance.” Dad scoffs at the very idea. “Whaddya want? Big Mac with cheese? A Happy Meal for the kid?”
I suppress a shudder. “Neither. I’m literally in the middle of making dinner.” Still, I can’t help but notice that Dad hasn’t asked about what Tyler wants to eat. You’d think he’d know by now that it’s not like my brother can just fend for himself. Not yet anyway. I mean, he can manage cereal and PB&J’s, but nothing that requires a recipe or cooking implements.
