Chapter 18
Duffy
The next night, when I was on my way home from work, I got a text from Connor that said Don’t cook anything for dinner.
Me: What does that mean?
I still hadn’t recovered from Thursday Night Football, so the idea of more surprises was a little overwhelming.
The game had been a blast, he’d played great football, but Connor’s appearance in the suite afterward had been the best part. He’d made my father the happiest man on the planet—truly—and I was thankful for that, but it was his little bit of playfulness with me that wouldn’t leave my brain.
I haven’t properly said hi to your daughter yet.
God, the man was swoony, even when he was faking it.
Give me some sugar.
He was such a shit and I couldn’t think about it without giggling and kicking my damned feet.
Connor: Your boyfriend’s a thoughtful guy. Are your brothers going to be at the house for dinner or is it just you and your dad?
Me: Just me and my dad.
Connor: Perfect. Have a good night.
Me: What are you up to?
Connor: Just shut up and enjoy it.
Right when I pulled into the driveway, a DoorDash delivery driver was on our porch, dropping off a full meal from Carson’s, our favorite Italian restaurant.
“Did you order this, Duff?” my dad asked with a frown as I got out of my car. “That’s a lot of money to spend on food.”
“This isn’t me,” I said with a laugh, because the bag he was holding was huge. “I think Connor sent this.”
“What?”
“He sent a text about not making dinner,” I said as I followed him inside the house.
And sure enough, when we grabbed the takeout containers, there was a note on top.
Duff—
Take the night off from cooking.
—C
“All right, I’m a big fan of this guy,” my dad said. “Anyone who sends dinner from Carson’s is a good boy.”
“You were a big fan of him already—spare me,” I replied, shaking my head as I looked at the note in my hand.
I was a big fan of his notes.
The other day, he sent an absurd little note with the beer bouquet.
Distefano,
These golden hops can’t hold a mug to your full-bodied, effervescent beauty. I want to get buzzed on you.
Your boyfriend,
Connor
P.S. I was told that poems don’t have to rhyme, which is good because nothing rhymes with full-bodied OR effervescent.
Also, I suppose two sentences probably don’t qualify as poetry.
I remember ARISE FAIR SUN AND KILL THE ENVIOUS MOON from a Shakespeare course I took in college—does quoting that count for something?
P.P.S. You get it, though, right? I like you more than this beer. ;)
“He’s a good boy,” my dad said, smiling as he tore into the food.
“He’s okay,” I said, feeling a little weak as I opened the box with the bruschetta.
This is fake, this is fake, this is fake.
I knew it, but I wanted to remind myself, because a girl could get used to this treatment.
This was probably normal romantic behavior (on an NFLer scale) in a new relationship (that wasn’t fake), but I’d usually been demoted to a friend before the gifting portion of the program ever began.
And I couldn’t believe it, but as my dad and I wolfed down delicious Italian food, I realized my brothers were right.
My dad’s sudden amusement over the Connor situation put a halt to his complaints about the oxygen.
Instead of growling about the “damn nose rope” and how it was going to mess with everything normal in his life, he was talking about my new “boyfriend” and all the amazingness that seemed to surround him.
It was nice to see him relaxed and acting more like his old self. Comforting. I actually felt good about the lie by the time I got into bed, because my dad deserved a little bit of joy.
—
But the next day was trash, of course.
Because from the minute my eyes opened, I couldn’t stop thinking about one year ago.
That she was still with us.
That on this day last year, I talked to her on the phone over my lunch break and she told me about the new hair color she wanted to try out. That on this night last year, she texted me about the episode of the Real Housewives she was watching.
That one year ago, I’d had no idea I’d never hear her voice again.
I woke up to all those thoughts at once, and when I went into the kitchen, I could see my dad was having them, too.
He’d never mention that, of course, but he didn’t say a single word from the moment I walked into the kitchen until I left for work (we were both going in for a few extra Saturday hours).
He didn’t mention the weather, he didn’t mention football, he didn’t mention how runny the eggs that I made were; his brain was far away from me.
Which made me realize I couldn’t leave him that night.
Even though the anniversary of her death wasn’t until tomorrow, I’d completely missed the fact that today was the anniversary of her last day of life.
I texted Connor, disappointed to cancel because somehow, landing that “official” second date felt imperative to the getting-past-the-friend-zone thing. Ellie called it an essential goal and insisted I needed to do everything short of murder to ensure that the date happened ASAP.
Please don’t be mad, but I have to cancel for tonight; I think my dad’s going to need me. Tomorrow is the one-year anniversary of my mom’s passing.
Connor: Are you okay?
God.
Was I okay? Was I okay?
Something about the question, the fact that he was asking me, checking in on my feelings, made me feel like crying. I blinked fast, trying to keep it together because I didn’t want to let that simple question trigger a crying jag I was unable to stop.
But also, it kind of felt like no one had asked me that in a really long time. It’d been a year of chaos—and sadness—but through it all, it’d seemed like I was always the one asking that question to everyone else.
Me: Yes, but I don’t want him to be alone tonight.
Connor: Good call. And you’re a really good daughter btw.
Me: Don’t be nice, for God’s sake. Makes it harder to keep emotions in check.
Connor: I should be an asshole?
Me: Yes, please.
Connor: Okay, then you suck and I’m glad you can’t go out with me because I was going to have to stab myself in the face with a fork if I had to see you again.
How did I like him so much already?
I texted: Poured it on too thick so now I know you’re lying. You’re obviously dying to see me again.
Connor: Perhaps.
I sighed and wished I could just talk to him all day. I texted: I have to go to work now, but thanks for being understanding.
I wanted to add please please please raincheck me!! but I restrained myself.
I didn’t want to seem desperate, especially when “coy” and “elusive” were the adjectives I was supposed to be striving for.
Connor: Of course. I’m a hell of a guy.
Me: You just might be.
“I’m leaving,” I said as I put on my jacket. My dad was watching Good Morning America—he watched it every morning until he left for work—but I knew he wasn’t really watching. “Do you need anything before I go?”
“Nah. Drive safe, kid.”
I wanted to hug him, to say something to pull him out of himself, but I was pretty sure just mentioning my mom would bring on tears and I knew my bawling wouldn’t help him. So instead, I went to work and threw myself into spreadsheets until my dad called a couple hours later.
“Hello?”
“Hey, are you going tonight?” he asked.
“Going where?”
“To Connor’s thing. Your brothers all said they’re going, and as long as one of them can take me because I can’t drive after dark, I’m thinking I’d go, too. But Connor didn’t mention if you were going or if it was just a guy thing.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said, truly confused.
“Cunningham called because apparently he’s got some beta version of that old World War II COD and since you told him we used to play, he invited us to come over tonight because his access ends tomorrow.”
“Wait. What?”
A beta version of a relic of a game?
“Yeah, I don’t know, I don’t really understand the details, but I guess it’s a special version he has a code for or something.”
“So let me get this straight.” I felt, for the thousandth time since meeting Connor, completely confused. “You and Matty and Ty and Joey are going to Connor’s house. Tonight. To play COD.”
“Yeah, what don’t you get, Duff?” My dad sounded vaguely amused.
“I don’t know,” I said, because I really didn’t.
“Get this—I asked if any of his teammates will be coming over and he said he’d see if they’re free.”
What the hell?
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m invited,” I said, trying my hardest to get a grip on this.
It felt a lot like Connor was doing something very nice to distract my dad tonight, but I couldn’t be understanding it right because that was just too selfless, for him to let a bunch of near-strangers come over and play a video game at his house to keep them from being sad.
People just…weren’t that nice.
“So he really just invited us and not you—that’s hilarious,” he said, sounding incredibly happy I wasn’t included.
“Yeah,” I said, still reeling from what was happening. “Hilarious.”
“You gonna be okay home alone? I can—”
“Get back to work, old man; I’ll be fine,” I teased, letting him off the hook.
“I will, you little wiseass,” he replied, and my heart was happy that he sounded so light.
I hung up in shock and didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to call Connor, but another part of me didn’t want to unravel it all.
Because I felt like he should’ve asked me first. If he were a normal guy, it’d be weird that he made plans with my family after one date and a hockey game, especially when I hadn’t been included at all. Especially for a day that was so important.
But also—he wasn’t a normal guy.
Also—we weren’t in a normal situation now that we’d added this faking-it-in-front-of-Pops aspect and he’d gone through the trouble of entertaining us all in the suite the other night.
And my dad needed this, dammit.
So I didn’t do anything at all. I decided to leave it be and just see what happened.
Only what happened was that Connor texted me during lunch.