Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,31
forkful of kale and red pepper slices. “That plan makes my job easy.”
I concentrate on my salad, moving it around with my fork. Honestly, I simply stopped thinking about the no-dating thing, and voilà, it went away!
“I met Pony this week. It’s brand-new. I’m just getting to know him.”
“Look at you, Georgie, you’re adulty so hard.”
“It’s adulting so hard, Dad.” He has a unique talent for ruining anything cool. Besides, two can play at this game. “I think it’s brave that I put myself out there after getting hurt. When will you be getting out there, Dad?”
He stops chewing and looks up at me. “Soon.”
“It’s been almost two years,” I say.
“I need more time.”
“Mom didn’t—”
“Georgia.”
I went too far on that one.
He softens up. “I think I loved your mother more than she loved me . . .”
“That’s not true,” I say in a small voice. I shouldn’t have pushed, but I want him to be happy. I’m worried about what he’ll do when I graduate. He’ll go to work, come home, eat things from cans, and repeat every night of the week. Except poker night, but that’s once a month. Do I never move away? Attend Addison Community College? Work at the Sonic? I can’t skate . . .
Suddenly, the solution hits me—because I’m a freaking genius—and I get up and grab the iPad from my backpack.
“Check this out, Dad. I read an article about an online dating site for people over forty!”
He pushes the iPad away. “No, thank you, I prefer the old-fashioned way: meeting someone in person and talking.”
I take the iPad back and start signing him up. “OK, that’s charming and idealistic but so very outdated. OUT-DATED. That should be the name of this site.”
“One more joke about my age and you’ll be grounded until you’re forty.”
“That’s fair,” I say, completing a couple steps on the website. I hand the iPad back to him, feeling accomplished. “I uploaded a photo and gave you a name, see?” I point to the username.
“OutDatedDad, very funny.”
“Just write your bio and off you go!”
I grab the dinner plates and take them to the sink. As I load the dishwasher up, I think about telling Pony my secret. He thinks I’m a writer. With things to read. I don’t know what happened. I lost my mind. He is this new person. He’s neutral, like Switzerland or beige. I wanted him to see me as more than a cheerleader. And—I felt safe.
Dad takes off his reading glasses and holds up the tablet. “Got it, Georgie!”
I dry off my hands and read his very best attempt over his shoulder.
HI! MY NAME IS ROBERT. SINGLE DAD WITH JOB AND MUSTACHE. EX-WIFE LEFT ME FOR RICH GUY. LOOKING FOR FRIENDSHIP. WILL PAY.
Wow, it’s breathtakingly bad. But I need to be supportive.
“Nice attempt! A few notes. The caps lock is a little aggressive. Mustache isn’t a selling point. Let’s cut the ex-wife thing. And what does ‘will pay’ mean in your world?”
“I will pay for dinner and such. Just want them to know that I’m a gentleman,” he says earnestly.
“That’s awfully chivalrous, but that might read as you are willing to pay for more than dinner . . .” I nudge him with my elbow.
“Oh,” he says as his cheeks blush up.
I grab the iPad from him. “Delete, delete, delete. OK, that’s better.” I sit down at the table. Twenty minutes later—genius takes time—I have crafted the best profile possible:
Hello! I’m starting the next chapter in my life and looking for my new love interest. I’m kind, smart, funny, and trustworthy. I have a job and a daughter; all that’s missing is you.
He reads it over and allows me to publish his profile.
“All right, you’re officially online. The rest is up to you. Just start swiping here,” I say, walking him through the website. I wish him well, head up to my room, throw myself on my bed, and unlock my phone. It’s time for me to take a step forward, too.
GEORGIA: Are you going to the football game on Friday?
Maybe that was dumb. He doesn’t like sports. My phone dings.
PONY: Why would I go to a football game?
I ready my thumbs to type out some silly story but stop.
GEORGIA: For me.
A minute goes by, and it’s dreadful.
PONY: Then, yes.
GEORGIA: See you there, handsome.
FIVE
Friday, September 6
PONY, 7:12 P.M.
I feel like the Little Mermaid. She just wanted to be part of our world. Here I am, wanting to be a part of Georgia’s world but feeling like my