again.
“It’s stupid,” she says. “Just that guy Jake.”
I know “that guy Jake.” That guy Jake is the boy Bella has had a crush on for the past few months. He’s the guy all the girls like—good-looking, good at sports, good at getting what he wants.
But not—by any stretch of the imagination—anywhere near good enough for my daughter.
“He told me he wanted to hang out with me when I got back from Twelve Oaks,” Bella continues, scrubbing again at her drawing with the eraser. “But Anna just posted a picture of him at a party with Julie, and they were kissing. It’s so stupid.”
She scribbles something on the paper, her forehead still creased and her brown eyes shadowed with hurt.
I smother the swarm of protectiveness I’ve felt countless times over the years on my children’s behalf. I push to my feet and cross the aisle to sit beside Bella.
I look at her sketchpad, the page covered with a detailed drawing of an imaginary forest. Twisting tree trunks are perforated with curved windows and doors, vines with heart-shaped leaves trail from the branches, and mushrooms sprout over the moss-covered ground.
“Did I ever tell you about the time when I was dating your mother, and I waited over three hours at a restaurant for her?” I ask.
“About a million times, Dad, yeah,” Bella mutters.
“Everyone in that place was sure I’d been stood up,” I continue, ignoring her sarcasm so I can relive the memory. “Your mother didn’t call or text, and I had no idea where she was. Some men would have thought she’d forgotten or that it was a lousy break-up. But I waited. I knew she’d show up eventually.
“And she did, apologizing over and over because her phone was dead, and she didn’t have her charger with her, and she hadn’t memorized my number. But someone at Jitter Beans had called in sick and she had to help cover their shift. And she hadn’t called the restaurant because she couldn’t remember the name of it, so she’d hurried up and down State Street, going into half a dozen different restaurants until she found me. Because she knew I’d still be waiting.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Bella sighs. “And you and Mom, like, saw each other across the crowded room or whatever, and she ran over to leap into your arms or something, and you probably had some goopy kiss. And then you stayed at the restaurant for hours, unable to take your eyes off each other, eating and talking and drinking wine. And it was all so disgustingly romantic that you paid the owner to let you stay past closing before you brought Mom home well after two in the morning, but please, God in heaven, don’t tell me what you did after that.”
I’ll never tell anyone, though that particular memory still simmers hot at the back of my mind.
“My point,” I tell my daughter dryly, “is that I waited for her. It wasn’t the first time I’d waited for her, and it was far from the last. But I’d have waited longer, if I had to. I’d still wait forever for your mother. And any guy who wants to be with you will do the same. If he’s not willing to wait, he’s not worth your time.”
She doesn’t respond, her pencil moving swiftly over one of the forest tree branches.
“The right guy will not tell you one thing and then go do something else,” I say. “He won’t lead you on. He won’t break promises. He won’t lie, cheat, or go after another girl when you’re not around. He’ll be honest with you. He’ll open doors for you, look you in the eye when he’s talking to you, and work hard to make things right for you. He’ll laugh at your jokes, want to fix all your problems, and give you his jacket when you’re cold.”
I push to my feet as Liv approaches from the gate.
“And,” I tell Bella, “the right guy will always let your dad win at football.”
A smile tugs at her mouth. She continues drawing, but the lines on her forehead ease and her pencil doesn’t dig quite so hard into the paper.
“Half an hour until takeoff,” Liv says. “They should start boarding in about ten minutes.”
She starts to pass me to return to her seat. The scent of her—peaches and vanilla—fills my head, the air between us warming with her body heat.
I slide my hand around her waist and pull her closer, pressing my mouth swiftly against hers. She