Page 16 of Desperately Seeking Mr. Darcy

I eye her. No more questions? That seemed too easy.

“Set the table, you two,” my mom says, and Amelia and I get to work doing as she asks.

Just as my mom sets down the last plate of food on the table, our dad walks in from the garage, keys and phone in hand. He gives my mom a quick kiss on her cheek.

“Smells great in here,” he says.

My heart hurts a little, knowing he just came from the office, the same place I should be coming from. He’s been so great about everything, and I don’t know—maybe if he got mad or something, it would make me feel better about the whole thing. I’d feel held accountable in a way I deserve, rather than the supportive and patient way my dad has handled it.

I sent him a text the evening after I left work to tell him I was going to figure this out and how grateful I was for his example, and that I wouldn’t let him down. He sent me back only a thumbs-up emoji, which is ... typical.

“Hey, Zane,” he says, patting me on the back before settling into his usual chair at the round, handcrafted oak table, its surface now smooth from being refinished to erase the fork marks and other gashes Amelia and I left behind over the years.

We dig into the food, which is pot roast (a staple for my mom), mashed potatoes, rolls, and roasted asparagus. Sometimes this once-a-month dinner is the only time I get a home-cooked meal. I tend to eat out a lot, or go for easy, microwavable meals that have hardly any nutritional value. I bet this was my mom’s plan all along, to make sure we eat something hearty at least once in a while.

We make small talk as we eat, my dad thankfully not regaling us with tales from work like he usually does. Although, I also find this frustrating since he’s probably holding back for my sake.

“So, Zane,” Amelia says during a lull in the mostly superficial conversation. “What are your plans for this break you’re taking?”

Right. So she wasn’t going to let it go that easily after all. How foolish of me.

“Oh yes,” my mom says, wiping her mouth with a white cloth napkin. “What are your plans, Zane?”

I look to my dad, whose eyebrows are raised, awaiting my answer. Thankfully, I have one.

“I’m going to Costa Rica, actually,” I tell them.

TikTok may have made me lose my faith in humanity, but I went down a rabbit hole watching videos of people visiting Costa Rica, and it looked amazing. So on a whim—or really at four in the morning when I woke up in a cold sweat—I booked a flight and a place to stay for the first couple of nights.

Will Costa Rica have the answers I’m looking for? Somehow, I doubt it. But it’s worth a shot, I guess. Maybe getting out of my own head—and out of El Dorado Hills—will give me some clarity. It’s not just that I need a break—I need to know if I’m even capable of stepping into the role my dad’s been holding for me. And if I’m not? Well ... I don’t know what I’ll do then.

In truth, I don’t want to go anywhere—I’d rather stay here and make sure things get fixed with Summit and that mess of a contract. But now, with the look of pride on my dad’s face after telling him I’ve booked a trip, I’m grateful I did, even if it amounts to nothing.

“Who are you going with?” Amelia asks.

“Myself,” I say. “I’m going to hike, see some stuff.” Figure out my life. No big deal.

“Oh, I don’t love that,” my mom says, that place between her brows creasing. “Couldn’t you go with someone?”

“Not this last-minute,” I say. “I’m also thirty years old.” I think my mom forgets this sometimes.

I’m kind of with her on this one, though. I don’t love the idea either. For one, I’m traveling by myself, something I’ve never done, and going somewhere I’ve never been. But truthfully, I’m mostly worried that my own thoughts will get on my nerves, that I’ll get sick of myself and have no one to keep me from a spiral of overthinking. It’s highly likely, since I’m already annoying myself, lying around, doing just that, since leaving the office Wednesday evening. I haven’t been this lazy in years and I hate it.

“I love it,” my dad says, giving my shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’ve always wanted to go to Costa Rica.”

I knew he would. It’s not Miami with friends, but it is a vacation. And who knows, maybe on Tamarindo beach, where I’ll be spending the first couple of days, I’ll have some grand, life-changing epiphany. Or it’s also possible I’ll just end up with a sunburn.

“Well, maybe you should go with him,” my mom says, obviously still not happy that I’ll be by myself.

“He’ll be fine,” my dad says.

I’m grateful he doesn’t add the obvious: He can’t go anywhere because someone has to stay here and clean up the mess I made.

“You know what would be an even better idea?” Amelia says, holding up her index finger. “You could go with Macey to Pride and Prejudice Park.”

I let out a breath. Not this again. When Amelia gets an idea in her head, it’s hard to turn her away from it. “That’s ... not the kind of break I’m looking for,” I tell her.

She waves my words away with her hands. “It’s like stepping into another life. It’s the perfect escape, which is what you said you needed. Plus, you could totally pull off a cravat.”

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