Page 22 of Bittersweet

Mom’s eyebrows answer in thenegative.

I place the bowl on the floor besideme.

“Is that my little girl?” Dad’s voice booms. He strides across the room, pulls me to my feet and envelops me in a hug. “How are you? You lookjolly.”

“She does. Very jolly. Have you put on weight, dear?” Momasks.

“Do we have to have this discussion again?” I pick up that bowl of nuts, needing the comfort food now more than I did when I first entered theroom.

“Leave her be, Val. The girl just takes after her father.” Dad squeezes my arm in support.I sure hopenot.

I glance down at my body, my stomach. I’ve never loved the way I looked. Perhaps dropping a few pounds would help that. Make me feel less like a hippo when eating in front ofElio.

Can I really say goodbye to those muffins,though?

I bite my lip and place the bowl of nuts back on thetray.

I can diet. I can dothis.

Mom pats the seat next to her, and Dad sits by her side. Once again, I’m reminded of the difference in their stature—Dad, so tall, so wide, and Mom, so short, so petite. They’re like a pit bull and a chihuahua, the smaller one always ready tobite.

“Did I read that Kenna McPherson is getting married?” Mom asks, her eyes narrowed.Straight for thejugular.

“Yes, she is.” My cheeks heat a little. Thank God Kenna didn’t recognize me the other day. Must have been my superhuman speed as I hotfooted it out of the woods. We haven’t seen each other since we finished high school, and I hope to hell that it’s years before I run into heragain.

“Hmm. Isn’t it strange, how you were both so obsessed with getting married as kids.” Mom sighs, as if remembering the time fondly. “And now, she’s living thedream.”

And I’m just writing about it.She doesn’t need to say the words; they’re already front ofmind.

“And on that note, we have news.” Mom’s hands go to the edge of her knees as she leans forward, her eyes wide withexcitement.

“What is it?” I ask,wary.

“Well . . .” She looks to Dad. He nods. “We found an app that we think can helpyou.”

“An app,” I repeat, taking another sip of my martini. “Is it a datingapp?”

“Sort of.” Dad nods. “Well, that’s what the boys at the club tellme.”

“You’ve been discussing my single life with your friends?” Oh lord. The embarrassment doesn’tstop.

“Let’s not get off topic, dear.” Mom places a hand on Dad’s knee. “Your father has found a solution to your problem, and I, for one, am very excited to get this ballrolling.”

“Tell me more about it,” I say, and straighten my posture, steelingmyself.

“Why don’t we show you instead?” Mom picks up the remote control from the table beside her, flicking the television on. Dad taps a few things on his phone, and suddenly, the screen is a reflection of the device in his hand thanks to the power ofBluetooth.

A photo of me fills most of the screen. It’s a picture from my engagement party—twinkle lights sparkle in the background, and Jeremy has his arms aroundme.

Only in this image, someone has scribbled over his head with some kind of a digital painttool.

“What’s . . .?” I frown, my eyes taking in the otherdetails.

Romy Love,27

Hi,I’m Romy. Love is my name, and love is my game. I run a wedding blog to help those who’ve found their perfect match find their perfect day, and I can’t wait to meetyou.

Iblink.The layout looks strangely familiar. “Mom . . .Dad. . .”

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