Page 77 of Now to Forever

Less than a quarter of a mile later, we’re both doubled over and panting.

“This sucks,” she gasps. “I don’t know why Luke does this willingly.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” My words are stuttered by shallow breaths. “With another word thrown in.”

Molly, being the demon she is, barks next to us, unaffected.

Wren and I don’t need to say a word: Instead of going any farther, we turn around, walking toward home.

“Are you and my dad dating?” she asks.

“Uh.” I squint, considering the fact that he’s become a constant intrusive thought and knows how to fuck like a fictional monster. “Not per se.”

“Well do you like him?”

I scrunch my nose. “Maybe.”

“So what’s the problem?”

I look at her. Thinking about all the ways I’ve pushed her that she most certainly has not wanted to be pushed. All the cuts on her arms and displaced pain she carries and feeling the teeniest bit guilty at the double standard I’ve set. “I’ve never really dated.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” When she sees I’m not joking, her eyes widen. “Wait—for real?”

“I’ve dated,” I explain. “Just not really what you’re thinking. Seriously. Exclusively. Longer than two months.”

I meet someone, enjoy the newness, and then end it based on real or fabricated problems to avoid the ultimate end looming around the corner: Nobody will show up or stay forever. A point repeatedly driven home throughout my life.

“Why?” she asks, stunned. “You’re, like, gorgeous. And funny. And, I don’t know, perfect except for all the swear words and the way you kind of bully me into doing things.”

I grin victoriously. “I knew you thought I was funny.”

“I’m serious, Scotty.” Her eyes look over me. “Is this the astronaut thing?”

My eyes narrow.

“On the first day we met, you told me you didn’t have kids because you didn’t have good parents. And I said, so because you have bad parents you can’t be one. And then you said, would you go to space without going to astronaut school.”

“That sounds like something I’d say.” She gives me a deadpan look. “Fine. Yes. Maybe.” I throw a hand in the air. “I don’t know.”

We stop for Molly to sniff a tree.

“If your theory is right,” she says, “people should never try anything new. My dad’s parents weren’t cops, he went to the academy to learn. And your parents were awful but look at you”—she gestures the length of my torso—“you’re all this.” I study the yellow leaves of a tree. “And if you’re right—” Her voice lowers, and we stop in the middle of the street. “Then I should never be a mom either. Or a wife. I shouldn’t even bother to talk to Luke because I’m never going to be anything anyway.”

I don’t know if I want to slap her or hug her and never let go. I opt for scolding. “Don’t you ever say that. You hear me? You deserve everything you want and then some. You deserve to be happy and be loved and give love. If you ever say that shit again, I’ll—I don’t know what I’ll do—tie you to a tree and tell Molly to gnaw your legs off then piss in the wounds. Got it?”

“Huh,” she says as we start to walk again. “So the rules of misery don’t apply to everyone, just you?”

I look at her, and she smiles. The little shit is playing me. As annoyed as I am, she has a point.

We’re quiet the rest of the walk until we turn into the driveway. There, Ford is waiting in jeans and a flannel next to his truck, exposed forearms I’d like to lick and amused look on his face as we trudge toward him.

“What’s this?” he asks, smiling as he takes in our outfits.

“Yourgirlfriendis the devil and made me run for five whole minutes,” Wren says giving him a hug. I don’t miss her emphasis nor slight glint in her eye.

“Surprise. I sleep in the retort,” I deflect.

“Explains so much.” Ford says to me. Then to Wren: “You sticking around?”

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