The Romantics(45)

Gael hesitated. Halloween was the night before November. Was it possible that this would be their first real date?

But immediately he cursed himself for his hesitation. What in the world was he waiting for?

His face broke into an easy smile. “For sure.”





familial advice: dad edition


Gael got back to his dad’s apartment just after 10:00 that night.

“How was the movie?” his dad asked, practically pouncing on him as soon as he was inside.

Gael tossed his keys onto the counter. “It was good. Is Piper up?”

He shook his head. “She was tired after a big meal. I made pot roast.”

Gael raised his eyebrows in mock appreciation. “Great,” he said dismissively. “Sad I missed it.”

He pushed past his dad in the tiny hallway and hung his jacket on one of the crappy dining chairs that looked like it came straight from a rando on Craigslist.

His dad followed him, not that there was much of a way not to follow him in such a tiny apartment. A history documentary was playing at low volume on the TV. “You know it’s the second time you’ve missed Friday dinner,” he said.

Gael turned to face him. “Is that a problem? You said it was fine last week.”

His dad shrugged. “It’s not a problem, per se, but is it going to be a new habit?”

“I don’t know,” Gael snapped. “I haven’t worked out all my habits now that I have to live at two houses. Sorry.”

His dad walked up to the couch, grabbed the remote, and turned the TV off. “Is everything from now on always going to be a fight about me and your mom?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Gael said. “Is it?” Gael knew he was being difficult, but he didn’t exactly care.

(Before you get too frustrated with Gael, let me just tell you that, unless you’ve been through it personally, you have no idea how gut-wrenching divorce is. The heart feels like it would after a death, but the head can see that no one has died, that life is still going on—it’s a unique grieving process, one that shouldn’t be taken lightly. One that even I have trouble with sometimes, this situation being one of them . . .)

“Fine,” his dad said. “But if you’re going to skip out on dinner, can you at least tell me who you’re hanging out with?”

Gael shrugged. “What does it matter to you?”

“A girl?” his dad teased.

Gael felt his face go hot.

“I knew it,” his dad said with a smirk. He took a seat on the couch. “Are you worried you’re moving a little quickly? You seem a bit nervous.”

Gael mentally cursed his dad for being so damn touchy-feely and perceptive. Couldn’t he be obsessed with sports and wings like other dads, instead of discussing emotions? Mason’s dad had taken him to Hooters for his sixteenth birthday. Gael’s had bought him The Art of Happiness by the Dalai Lama and What Color Is Your Parachute? For Teens.

(In truth, Gael had always liked this about his dad. At Mason’s birthday, he’d felt uncomfortable sitting in Hooters trying to focus on wings while Mason’s dad ogled and flirted with every waitress. But it only made sense that Gael couldn’t remember all that right at this moment.)

“I really don’t need dating advice from you, of all people.”

His dad looked taken aback by that—his head whipped back a little, his eyebrows scrunched up—but he paused, adjusted himself on the couch, took a deep breath, and didn’t pursue it. “I’m just saying, you want to get to know a girl, and more than just how she looks in a dress, you know what I mean? When I met your mom, all I could think was how smart she was, how much she got me, how much she challenged me. Our philosophy professor even said we were two of his most passionate students—”

“I’ve heard this story a million times,” Gael protested, his cheeks getting even hotter with anger. “Mom raised her hand to talk and you interrupted her. You got into an intellectually rigorous debate about your various philosophies, the professor goading you on. From that day forward, you started sitting next to each other in class. The rest is history. Blah blah blah.”

He had heard the story a million times. But he’d felt little more than typical teen-son annoyance about it until now. Because as of a few months ago, blah blah blah no longer resulted in a happy ending.

His dad frowned. “I’m just offering advice.”

Gael scoffed. He couldn’t hold back his anger any longer. “Well, have you ever thought that maybe I don’t want advice about you and Mom? We all know how well that turned out!”

Gael walked briskly to his room, which was only about four feet from the living room. He didn’t even get to enjoy the luxury of slamming the door because he didn’t want to wake Piper.

This apartment sucked, Gael thought bitterly. And his parents’ breakup sucked, too.

And his dad going about like everything was fine? Well, that sucked most of all.





how gael’s parents actually met


Just wanted to step in and clarify a couple of things:

It doesn’t much matter for the purposes of our story, but I think it’s worth noting here that while the theme of his dad’s advice was sound, not only was it a little awkward to bring up this story so soon after the split, but his version of the Arthur-meets-Angela story was, well, a little off the mark.