Single Dad Seeks Juliet

by Max Monroe

  At least I won’t have to move if hell’s where I decide to go…because I’m already there.

  Oh, and don’t forget! Tomorrow, you get to finish writing that article that’s literally due, like, now, and you get to see Jake again! Should be a fantastic day!

  Why is my life like this? Why am I like this?

  Seriously. Why?

  Holley

  When I park the car outside the coffee shop where I’m supposed to meet Jake, I look up and into the rearview mirror one last time and gasp.

  Holy hell, I look like a crypt keeper from the afterlife!

  I rub furiously at the smudged makeup under my eyes and lick my finger when it won’t come off without some moisture.

  I’d normally never leave the house in this much of a state, but to say everything has been a blur since last night would be an understatement.

  I accidentally FaceTimed with my father while I was masturbating!

  Okay, real talk? I really don’t think he saw my vagina or anything, but he definitely had an idea of what was going on, and falling asleep after that proved next to impossible.

  Instead, I fell down one hell of a rabbit hole via an internet thread on Reddit about the trauma of walking in on your parents doing it. The conclusion of my research is pretty clear—I need to find a way to convince my dad to go into counseling as soon as possible.

  Logistically, though, that meant I didn’t fall asleep until the sun had already risen.

  Needless to say, when my alarm went off, it was not a pleasant experience. I didn’t jump out of bed and sing with the birds like Mary Poppins or type up a fifty-page dissertation like I’ve heard is possible at that time of the morning. Or, you know, finish my article that I definitely should have finished before coming here.

  Nope. Instead, I whined. I cried. I even thrashed a little like I was having a tantrum. Frankly, that was pretty liberating, seeing as I didn’t have anyone around to tell me to grow up or act my age.

  My neighbor Gary most likely heard all of my toddler-like-crazy through the open window of my bedroom, but I’ve heard that guy have sex with a woman who begged him to lick her asshole, so I’m not too embarrassed by it.

  But it did make getting ready in time a challenge.

  My hair looks almost intentional in today’s age of super-messy buns, and chunky earrings make me look like I half put myself together. But the mascara smears were totally giving me away.

  Raccoon eyes fixed, I climb out of the car and head for the entrance of the shop.

  I can see Jake through the window, sitting at a table alone and reading the paper while waiting for me.

  I pull down the hem of my old AC/DC T-shirt a little closer to the waistband of my cutoff jean shorts and yank the door open quickly. His head comes up at the sound of the chime, and he smiles when he sees me, despite my somewhat Frankenstein-ish appearance.

  “Hey,” I say in greeting and toss my phone and keys down beside his things that have already established residency on the incredibly small bistro table. “Sorry I’m running a little late. I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

  He directs a wink in my direction. “Stayed up late writing about me?”

  HA! Yeah, I wish that were the reason. “Uh…not exactly.”

  His eyebrows pull together and then lift, and it takes me a minute, but I finally understand what his face is insinuating.

  Oh boy, he really has no idea. I nearly laugh. Truth is, Jake, I was diddling my doo-dah to the image of you when my dad interrupted.

  My face turns beet red just thinking about it. “Ha. Yeah, no. I… Well, let’s just say it was interesting. But I was not with someone.”

  “Interesting? That sounds like something I need to hear.”

  “No,” I say vehemently. “You don’t.” I will die before I share with him the true happenings of last night.

  Death would be much more enjoyable.

  “Oh, come on, Holley. You’re privy to all the details of my life. I’m not allowed to know a few of yours?” he points out with a pout.

  My stomach roils, but I hold strong. I cannot tell him about last night. Cannot. I’ll never survive it. Once I find a safe and legal way to sign my father up for a lobotomy, I’m taking this sordid tale to the fucking grave.

  “No way, Jose. At least, not this detail. You’ll have to pick something else.”

  My phone chimes on the table, but before I can pick it up, Jake reaches down and pulls it into his hands, his eyes already scanning the notification. “Uh…that’s my—”

  “Oh shit, this isn’t mine,” he mutters and swiftly hands the phone back to me with apologetic eyes. “You…uh…have the same text chime as me.”

  Considering we both have the same generation iPhone with eerily similar black cases, I can’t exactly be angry at him, but when I check the screen and see the text preview, instant humiliation blazes to a wildfire inside my veins.

  Dad: I’ve seen turkeys doing it before. Kinda funny-looking, if you ask me. All those feathers.

  Holy hell! I nearly faint.

  If it weren’t already apparent, my father is the worst kind of text message wild card.

  “I’m really sorry for reading your text, Holley. I honestly thought it was my phone.” Jake’s voice begs my eyes to meet his. “I’m not the type of shithead who intentionally disrespects people’s privacy and personal boundaries.”

  Unbidden and unwelcome, a memory of Raleigh reading my emails pops into my mind.

  If there was ever a man who would purposefully steamroll over my privacy and personal space, it was him. Which, considering he hid an affair from me for over a year, it was the true culmination of hypocritical and irony combined.

  “It’s okay,” I mutter, straddling the line of being completely triggered by my past and unsure of what to say.

  “And, uh, your dad…well…he sounds like a real riot…” Jake pauses, his teeth digging into his bottom lip in a half-assed attempt to fight his threatening smile. “You know, if you want to share any more text messages from your dear old dad, I’d be more than willing to lend a listening ear.”

  Emotional overload engaged, my entire being is on the brink of spontaneously combusting right in the middle of this coffee shop.

  I wonder if they’ll still be able to spread the ashes if they don’t get them from an official crematorium? I’d like to be on a mountaintop. With a view. Maybe by a lake.

  My phone chimes again, and I look down to see two more ridiculous messages.

  Dad: Deer are horny little bastards too. They chase their women around and slam as many of them as they can.

  Dad: It’s nature, you know? Natural. Nothing to think about.

  “Oh my God,” I whisper, horrified. “Why? Why is this happening to me?”

  Jake, ever helpful, takes a sip of his coffee and folds his newspaper on the table. One of my past articles about a local homeless shelter is right on top. I ignore it, though. I have to. My whole entire system is already about to experience a catastrophic failure due to stimulus overload.

  “I think I’d like to meet your dad sometime.”

  “Stop,” I chastise, trying to silence my phone as yet another message comes in.

  Dad: Maybe try it with someone else, though? Can’t make grandkids like that, you know. I’d love a couple little buggers running around here someday.

  “What?” Jake questions. “He seems like an interesting guy is all.”

  I cringe at just how fucking interesting—more like, insane—ole Phil Fields is at the present moment. “You have no idea what’s going on.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. But since you won’t tell me, and I already accidentally got a teensy taste of what’s going down over there, I’ve made up a story in my head, and man, it’s good.” He flashes a stupid, sexy smirk. “A real page-turner.”

  “You’re officially the worst person I’ve ever met.”

  “I don’t believe that. If that were the case, you’d already be gone.”

/>   “I have to be here for work.”

  He scoffs. “If I were the worst person in the world, I would hope you wouldn’t stick around because of some articles you don’t even want to write anyway.” He pauses to consider me. “Why is that, by the way? I’m sensing something in your past we should talk about.”

  “Oh, look,” I announce in the name of distraction. “Another message from my dad. Maybe we should see what it says? I mean, you already took it upon yourself to read one of them.”

  “I honestly thought it was mine.” Jake winces. “By the way, it might be helpful in the future if one of us gets a new case. They’re too damn similar.”

  I stare at him, my eyes saying, Ya think?

  But when I notice that he’s looking back at me with an expression I can’t discern, I can’t stop myself from asking, “What? What on earth are you thinking now?”

  “It’s just…” He pauses and laughs almost uncontrollably, running a hand through his dark hair. “Now I know there really must be something in your past. No way you’d bring the conversation back around to your dad’s hilarious text messages if there weren’t.”

  I choose to ignore that comment by boldly reading my dad’s latest message aloud. I mean, what’s the use in hiding Phil’s nonsense now that it’s been shoved out into the open? “He says, ‘No pressure, though. They say it’s harder to get pregnant—’” I cut myself off immediately, but I continue to read it silently, once I realize just how terrible this text really is.

  Dad: No pressure, though. They say it’s harder to get pregnant when you’re trying. So, you should just have sex a lot without trying.

  What the hell, Dad!

  On a groan, I set my phone facedown onto the table, and Jake’s expression turns amused.

  “C’mon, Holley. You can’t leave me hanging like that.”

  I sigh, pick my phone back up, and turn it to face him so he can read it for himself.

  “Oh, man. Now I really want to meet your dad. He gives terrific advice.”

  “Phil Fields, ladies and gentlemen. A real wise guy.” I shake my head as my phone vibrates in my hand yet again, and I hate that I even check the screen.

  Dad: That’s what your mother and I did. Lots of practice. Practiced a lot after you, too, but didn’t manage to make any more beauties like you. Think I might’ve had something broken.

  I groan again, finally succumbing to the pressure, and let my head hit the table. “I’m not prepared for this today. I did not get enough sleep. There isn’t enough sleep in the world to remedy this. I need to go back to bed and wake up in an alternate universe.”

  Jake’s chuckles feel good against my skin as he reaches out with a kind hand and squeezes mine. “Relax, everyone has embarrassing parents.”

  I lift my head from the table, hope unconcealed in my voice. “Are your parents like this?”

  “My parents live in Boise, Idaho,” he counters. “And I’ve never met them.”

  “What?”

  He shrugs. “They were young. I went into the system.”

  “Oh, Jake…”

  He waves me off. “Don’t ‘Oh, Jake’ me, Holley. There’s no need for sympathy or sadness on my behalf. I obviously turned out okay, right?”

  I look at his big muscles and his even bigger smile. He sure looks good to me. I don’t say that, though. Instead, I offer a small hum of agreement.

  “Exactly. No need to waste any time on that. Why don’t I get you a cup of coffee? Maybe it’ll turn your morning around.”

  “Yes, please.”

  He jumps up from his chair and then turns back to get my order. Or so I think.

  “By the way, if you would like to set up all messages from your dad to forward to me, so I can screen them for you in advance, I’d be more than happy to sacrifice my time.”

  I flip him off, and he just smirks like he’s been named Funniest Man Alive. I almost forget to breathe when he leans down, so close to my face I can smell the caramel scent his coffee has given his breath. “Mochaccino?”

  “Sure.” I normally don’t go for such a fancy brew, but man, I’m impressed he realized how important chocolate is at a time like this. “And extra whipped cream, please.”

  “You got it,” he says, running the backs of his knuckles against the line of my cheek. It’s so gentle, so tender…so unexpected.

  I never knew a hand against my face could feel that good.

  I watch with interest as he saunters up to the counter and orders my drink with ease. He doesn’t look hurried or uncomfortable or like he’s affected by the traumatic messages he’s just read from my father.

  I mean, is he wondering at all about the context? Because he sure isn’t acting like it.

  My phone buzzes on the table, and I look down to see what else Chatty Chadwick has to say. It’s a nickname given to my dad by my grandparents, and there’s a reason it’s stuck for all these years.

  Dad: You turned out pretty good, though. So, I guess my sperm have something going for them.

  Good gravy. How is it possible that receiving a message from your own father with the word sperm in it doesn’t instantly make your phone explode? There should be a fail-safe built in.

  I look back over to the counter to Jake again. He’s leaning against the glass of the dessert case, and his phone is to his ear. He’s smiling and laughing, and for one tiny, irrational moment, I freak out that he might be telling someone about me and my messages.

  But I realize pretty quickly how incredibly self-centered that thinking is. He has other things going on in his life—lots of them. He doesn’t need or want to spend all his time spreading info around about me.

  I shake my head at myself and look back down to my phone. I only let myself feel slightly strange that the messages from my dad are the only messages I’m getting. Clearly, I don’t want to miss having a girlfriend to confide in, but if I open up that Pandora’s box, I’ll have to admit that I’ve never really had one.

  My dad is the closest thing I’ve got. On that note, my phone buzzes again. I sigh as I pick it up and read it. My dad is persistent, I’ll give him that. I haven’t even responded to any of these texts, but that hasn’t stopped him from charging onward toward Crazy Town.

  Dad: You need a vibrator? I’m into hip Christmas gifts. I could find one for ya somewhere, I’m sure. I bet the flea market has a selection at good prices.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake. Seriously? I think it’s officially time to pack it up for the day. Because I doubt it’s possible to recover from this.

  Eventually, I find the strength to respond from my hole in the earth after being swallowed right up. It’s at least cool enough for sweatshirt-wearing. I might be okay to stay here for a while.

  Me: Please. I beg of you to stop right now. Never utter those words to me again, Dad. PLEASE.

  Jake takes the seat across from me once again and sets down my coffee. I reach for it like the desperate woman I am and down about a quarter of it in one gulp.

  I gasp though, because—goodbye, taste buds!—coffee is hot.

  “Jesus,” Jake remarks. “Are you okay?”

  I nod, though I’m not entirely sure I don’t have third-degree burns on the inside of my mouth and down my throat.

  “Oh yeah,” I croak. “Great.”

  He raises his eyebrows, skeptical, but I choose not to respond.

  Instead, I wave him off and dig in my bag to pull out the folder on Bianca, Bachelorette Number One.

  The sooner we get down to the real reason for being here and move away from me, you know, mortifying myself in every way humanly possible, the better.

  “What’s that?” Jake asks as I move my coffee cup over to open it in front of me.

  “It’s a dossier on your first woman.”

  “A dossier, huh?” He quirks a sarcastic brow. “I didn’t know the Tribune was a front for the CIA.”

  I squint my eyes. “It’s not, like, her blood type or anything. Just basic details she filled out on a questionnaire
. You know, like the one you refused to fill out…”

  He grins.

  “Anyway, I figured it would help us since you’re so keen on creating a date specific to the woman.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” he says defensively.

  Realizing my tone, I correct it swiftly. “No, no. You’re right. It is a good idea. If you’re trying to get to know these women in one night, it’s best to do it in an environment in which they’ll thrive.”

  I flip the first page over since it’s nothing more than personal details and move on to the second. “Let’s see here,” I say, scrolling over her answers with a finger on the paper and my tongue between my lips.

  “It says here that she’s a big traveler. Loves to try new foods. Hmm,” I hum, reading the next line. “She’s not officially a food critic, but according to this, she kind of fancies herself as one.”

  Amusement pops from his lips. “Wow. You don’t like her.”

  I look up, shocked. “What? What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t hear the way you said that?” he asks, and I scrunch up my nose in confusion.

  “No. What did I say?”

  “It’s not really what you said but how you said it.”

  “Isn’t that something women normally say to men?”

  He points at me with a knowing stare. “Don’t deflect, Holley.”

  I shake my head and look back down at the paper, reminding myself not to be so fucking transparent. Just because I know Bianca is the blond-bob-sporting, slightly ditzy woman from my initial meeting with his dates doesn’t mean I should go coloring his view of her before he meets her.

  I’m extra conscious of my tone as I read aloud the next question on the list.

  “Does she have any food aversions?” I slide my finger down to her answer. “None to speak of!” I clap my hands in front of myself, and Jake smirks. “Well, that’s good.”

  “Sounds like I should take her to a nice restaurant, huh?”