It takes her a moment to realize I’m not kissing her anymore.
She turns away from me and drags her fingertip along the bottom of her lower lip.
I do the same with mine.
And I really fucking don’t want to stand up now, and I really wish I had a backpack to hold in front of myself.
But here we are at the happy ending of the Disney story, so off we get.
But without the getting-off part.
“You wanna go again?” I grunt out as I help her out of the pirate ship.
“Yes! But I can’t.”
And then she runs off.
She runs off, like a Disney princess from some other story.
And like every Disney prince who’s just kissed and been abandoned by a beautiful beguiling woman, I’m hiding wood and wondering where the fire is. Besides my pants. And hers, obviously.
When I get outside, I look around and I don’t see her anywhere.
I pull out my phone to send her a text: Are you vomiting?
In the couple of minutes that I’m waiting for a reply, I stroll toward the nearest restrooms.
EMILIA: Nope! I panicked. I’m sorry. I’m going to find Franklin and Brody. I can’t be around you. It’s too much. That can’t happen again.
EMILIA: I mean, I liked it. A lot. Thank you. You’re really good at that. Like really good. But it can’t happen again. Not until Ryder isn’t my student anymore. I’m sorry.
ME: Okay. Ryder’s getting homeschooled starting tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow night.
EMILIA:
EMILIA: Enjoy the rest of your day, okay?
EMILIA: Alex?
ME: Yeah?
EMILIA: Are you mad?
ME: I’m not thrilled. But I wish you were easier to be mad at. And I’m not going to make you do anything you don’t feel ready for. It just seems to me that you’re pretty ready for it.
EMILIA:
And that’s it.
Back to the Blue Bayou I go.
A couple of very important parts of me are bluer than they were before I made the decision to talk to Emilia today.
But my heart still feels like it’s flying.
REASONS WHY I CAN’T DATE MR. V – Emilia
9. I am clearly not ready to date him because I ran off like a spazzy dingbat of a teenager who had to get home before curfew.
10. I am clearly way too ready to bang him because if it weren’t for that safety bar that was restricting our movements, I would have straddled and dry humped the father of one of my students while flying over Never Never Land.
11. I guess on some slightly damaged level, I don’t think I deserve to be loved by a man like him.
FUCK YOU, BRENT.
ALEX VEGA INSPIRATION JOURNAL – November
– Current mood: workaholic.
– Every fucking Nora Ephron romantic comedy ever made. I must be suffering from PMS because I hated them when Nova made me watch them with her, but God help me, I love them now.
– Listening to The Patsy Cline Collection CDs in my office. Gorgeous and unsurpassable.
I texted Nico to tell him he needs to do a Patsy Cline cover, and he said he’ll do “You Belong to Me” at his next Hotel Café show. But only if I direct his next music video. Obviously. This is a win-win. Then he asked if I was suffering from PMS.
– After we got back from Disneyland, I called my agent and told him to send me any half-decent romantic scripts that are in development—feature or TV. He said if I want an excuse to meet with female leads, he can just set up drinks. And then he explained how little chance a feature romance script has of actually getting produced and that it wouldn’t be “on brand” for me to be attached to that kind of project.
I thanked him for giving me an excuse to set up a bunch of meetings with other agents. He sent five scripts less than half an hour later.
I really like one of them.
Met with the writer yesterday. He’s a bit green, but I’m working on notes now. It’s set in LA, so there will be a very tasteful Santa Ana winds-skirt-blow-up scene. If the next draft works out, I think it’s a good part for Shane.
The big picture story of almost every romance is “love conquers all.”
If I keep throwing myself into working on this until June, I might actually believe it.
– The truth is, there’s someone else I want in my big picture now. She is in it. Just not in the way I want her in it, yet. But…to paraphrase Milan Kundera—only obstacles are capable of turning love into a love story. The main obstacle may exist only in her heart and mind. Lucky for us, I’m staying focused on the big picture. And getting really good at fucking my hand.
18
Emilia
“Miss Stiles?”
I gulp down my final bite of tuna salad sandwich and close my web browser as soon as I hear Ryder’s voice.
“Ryder! Did you finish your lunch already?” I open the browser on my laptop again and delete my search history real quick, because what am I even doing Googling Alex Vega on my lunch break and because these kids are so smart and sneaky they could totally check my search history and probably hack into all of my accounts when I’m not looking.
“Yeah. Can you help me with something, please?” He crosses over to the front of my desk with his hands behind his back. He’s being so polite, I’m a little afraid he’s going to stab me or something.
“What’s up?”
“Can you help me to set up something for my dad?”
I clear my throat and check to make sure my browser is closed again. “What kind of something?”
“A profile. For WooHooCupid.”
I bark out a laugh. “The dating site? You want to set up a dating profile for your dad?”
He nods. “He’s really sad and lonely now. I think he needs a girlfriend.”
“Hmm. Well, does your dad want a profile on a dating website? I mean, are you sure he isn’t already dating someone?”
“He’s not. I’m sure. I think I should help him.”
“Well, that’s very sweet of you, I guess.”
“So you’ll help me?!”
“Sure, why not?” I mean, what am I gonna do—not help a seven-year-old student set up a dating profile for his hot single father who I’ve made out with twice? “But only if it’s okay with your dad. I’ll help you set it up, but we won’t make it public. You have to let him be the one to do that, okay?”
“Yes!” He jumps up and down. “Now, right? Can we do it now?”
“Well, we have about fifteen minutes before class starts.” I open up my laptop. “We’ll need an email address.”
“It’s [email protected]. I made him a special email account.”
“Well, that is very adorable.” I type in the email address on WooHooCupid. “What should the password be?”
“Can it be my birthday?”
“Better not use your birthday. Or his.”
“Your birthday?”
“Nope. What’s your favorite color?”
“Blue.”
“Okay. What’s your favorite food?”
“Waffles. No—gelato! No—fried chicken! Wait, do I have to pick one?”
“Okay, remember this—the password is Bluewaffles123, with a capital ‘b.’ Will you remember that?”
“Bluewaffles123,” he repeats. “And for his picture?”
“Do you have one?”
“I want to use the one I did of him today.”
We both look over at the Art Wall. He drew a picture of his dad that’s so freaking cute it actually made me tear up a little. And Google Alex Vega as soon as I could.
“Do you want me to take a picture of the drawing?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you sure you don’t want to use an actual photograph of him?”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Nah, it doesn’t matter.”
“If you say so.” I take a picture of the drawing with my
phone and then upload it to the website once it’s in the Photos library on my laptop. “This is the best dating profile picture I’ve ever seen.”
“Are you on here too?” he asks, coming around to my side of the desk and resting his elbows on it.
“Nope. I don’t use dating websites.”
“Why not? Do you already have a boyfriend?”
“Nope. But remember what we talked about on the first day of school?”
He slaps his forehead. “Oh yeah! Sorry.”
“It’s fine. But since it’s not class time right now, I will tell you that I do not have a boyfriend. Are you sure your dad isn’t seeing anyone?”
“Oh yeah. I’m sure. Is it set up yet?”
“Nope. We have to answer a bunch of questions.”
“Like what?”
“Well there’s a whole bunch of them, and then depending on how you answer them, that’s how they find a match—or a whole bunch of matches—for your dad.”
He shrugs. “Okay.”
“Sooooo, did your dad tell you that he wants to find a girlfriend? Like, did he say that recently? Like since before Halloween week? Is that why you’re doing this? I mean, you don’t have to tell me. But I should probably know since I’m helping you with this.” I’m pretty sure I sounded super casual asking that.
“I asked him yesterday if he has a girlfriend.”
“And he definitely said no? Because he could still be dating someone. Or several people.”
“He’s always at home with me. Or driving me places. He says he’s busy working on something.”
“But you’re at school for most of the day. He might be seeing someone during the day, when you’re not around.”
He watches me, so closely that it creeps me out. “I just want him to be happy, Miss Stiles. He’s a really good dad. And I want him to have a nice girlfriend.”
“Well, like I said, that is very sweet of you. He’s lucky to have you.”
“Can we hurry up and get to the questions now?”
“Yeah… Okay, what would you say your dad is all about? Like, how would you describe him to someone? Or I guess, how would he describe himself to someone? Because it’s supposed to be him answering these questions…”
19
Alex
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Subject: How’s it going, loverboy?
Just checking in to see if you’re already engaged thanks to the WooHooCupid profile I helped your son create for you during school hours. If so, you’re welcome. If not…maybe you should consider changing your profile picture.
Best,
Emilia
I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. But it’s been a while since I’ve heard from her, so I’m still somehow turned-on by three weird sentences and an emoji. As much as I want to respond immediately, I better find out what I’m dealing with here first.
“Ryder…” I get no response because he’s watching Pokémon. Time to switch on the Dad Voice. “Ryder! Get in here.”
“What? It’s almost over.”
“Pause it. Now.”
I stare at the email, checking for a naked photo attachment, but as always, there isn’t one.
He stomps into the kitchen, barefoot, his head and arms hanging limp. “Whaaaaaat? Is dinner ready?”
“Did you set up a WooHooCupid profile?”
I watch as about fifteen different expressions flicker across his face, and the one that finally sticks is: ohhhhh shit. “Oh yeah.” He grins. “I forgot about that!” He throws his hands up in the air and then scratches his head. “Don’t be mad, okay? I can explain.”
The seven words every parent loves to hear.
He grabs the laptop from the kitchen desk area and brings it over to me, opening it up and typing in a web address with his index fingers. “I didn’t make it go alive yet, so it doesn’t count.”
“What doesn’t count?”
He types in the login, because of course a seven-year-old would have a login for a dating website. “I made you a new email account first,” he informs me, in the same tone of voice he’d use to tell me that he saved me a cookie.
“How were you even able to do that?”
“Cheyenne helped me.”
“Of course she did. And Miss Stiles helped you set up a dating profile for me?”
“Did she tell you about it?”
“She just emailed to ask me about it.”
Ryder smacks his lips together. “I think that might be a good thing.”
I’m about to ask him to thoroughly explain what he’s talking about, but he no longer has to. Because I’m staring at a profile picture of a drawing of me. I’d praise him for it, because he’s really good at drawing and doesn’t even know how talented he is and he gave me really huge biceps and pecs—except I’m staring at a fucking profile picture of my son’s drawing of me on WooHooCupid. With the handle MisterDadPants13. I guess MisterDadPants 1 through 12 were already taken.
“You set this up at school? With Miss Stiles?”
“At lunchtime. She helped me type the answers for the questions.”
Well, this should be life-affirming.
“You’re sure you didn’t submit it and make this profile public?”
“Yes.” He nods vehemently. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Did you use a credit card?”
He shakes his head. “It’s free. Can I have a credit card?”
“No.”
I scroll through the questions that have answers.
What I’m all about:
I have nice hair and a really cool son who is the best kid on this planet. Also, I like gelato but not the good flavors.
What I’m doing with my life:
I make movies on movie sets and I drive my son around and make him lunch and stuff. I like to fold laundry, which is weird. I’m nice most of the time and other people seem to think I’m pretty funny, I guess.
Current life goal:
Let my son stay up later. Be happy and have a new wife that my son likes. She can live with us too if she is cool.
I spend a lot of time thinking about:
Weird grown-up things that are mostly boring except when I decide what to make for dinner.
Favorite books, movies, shows, music and food:
The first Harry Potter but I’m not allowed to read the next one yet. Kung Fu Panda and Shrek. Pokémon and the one with the skinny guy with the big teeth and the bald friend and the tall guy with funny hair and the lady who yells a lot. I like Katy Perry but don’t tell anyone. I like all the foods usually but sometimes I forget to eat and I am Mr. Grumpy Dumpy Face.
Do you enjoy discussing politics?
Yes.
Explain your answer.
The word discussing has “cussing” in it and I’m not supposed to do that, but I always do anyway so it must be important.
Is a person’s astrological sign important when it comes to dating?
Yes.
Explain your answer.
The word astrological is funny because it has “ass” in it. So that’s important.
Your partner wants to keep an exotic monkey as a pet because it would be fun at parties…
Cool.
Answers I’ll accept…
Cool.
This question is…
Mandatory.
Explain your answer.
All monkeys are cool and fun at parties and so is my son. If my son likes your monkey, then you can keep it. He likes almost all the monkeys.
I scrub my face with the palms of my hands. “Are you sure this is meant to be a dating profile for me and not for you to meet some cool monkeys?”
He blinks at me. “Can I have a monkey?”
“No.”
He crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Fine.”
“You’re telling me that Miss Stiles helped you with these answers? At lunch? Why would she do that
?”
He shrugs. “Because I asked her to. Is dinner ready soon? I’m hungry.”
“Why did you ask your teacher to do this?”
Ryder’s face scrunches up beyond recognition.
“You aren’t in trouble, buddy. Yet. Just tell me.”
“Cheyenne said to make Miss Stiles jealous.”
“Cheyenne said? So you’re getting dating advice from your seven-year-old girlfriend, about your dad and your teacher?”
“She’s not my girlfriend! But she’s a girl. And she knows a lot about girls and ladies and stuff.”
“I don’t happen to agree with you there. Listen… I appreciate that you’re trying to help me. I do. But I told you—Miss Stiles doesn’t think it’s appropriate for us to date while you’re in her class.”
But hang on…
I get an email notification on my phone.
TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Dear Mr. Vega,
I hope this email finds you well. The holiday season is fast approaching, and so is the Silver Lake Elementary School’s Winter Festival! As you may know, each year one class is chosen to perform the holiday show. This year my class has the honor.
It has come to my attention that you are a professional director with a theatre background. As such, it seems appropriate for me to request your assistance in choosing and directing the play. It is very important to me to make this the best show possible. If you can find the time, my second-grade class and I would be truly grateful if you would volunteer to participate in this exciting after school activity.
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