Free Blurred Lines by Lauren Layne Page B

heard my shout, only to become riveted by whatever sport was on.
    “No. NoNoNoNo, YES! Yes!”
    I glance at the TV. Baseball. Blerg.
    I kiss my dad on the head and wait patiently for him to confirm that whatever call earned his
YES!
would stand. My dad
loves
sports. Not like the usual-guy level of sports adoration, but like, he freaking
loves
all things baseball, football, basketball, tennis, golf, you name it.
    He played, like, every possible sport in high school, and baseball in college. He’s got crazy-good athletic skills, none of which he passed on to his only child.
    But he loves me more than sports. I know, because he mutes the TV and stands up to give me a big hug and a long, searching look, even though something exciting is happening on the screen behind him.
    “You okay?” he asks quietly.
    I nod. “Mom told you?”
    My dad and I have a great relationship, but when it came time to tell my parents that Lance had dumped me, I opted for my mom, who is a little better at doling out relationship advice than dear old dad.
    His hands rub my upper arms. “Breakups are hard, but it’ll all work out the way it’s supposed to.”
    “I know,” I say, even though I’m only half-convinced that he’s right.
    It’s been a week and a half since Lance dumped me, and the truth is, it’s gotten worse, not better. I’m over the anger and, for the most part, over the crying, but the emptiness…the longing. That’s still there.
    “Jimbo!”
    We both turn as Ben enters the room, and they do the fist-bump thing that Ben taught my dad a few years ago, then Ben throws himself on the couch and reaches for the remote to unmute the TV. “Damn. Close game.”
    My dad’s eyes light up, but at the last minute, he glances at me.
    I smile and wave a hand as I head back toward the kitchen. “Do your thing. Mom and I are going to go drink wine and man-bash.”
    “Leave me off your hit list!” Ben calls after me. “Remember who pulled your disgusting hair clog out of the shower drain today!”
    I poke my head back in the room. “Will do. And
you
remember who does your laundry, and most of the dishes, and keeps you stocked in that nasty protein powder you like, and who got rid of your latest psycho sugar baby—”
    Ben turns the baseball game up to an ear-blasting decibel, and I grin, having proved my point.
    Although, truth? I don’t so much mind the household chores. I may have a
touch
of neat freak running through these bones.
    My mom’s pouring us each a glass of sauvignon blanc when I return to the kitchen.
    To my surprise, she jerks her head toward the living room at the front of the house—a room we, like most families, use at Christmas and…that’s it. We usually talk in the kitchen as she cooks and I pretend to help.
    “Enchiladas are in the oven, salad’s already made,” she explains. “Besides, I want someone to appreciate the new throw pillows I splurged on. Your father’s compliments ended at
They’re pink.
”
    I follow her into the room. “Silly Dad. They’re
clearly
raspberry.”
    She lifts a glass to me. “Vindication! Thank you.”
    I look her over as we settle into opposite chairs, but I do so subtly, knowing that she’s trying so hard to put being sick behind her. As well she should, because she looks amazing.
    “So,” she says, the second I take a sip of wine. “Has he called yet?”
    I shake my head, knowing immediately that she’s asking about Lance. “Nothing. Not even a freaking text since the night he dumped me.”
    Mom purses her lips. “I suppose that’s not such a bad thing. A clean break is probably better than a long, drawn-out painfest.”
    “That’s what I thought!” I exclaim, leaning forward. “And it’s so true in
theory.
But, in reality, it’s making me feel a little…forgettable. How can Lance just put, like, five years of togetherness out of his mind like
that
?” I snap my fingers.
    She takes a sip of wine and watches me. “You miss him?”
    I glance at my