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“Apparently, I passed.”
A pause.
“That sounds terrible.”
“How was the date?”
“It was.”
I told her what had happened.
Phoebe went quiet.
“He actually told you it was a test?”
“Yep.”
“What a jerk.”
“I mean, maybe he’s had bad experiences.”
“He actually told you it was a test?”
“Jessie.”
“What?”
“You’re explaining him to me now.”
“I’m trying to be fair.”
“You can be fair without doing his defense for him.”
I gripped the steering wheel.
“I’m trying to be fair.”
“I’m not.”
“Remember when you bought your car?”
I groaned.
“Please don’t.”
“Dad thought you paid too much, so you made him a spreadsheet.”
“He had questions.”
“You’d already bought the car.”
“Please don’t.”
I didn’t answer.
Phoebe’s voice softened.
“You always think if you explain yourself well enough, nobody gets to judge you.”
***
The next morning, Bryce texted.
“Last night got weird. I wasn’t trying to insult you. I’ve had people take advantage before.”
I started typing.
I didn’t answer.
“I understand why…”
Then deleted it.
Then Bryce sent another message:
“For what it’s worth, I did like you.”
I replied:
“You insulted me.”
“For what it’s worth, I did like you.”
His answer came fast.
“I said I wasn’t trying to. So one bad joke means I’m a terrible person?”
I wrote:
“I didn’t say you’re a terrible person. I said I don’t want another date.”
“So I don’t get a second chance, Jessie?”
“Not from me.”
Then I blocked him.
“I said I don’t want another date.”
***
Three days later, my dad called while I was packing for the weekend trip Phoebe and I had planned.
“What did the room cost?” he asked.
I gave him the amount.
“Did you check parking?”
“Yes.”
“And food?”
“What did the room cost?”
“Dad.”
“I’m just making sure you’ve thought it through.”
Normally, I would’ve started listing every number.
I almost did.
Then I stopped.
“The trip’s already booked.”
I almost did.
“I know. I’m only asking.”
“I know. But every time I tell you something, I feel like I have to prove I made the right choice.”
He went quiet.
“I’m your father, Jessie. I worry.”
“I know. I just need you to trust me to handle some things without explaining every detail.”
He didn’t answer right away.
“I know. I’m only asking.”
Then he sighed.
“I probably do ask too many questions.”
I smiled a little.
“You do.”
Another pause.
“Are you excited about the trip?”
“You do.”
That question caught me off guard.
“Yeah. I am.”
“Then have a good time.”
“I will.”
***
The next afternoon, Phoebe picked me up.
A few miles into the drive, my phone buzzed.
“Then have a good time.”
Dad
“Have fun. Love you both.”
That was it.
No question about gas. No reminder about parking. No warning about spending.
Phoebe glanced at me. “Dad?”
“Yeah.”
“Everything okay?”
“Dad?”
I looked at the message one more time, then put my phone back in the cup holder.
“Yeah,” I said. “It actually is.”
Then we kept driving.
***
A month later, I was halfway through coffee with someone new when he said, “I hated that movie ending.”
I looked up. “Seriously? I loved it.”
“Why?”
“It actually is.”
My old instinct arrived immediately. I could’ve turned the next ten minutes into a defense, explaining every scene until he either agreed or gave up.
Instead, I asked, “What didn’t work for you?”
He told me.
I listened.
Then he smiled. “Still think I’m wrong?”
“What didn’t work for you?”