So if he hasn’t died yet, you can leave. And even if he’s dead, you can go too,” George said. I raised my eyebrows.
“Wow, you’re really alike,” I said. “We are NOT!” he shouted, but then calmed down. “We’re not alike in any way,” George said.
“Maybe not in looks, but in spite, yeah, 100%,” I replied. “What do you know?” George asked. “Your dad’s been staying at my place for a month.
Trust me, I know what I’m talking about. Can we just talk? I’m not asking for much,” I said.
George paused, then stepped out of the house, closing the door behind him. “Okay, let’s talk,” he said. We went for a walk.
George took me to the park, and I told him everything. How terrible it was living with Mr. Harrison, and how he regretted his actions toward George.
But we didn’t just talk about Mr. Harrison. George was a professional dancer, and I asked him all about his job, while he asked about mine and me in general.
Despite having Mr. Harrison’s genes, I felt so good talking to him. This was the best date I’d had in years, and it wasn’t even a date.
We went back to George’s house and stood there in silence, staring into each other’s eyes. “Okay, I’ll agree to meet with my dad, but on one condition,” he said. “What’s that?” I asked.
“You’ll go on a date with me,” George said. I felt my cheeks flush. “Deal,” I said.
“And I won’t make the first move. Let him come to me,” George said. “That’s two conditions,” I said.
“Well, then two conditions,” George said, then took my hand and kissed it gently before turning and walking back into his house. I felt like fireworks were going off inside me. Now, Mr.
Harrison should definitely make up with his son. Because this could be the love of my life. I went home, but not empty-handed.
I was holding a bottle-with-ship kit. “What’s this?” Mr. Harrison asked.
“Your way to make things right with your son. Pack your bags,” I said. “I’m not going anywhere!”
“You are!
You have to make this move, or you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.”
“I’ll regret it if I go and he doesn’t want to see me,” Mr. Harrison said. “You’ll regret not doing it more,” I said.
“Come on, pack your stuff.”
Mr. Harrison went to his room. “I don’t even know where he lives.
Where are we going?” he shouted from his room. “I know, hurry up!” I shouted back. Despite all the grumbling, an hour later, Mr.
Harrison was standing at George’s door, holding the bottle kit. I watched from my car as they awkwardly greeted each other, as Mr. Harrison handed the bottle to George, and then, two hours later, they were putting the ship together, drinking something stronger than coffee.
“Always help those you can,” my mom’s words echoed in my mind, and I smiled.
