Page 120 of Meet Cute Reboot

“And I’ll never stop ignoring them,” Nana answers.

“They have money, and covenants, and city codes, and lawyers.”

“And I have God.”

“God’s not going to fix your garage.”

“And neither are you,” Nana says. “It’s not your problem to solve.”

“No one else will do it,” I snap back.

Silence falls over the porch. Madison continues rubbing my back. My tear ducts are dry. For now.

“Honey,” Mom says softly, “Your grandma is right. This house isn’t your problem.”

“This isourhouse.Ourhistory.”

“I know how important that is to you,” Mom continues, “but you have your own life to worry about. You don’t have to rescue the rest of us.”

“She’s right,” Madison whispers.

“Ever since your dad died, you’ve held the world on your shoulders.” Mom strokes my hand. “It’s time to let some things go.”

A fresh tear spills onto my cheek. “You were always working. There was never enough money.”

“We got by. We survived.”

Shouldn’t life be about more than just surviving? Everywhere I look, people are thriving. Houses are being remodeled. Happy young people are moving in. People are smiling on Instagram, going on beach vacations, posing in their bikinis with cellulite-free legs and washboard abs. In the meantime, Nana’s garage roof is caving in, her AC is busted, the exterior paint is peeling, termites are digesting the house.

“But Great Grandpa’s legacy...” I say.

“He would be proud of you,” Nana says, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

“Hear, hear,” Granny says, tapping her cane against the porch railing.

“You’re killin’ it,” Madison concurs.

Was. Iwaskilling it. Thanks in large part to Luke’s money. Which I can’t, in good conscience, continue accepting. “Luke is the majority investor in MatchAI.”

“So what,” Nana says. “Keep that cheater’s money. He owes you.”

“No. He doesn’t. It’s a lot of money. I mean,a lot.”

“You don’t have to decide today,” Aunt Suzanne says.

“She’s right,” Mom agrees. “Let’s just go inside, eat Nana’s chicken and dumplings, and you can see how you feel tomorrow.”

Nana shoots out of her seat. “My roux!” She runs into the house, slamming the front door behind her. A moment later, she returns to the porch, walks over to me, and plants a kiss on my forehead. “Don’t worry about the house, okay?”

I nod. It’s a lie. I’ll keep worrying about it. But I don’t have to worry about it any more today.

“I’m sure your potato salad is wonderful,” Nana continues.

“It’s not.”

“Well, we have plenty of other food to hold us over.”

I sigh. “Thanks, Nana.”