Mixed Signals Read Online Free PDF Page A

their granddaughter, so they left too. It’s been four years, and I still can’t believe they left me here by myself. I had always suspected Christian was their favorite child, and my parents’ move south of the Mason-Dixon Line confirmed it. After they moved, Nico and I became our own unofficial family of two. He was there for me when no one else was.
    My mother ends her discussion on my brother’s family by bringing our conversation full circle. “Molly expects to be a flower girl in your wedding,” she says. “She’s excited about it.”
    â€œI have to go. I have a tennis match,” I say, grateful for an excuse to get off the phone. I’ll be much more comfortable talking about the wedding after I speak with Nico this afternoon.
    Zachary’s Civic is parked behind my car, blocking it in, so I have to knock on Mr. O’Brien’s door. The old man answers with a donut in his hand. He takes a bite, chews but doesn’t say a thing.
    The cold wind feels like ice on my bare legs, making me wish I were wearing sweatpants over my tennis skirt. “Can you ask Zachary to move his car, please?”
    Mr. O’Brien glances toward the driveway before shouting for his grandson. Dressed in red-and-black plaid pajama pants and a red sweatshirt, Zachary bounds to the doorway. Powdered sugar covers his mouth. “We were just talking about you,” he says.
    I imagine Mr. O’Brien and Zachary sitting at the old man’s yellow Formica kitchen table, Zac’s elbow inadvertently resting in a sticky old syrup spill as he listens to his grandfather. The boyfriend left weeks ago and she’s still wearing the ring . Mr. O’Brien rotates his finger near his head to indicate I’m crazy.
    â€œWhy were you talking about me?” I’m not sure I should have asked that.
    â€œWell, not really about you, about your boyfriend. I heard he fired the intern yesterday.”
    Mr. O’Brien takes another bite of his donut and chews deliberately while staring at me.
    â€œDo you think—” Zachary pauses to brush the white powder off his chest. “I need an internship. I was thinking it would be really cool to work at a sports show.” He looks at me expectantly.
    I notice one black hair in his blond eyebrow and immediately look to the wiry dark stray hair in his grandfather’s. Could it be genetics?
    â€œCan you ask him? I haven’t seen him around or I’d ask him myself.”
    Mr. O’Brien watches me through narrowed eyes.
    â€œOh, I don’t know,” I say. “I think you need to be eighteen and out of high school to work there.” That’s a complete fabrication. I have no idea if there’s an age requirement. Lying has become a bad habit since Nico left.
    â€œI am eighteen, almost nineteen,” Zachary says. “I’m a freshman at Northeastern.”
    Whoa, how did that happen? He wasn’t even a teenager when I moved into the left side of his grandfather’s duplex.
    â€œWhen will he be home?” Zachary asks. “I’ll talk to him myself.”
    â€œMaybe later today.”
    Mr. O’Brien scowls. I swear I see the word liar flash through his mind. “You know, Zac,” he says, “her boyfriend goes to work very early. In the middle of the night practically.” He makes boyfriend sound like a dirty word.
    Zachary shrugs. “I’m used to getting up early for hockey.”
    Mr. O’Brien walks away without another word. In my mind, I shout after him: I’m not lying. He texted me yesterday. He might be coming home. This afternoon even.
    * * *
    A crowd of members dressed in white surround the floor-to-ceiling window looking over court one. I wedge my way in to see what they’re all watching. Down below, Sean Branigan and his wife, Tammy, are playing doubles against another couple whom I don’t recognize. Tammy stands behind the baseline. The ball