Page 30 of Love Arranged

You’re practically unrecognizable with a smile on your face.

Rafa answers with an eye-roll emoji.

Julian

Wait. That’s Rafa?

Dahlia

I forgot what he looked like without the beard.

Rafa sends a single middle-finger emoji to our Kids’ Table group chat, most likely because my mom would pass out at the vulgar gesture.

I exit our chat and check my thread with Lorenzo, wondering if he answered, only to be disappointed when I find out he never replied.

Are you really surprised after he ghosted you?

No, but it still sucks.

I carry on with my morning routine, only for it to be derailed when my mom asks me about my car, which she saw outside. I’m shocked to find it parked in our driveway with a note tucked under the brand-new windshield wiper.

Keys are hidden by your favorite place.

PS: Like your car, it’s in need of some repairs.

With how much he ignores me and our shared past, I’m surprised he referenced a conversation we had on the Eros app where I told him about my three favorite places in Lake Wisteria—one of which is in my own backyard. At the time, I thought I was so unbelievably clever, dropping a clue about my house in hopes of Lorenzo searching for me like someDreamland prince.

Once upon a time, I wished our story would end with a happily-ever-after, only to realize Lorenzo is the villain in mine.

The handwritten note crumples underneath my fingers, and I toss it into the trash before walking over to the small fountain my dad installed. My mom has had it fixed a few times over the years, but she gave up on it a while back, so I took over the responsibility.

The fountain located in a corner of our yard was my dad’s labor of love because it broke down more often than it worked. So much so, it became a running joke between our parents, with my mom threatening to get rid of it and my dad convincing her not to.

It was his happy place, and when he passed, it became mine—up until last fall when I ran out of the gold coins he gave me when I was little.

After spending years preserving the fountain and the garden surrounding it, I started neglecting the area. Spring came and went, and the rose bushes my father loved withered away until they stopped blooming altogether.

A chill spreads across my arms as I head down the winding path leading to my dad’s garden. Dried leaves and pebbles crunch underneath my shoes as I walk below the trellis that once was covered with blooming bougainvillea. While the flowers are long gone, the hedge surrounding the entire garden has the opposite issue, growing wilder by the week.

I follow the winding path toward the fountain. The mostly dry basin is full of stagnant rainwater, disgusting muck, and an endless number of leaves. A few quarters sit atthe bottom of the bowl too, but it’s the gold coins that catch my attention.

“Make a wish.” My dad offered me a golden coin from his satin drawstring bag after tossing his into the fountain.

I crossed my arms and raised my brows. “Those never come true.”

He cracked a smile. “I used to think that way too.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Then one day, I made a wish and then I met your mom, and I never stopped wishing ever since.”

“Like what?”

“I can tell you now, but only because they came true.” He knelt down so we could be eye level. “I wished for you.” He bopped my nose. “I wished for Dahlia. I’ve wished for so many different things in my life because to wish is to hope, and that’s the one thing no one can take away from you.”

My eyes sting, and I turn away from the fountain until I’m no longer at risk of crying. Maybe my mom was right about getting rid of it, because its decrepit state is more depressing than comforting.

The fountain or you?