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MY FAVORITE FATHER FIGURE IS A DAD BOD

T immy’s decision to reconnect with his parents feels like a refreshing shift—a rare attempt to stabilize something in his life. He’s been in intermittent contact with his dad, but hasn’t called him since the day he proposed, and it’s been months since he’s spoken with his mom. It’s nice to see this side of him, a version that’s thoughtful and connected, and it makes me hopeful for us. Even though it’s been messy between him and his mom for a while, he’s making the effort, and that counts for something.

The conversations usually start with Timmy enthusiastically putting the call on speakerphone. I never feel like a passive bystander—his parents always make an effort to include me. “Hey, Margaux, how’s the new book coming along?” or something as simple as, “What’s the weather like over there today?” They seem genuinely interested, and the validation feels like a warm hug I didn’t know I needed.

Timmy brags about me more than I’d ever expect. :She’s incredible, Dad. You won’t believe how good her books are. We’re eating like royalty over here thanks to her cooking.” I feel myself blushing as he lays on the praise, but it’s sweet.

“We just went to the farmer’s market and got dragon fruit and fresh pineapple and basil and kale,” Timmy will share. “Margaux is making us an awesome salad for dinner. She’s a phenomenal cook. Her books are going really well.”

He spends a lot of time telling them about my accomplishments and my writing, and I’m flattered when his parents say they’re interested in buying my books. Not that I want my in-laws reading my spicy books, but it’s so kind of them to lean in and be supportive in this way.

“I love you, mommy,” Timmy will say a lot. It sounds funny coming from a nearly forty-year-old.

“I love you too, son,” she’ll say back.

It’s sweet, hearing them share affection back and forth, the way we do.

“I can’t wait for you to meet Margaux in person,” he says, beaming. “She’s very beautiful. Actually, you two look kind of similar.”

“Well, I guess you have the same name as my dad,” I’ll say. “So I won’t be a hypocrite and say that’s weird.”

We both laugh.

His parents eat it up, too, encouraging him in that subtle, parental way to keep things steady.

“That’s just wonderful to hear, son." His dad’s voice is warm but matter-of-fact. “Now, when are you going to start working again?”

Every time they mention the job search, I feel a strange sense of relief. It’s like there’s finally someone other than me nudging Timmy toward responsibility, someone reinforcing the same things I’ve been saying all along.

“Yeah, yeah,” Timmy says, brushing it off in the way he always does. “We’re just getting settled in. You know, it takes time to get into a routine.” He promises them that a job search is on the horizon, though he hasn’t actually made any moves in that direction. But for now, hearing his parents push him to step up and act more like an adult, without it coming from me, feels like a small win.

And it’s a relief that his parents sound… well, normal. They don’t even show a hint of Timmy’s chaotic energy, and instead just seem calm and friendly .

Not that I’ve seen him make much of an effort but, to be fair, we just got back from the disastrous trip to help Steve. He tells his dad what happened.

“That Steve has always been a bit of a wack job, hasn’t he. He was weird back in the day, and it sounds like nothing’s changed. I’m not surprised to hear any of this.” It’s a relief to hear his dad speak this way. Someone who has known Timmy for his entire life, and Steve most of his. At the same time, the level of disdain in his father’s voice is startling. His words aren’t just dismissive—they’re laced with decades of judgment. It leaves me wondering if I’ve underestimated just how toxic some of these friendships in Timmy’s life might be. How did I ever think Steve was a good guy?

These conversations alleviate my fears, making Timmy seem like he’s part of a normal family background, not that my own is anything to brag about. They talk and laugh, and most of it is fairly superficial, but there is lots of affection exchanged, and they seem close.

In any case, the conversations feel easy, light. It’s like I’m peeking into a version of life where Timmy is dependable, where we have a family network that supports us. In these moments, I feel hopeful.

I’ve enjoyed Timmy’s parents’ phone calls from the start, because I know he will be on his best behavior every single time. But the calls quickly begin to taper off. What started as daily conversations trickle down to a couple of times a week, and then less often, and I can’t help but notice how Timmy’s demeanor shifts along with them. His upbeat, motivated version seems to wither away the less he talks to his parents.

Sometimes his voice is slurred on the calls—a telltale sign that he’s been drinking. But his energy is high, and his affection for me shines through during those conversations. “We’re so in love,” he’ll say to them, and I can hear the pride in his voice. “She’s it for me.” And for a moment, I’ll forget the stress, the rocky parts, the tension always bubbling just under the surface.

Between the dwindling calls and Timmy’s lack of job search progress, I feel the pressure mounting. I try not to resent how easy things seem for Timmy. He talks about job hunting, but I’m the one stressing over money. He chats on the phone, upbeat and cheerful, but I’m the one keeping us afloat. It feels like I’m the only one aware of how close we are to the edge, and I wonder how long I can keep carrying the load.

Yet, when he’s on those calls, everything feels like it’s going to be okay. His parents believe in us, they’re rooting for us, and Timmy sounds so damn convincing when he talks about our future. He can be so charming, so believable, that for a while, I forget the nagging doubts lurking in the back of my mind.

But then the calls end, and reality rushes back in. The air in our new apartment feels thick with unfinished business. There are still packed boxes, unestablished routines, jobs that haven’t been searched for. And though Timmy’s promises ring in my ears, I know deep down that it’s going to take more than a few phone calls with his parents to build the life we’ve imagined.