Chapter Three Atlas

“ ‘We finally reached the shore’?” Theo says. “You actually said that to her? Out loud?”

I shift uncomfortably on the couch. “We bonded over Finding Nemo when we were younger.”

“You quoted a cartoon.” Theo’s head roll is dramatic. “And it didn’t work. It’s been over eight hours since you ran into her, and she still hasn’t texted you.”

“Maybe she got busy.”

“Or maybe you came on too strong,” Theo says, leaning forward. He clasps his hands between his knees and refocuses. “Okay, so what happened after you said all the cheesy lines?”

He’s brutal. “Nothing. We both had to get to work. I asked if she still had my number, and she said she had it memorized, and then we said good—”

“Hold up,” Theo interrupts. “She has your number memorized?”

“Apparently so.”

“Okay.” He looks hopeful. “This means something. No one memorizes numbers anymore.”

I was thinking the same thing, but I also wondered if she memorized my number for other reasons. Back when I wrote it down and put it in her phone case, it was for an emergency. Maybe part of her feared the day she’d need it, so she memorized it for reasons that had nothing to do with me.

“So, what do I do? Text her? Call her? Wait until she reaches out to me?”

“It’s been eight hours, Atlas. Calm down.”

His advice is giving me whiplash. “Two minutes ago, you acted like eight hours without a text was too long. Now you’re telling me to calm down?”

Theo shrugs and then kicks my desk to make his chair spin. “I’m twelve. I don’t even have a phone yet, and you want my opinion on texting etiquette?”

It surprises me that he doesn’t have a phone yet. Brad doesn’t seem like he would be a strict father. “Why don’t you have a phone?”

“Dad says I can have one when I turn thirteen. Two more months,” he says wistfully.

Theo has been coming to the restaurant a couple of days a week after school since Brad’s promotion six months ago. Theo told me he wanted to be a therapist when he grows up, so I let him practice on me. At first, the talks we would have were intended for his benefit. But lately, I feel like I’m the one benefiting.

Brad peeks his head into my office in search of his son. “Let’s go. Atlas has work to do.” He motions for Theo to stand up, but Theo just keeps spinning in my desk chair.

“Atlas is the one who called me in here. He needed advice.”

“I’ll never understand whatever this is,” Brad says, pointing between me and Theo. “What advice do you get from my son? How to avoid your chores and win at Minecraft?”

Theo stands up and stretches his arms over his head. “Girls, actually. And winning isn’t the point of Minecraft, Dad. It’s more of a sandbox game.” Theo looks over his shoulder at me as he’s leaving my office. “Just text her.” He says that like it’s the obvious solution. Maybe it is.