Three minutes after Dad and I start to defrost inside our home, four nights after I have said good-bye to Josh, I get the text that Aminta has been adamant would come.

Josh: So.

According to Lee & Li, response time matters. It signals something. Even now, as Dad reads over my shoulder since I must have made a strangled sound, he says, “Hmm. Let him wait.”

“Says the man who says I can’t date That Boy.”

“Says your father, who thinks That Boy should work hard if you’re giving him a second chance.”

“With you?”

“With you.” Dad kisses me on top of my head. “Good night, kiddo.”

“Hold on, where are you going?” I whisper-hiss to him as he heads upstairs. Now would be a good time to have some male interpretative help or to make it easier for me to opt out of responding to Josh. “Aren’t you going to lecture me about him? Or my tech curfew?”

“I trust you,” Dad whispers back, rubbing his cold hands together. “Just remember …”

“What?”

“Do you know why I try so hard to make sure your mom never questions where she stands with me?”

“Because you love her.”

“Because being left is her worst fear.”

With that, my dad heads up the stairs. I know I won’t be able to sleep, not with that cryptic parting thought in my head, and not with Josh’s dangling proposition on my phone. While I figure out whether (when) to respond, I begin to prep tomorrow’s second Souper Bowl Sunday dessert as quietly as I can. I coarsely dice the loaf of banana bread I had made for breakfast yesterday. Then I taste-test the caramel rum sauce that’s been chilling in the fridge: The waiting time has magnified its rumminess. Delicious.

Maybe Dad has it right. Maybe waiting time is good for a girl’s soul, making sure I know what I want before Josh offers anything.

So I let Josh wait, but not too long. Twenty-three minutes seems the right amount of time to signal a casual, noncommittal, Oh, hello, friend.

Me: Story time?

Josh: Yes.

Josh: The story of an idiot.

Me: Is it good?

Josh: Depends on you.

Josh: Depends on if you’ll accept my apology.

Josh: Depends on if you’ll hear me out.

Me: Depends on how long I’ll have to wait.

There is a soft knock on the front door.