Jeremy and I broke up months ago, but I’m still best friends with his dad. Not that this was the plan, of course. It all started with Jeremy himself, the golden boy who came highly recommended by a mutual friend. You two will be perfect together, they insisted. And for a while, we were. He checked all the boxes that mattered to a 22-year-old girl: shaggy blonde hair, eyes the color of a tropical lagoon, and abs sculpted with the precision of a Renaissance statue. Can you blame me for falling? Beyond the aesthetics, we also shared a handful of meaningful interests: we were both 22, both enjoyed watching movies, and both liked late-night food runs. Okay, maybe our compatibility was surface level at best, but we were young and he filled the lonesome void I was sinking into. So, minor details like emotional depth and long-term potential seemed entirely negotiable.

But looking back now, it wasn’t just immaturity that drove my choices. I didn’t grow up with a model for what real connection looked like. My parents were distant, more like roommates who only bothered talking if you forgot it was your turn to take the trash out. The kind of people who thought love was just quiet tolerance. So, when Jeremy looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes and offered a few decent dates, I thought maybe that was enough.

After about a month of dating, Jeremy decided it was time for me to meet his parents. Or rather, his parent. After his dad came out, his mother abandoned them both. Lured away by a motorcycle-riding band boy. Honestly, I couldn’t entirely blame her. A musician who rides motorcycles? That’s objectively hot. But abandoning your baby and husband for it? Not hot.

So, on an otherwise uneventful Tuesday night, Jeremy brought me home to meet his dad. I had been given a debrief beforehand. His dad was funny, the kind of funny that grew louder with each beer. He was also lonely. That gutted me. I knew that kind of emptiness all too well. The kind that hums beneath everything, no matter how much you try to ignore it. Even after growing up with it, I’d never gotten used to it. Hearing someone else carry that same quiet ache, it just wasn’t fair. No one deserves to live like that. Jeremy mentioned he tried to spend time with his dad whenever he could, said he felt bad for him. The sentiment made my heart swell. A guy with rock-hard abs who still carved out time for his lonely dad? Now that was hot. I remember thinking how lucky they were to have each other. That his dad had a son who cared.

Before we reached the door, I could hear his dad singing. Not just humming but full-on belting. That was the moment I knew we were going to get along just fine.

“Dad! We’re here!” Jeremy called out as he kicked off his shoes.

I followed his lead, slipping mine off before stepping further inside. From the kitchen at the far end, his dad’s voice soared. Now that I was closer, I could make out the song, Chiquitita by ABBA. Oh, we’re definitely going to get along.

Turning the corner, I caught my first glimpse of Jeremy’s dad. He was not a tall man, unlike his son, who stood at a perfect six feet. His dad was at least half a foot shorter. Nice. We love a short king. His beer belly stretched the fabric of his purple polo, spilling over the waistband of his jeans. And at this moment, he was thriving. As spaghetti bubbled away on the stove, he twirled and swayed, arms loose and hips committed. His earbuds were in, and he was entirely lost in the rhythm, his own private concert. It was fabulous. Wholesome. The air felt warmer just being near him, like stepping into a home you didn’t know you missed. It was all so alive, so welcoming. Jeremy, however, did not share my appreciation.

“Ugh, Dad. We’re here,” he sighed, reaching out to tap his dad’s shoulder.

“Oh hey, Jeremy!” He yanked out his earbuds and pulled his son into a hug. “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in. ABBA was calling my name, and you know it would be a sin not to answer.”

As they embraced, I hesitated, standing there awkwardly waiting for my cue. After a moment, his dad turned his attention to me, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“And you must be Iris.”

I started to extend a hand for what I assumed would be a formal handshake, but before I could complete the motion, I found myself wrapped in an enthusiastic hug.

“Sorry, I’m a hugger,” he said, holding onto me like we were old friends reunited.

It caught me off guard. My own parents weren’t affectionate. Hugs were reserved for funerals, and even then, they were brief and more of a formality than a comfort. But this? This was different. His hug was warm, solid, and completely unreserved. The kind of hug that only a genuinely loving person could give. I could have stayed there all night, basking in the kind of affection I had clearly been missing my whole life. But, of course, Jeremy had to ruin it.

“Dad, let her breathe,” he grumbled, prying his father’s arms off me. The sudden absence left a distinct chill where his embrace had been.

“Oh, right. Sorry, Iris,” his dad said. “I’m just excited to meet you. Jeremy never brings girls home.”

“Yeah, because you act like this,” Jeremy muttered, rolling his eyes so hard I was mildly concerned they might get stuck.

Not wanting his dad to think I was as rude as his son was being, I turned on my most winning smile. “I’m honored to be here. And I loved your dance moves! I’m a big ABBA fan myself.”

His entire face lit up. “Oh really? Jeremy says they’re a band for old people and musical freaks.” He gave his son a playful nudge, which was met with yet another long-suffering sigh.

I smirked. “Well, Jeremy clearly needs to Take a Chance on better music,” I said, a little too proud of my joke.

Predictably, Jeremy didn’t even crack a grin. But his dad? His dad lost it. He laughed so hard his beer belly started bouncing in rhythm. It was glorious.

“His loss,” he managed between chuckles. “Some of us are ABBA-solutely fabulous.”

That was it. We were both gone, doubled over, laughing our asses off while Jeremy sat there looking like he wished he was dead.

The rest of the evening, Jeremy’s dad and I fell into an easy rhythm of swapping stories and gushing over our favorite artists. He had a deep appreciation for Phil Collins but an unreasonable hatred of Billy Joel, something about “Piano Man” haunting him in every waiting room. While I couldn’t entirely support the slander, I had to admire his dedication to the cause. I had never had this much fun meeting a boyfriend’s parent before. Usually, these dinners were filled with stiff smiles and me calculating the exact amount of eye contact required to appear polite but not unhinged. But this? This felt effortless. The spaghetti, unfortunately, was mediocre. Overcooked noodles drowning in a watery sauce. But somehow, in this house filled with laughter, fantastic ABBA dance moves, and an odd number of dad jokes, it tasted like a five-star meal.

Honestly, I forgot Jeremy was even there until he stood up, declaring it was time to leave. Glancing at the clock, I realized it was already ten. I hesitated for a moment, surprised I was reluctant to leave, before I forced myself to get up.

“Let me walk you two to the door,” Jeremy’s dad said. I could tell he wasn’t ready for us to leave yet, but didn’t protest.

By the time his dad got up, Jeremy was already out the door. Watching him go, I found myself wondering how these two were even related. Where had all of his dad’s humor and energy gone? Had it just skipped a generation? Was Jeremy secretly adopted? Because if so, that would explain a lot.

Before stepping out, I turned and gave Jeremy’s dad a hug. “Thanks for having me. It was really nice to meet you, Mr. Martin.”

“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “You’re family now. Call me Paul.”

I grinned, “Well then, Paul, have a good night. See you later.”

As the door clicked shut behind me, I couldn’t help but reflect on the evening. I hadn’t expected to feel this way about my boyfriend’s dad, but there was no denying it. I had just made a new friend. A slightly unconventional one, sure, but a friend nonetheless. And more than that, I had felt truly noticed in a way that was caring and genuine, without expectation. It was such a small thing, really, but after years of feeling like background noise in my own life, it meant everything.

After meeting Paul, I couldn’t help but notice just how dull Jeremy was in comparison, like a soggy cracker next to a gourmet charcuterie board. He had the energy of a frat boy who peaked at beer pong. He never laughed at my dad jokes and treated deep conversations like a chore. I realized that he never really listened, not in the way that made you feel heard. Our conversations just skimmed the surface. And worst of all, he flat-out refused to listen to ABBA. Something about how he “already hears it enough at his dad’s house.” As if his tragic lack of musical taste was somehow my fault. If this were any other guy, I’d be drafting my breakup speech by now. But breaking up with Jeremy meant losing Paul, one of the only people who I genuinely enjoyed being around. Staying friends with my boyfriend’s dad post-breakup would be objectively weird, which left me with only one reasonable choice. I had to keep dating Jeremy.

The next few weeks, I gritted my teeth through mediocre dates with Jeremy, all for the reward of Paul’s weekly dinners. During one of our earlier dinners, Jeremy brought up his mom and that made the conversation pause before Paul adjusted the topic. He didn’t dwell on it, but the way his smile wobbled told me he was still hurt. That reminded me that Paul wasn’t just Jeremy’s dad. He was a full person with his own stories, his own heartbreaks, his own ways of surviving them. And maybe that’s what I had been searching for, not a crush, not even a father figure, but someone who had lived through the kind of emptiness I knew too well.

Those dinners became my beacon of hope, the light at the end of every painfully dull evening with his son. His cooking, however, remained consistently terrible. So, in an effort to save both of our stomachs, I started arriving early to teach him a thing or two in the kitchen.

The first time I suggested this plan, I asked Jeremy to pick me up early. His response? A flat-out no. Well, apparently, Jeremy only spends the bare minimum amount of time with his lonely dad. Not hot. And it’s only when his dad begs him to hang out. Definitely not hot. Learning this only made me like Paul more and Jeremy significantly less. The man just wanted to spend time with his son. Was that so much to ask? So, instead of waiting around for Jeremy’s half-hearted effort, I started driving over to Paul’s by myself.

During one of these evenings, Paul greeted me at the door with his usual warm smile. “Hey, Iris! You’re a bit early, I haven’t even started dinner yet.” He glanced over my shoulder. “Where’s Jeremy?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him his son was, for lack of a better term, a trash goblin who actively avoided him. So I lied. “Oh, he’s running late because of work,” I said, putting on my best poker face. “Figured I’d come early and help get dinner started.”

If Paul was disappointed, he didn’t show it. “Oh, that happens a lot. But hey, I love the company.”

And just like that, we fell into our usual rhythm of joking around as we prepped some good old-fashioned sloppy joes. Neither of us was too fancy for sloppy joes, and that was part of the magic. But then, just as I was settling into our familiar, easy banter, the energy in the room shifted.

“I know Jeremy doesn’t have to stay late at work today.” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant, but there was no mistaking the sadness beneath it. The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. “I know he doesn’t really like spending time with me,” he continued. “That he only comes over because I ask.”

Guilt crashed over me like a tidal wave. He had seen through my lie immediately, yet he didn’t seem mad. Just painfully sad.

“I’m sorry, Paul,” I said, my voice softer now. “I didn’t want to lie to you, but—”

He gave me a small smile. “Because you’re a good person who didn’t want to hurt this old man’s heart.”

And just like that, I wanted to throttle Jeremy. Maybe even throw a slightly overcooked sloppy joe at his head. Conveniently, that was when we heard the front door swing open, followed by his usual, half-hearted “Hey Dad, I’m home“. The same robotic greeting he probably used, whether he was walking into his childhood home or a convenience store. I must’ve looked ready to commit a minor crime because Paul placed a gentle hand on my shoulder.

“It’s okay, Iris. I’m okay,” he said quietly, his voice carrying the kind of warmth that softened even the sharpest of truths. “I still love him nonetheless.” Then, with a knowing smirk, he added, “Even if he isn’t a Dancing Queen like us.”

And just like that, he was back to his playful self, the moment of sadness tucked away behind his usual charm. We carried on with dinner as if nothing had changed. I continued through the night like any other. But in reality, one thing had changed. I made a decision.

“What, you’re breaking up with me?” Jeremy repeated, his tone dripping more with offense than heartbreak, like I had personally insulted his fantasy football team rather than ended our relationship.

“I mean… yeah,” I said, wondering why I had ever tolerated the sound of his voice. Oh, right. The abs. Those sculpted, Michelangelo-worthy abs. But no six-pack is worth this much boredom.

His eyes narrowed. “Is this about my dad?”

I blinked. “W-what? What does he have to do with this?” My face burned. Damn it, he’s onto me.

Jeremy crossed his arms. “I mean, you talk to him more than you talk to me.”

“That’s besides the point,” I said. “I’m breaking up with you because we have nothing in common.”

He scoffed. “We’re both 22. That’s something.”

Hearing him say out loud the very logic I once used to justify this relationship was like being hit over the head with a “wake up, idiot” bat. It had sounded naive in my head back then, sure, but hearing it in his voice? It was downright humiliating.

“That doesn’t count, and you know it,” I said, rubbing my temples as if I could physically knead the frustration out of my skull. “Okay, well. Bye, Jeremy!” I said before slamming the door before he could open his dumb mouth again. Honestly, he’s already old news. I pulled my phone out immediately to deliver the hot goss

Me: paul i broke up with jeremy

Paul: Oh no! My condolences… to Jeremy!

And now, the moment of truth. Would Paul cast me out like a disgraced court jester now that I was no longer dating his son? Or would our twin-flame bond survive this minor inconvenience?

Me: does this mean we cant hang out anymore???

Paul: Of course we can hang out! You’re my bestie, as the kids say. Weekly dinner tonight? We’ll just not invite Jeremy to this one.

And so, my friendship with Paul lived on because some bonds are too strong, some jokes too good, and some people too Super Trouper to ever let go.

————

Sydney Halsey is currently a student at Boise State University. She’s working on a major in Marketing (so her future job applications look good) and a minor in Creative Writing (so she doesn’t lose her mind with all the business classes). This is her first publication.