I knocked gently, then pushed the door open with care. Jimmy was sitting on the edge of his bed, posture stiff and still like he'd been caught mid-crime. The unmistakable glow of a phone had just vanished beneath his pillow, but not fast enough to hide the fact he'd been using it.
"It's a bit late for that, isn't it?" I said, leaning casually against the doorframe.
He glanced up, guilt flickering across his face. "Sorry," he muttered. "Just texting."
"A girl?" I asked, raising an eyebrow, half-smiling.
He tried to look casual, but the grin gave him away. "Yeah."
I narrowed my eyes. "Wait — the one who rejected you?"
He snorted. "God, no. Even my best friend rejected her. She was rude to everyone."
He leaned back a little, the smile growing. "This is Carissa. She's new. Just moved here last week."
I walked in slowly and sat down beside him, keeping my voice gentle. "She nice?"
He nodded, still avoiding my eyes. "She... she draws little cartoons in her notebook. Like, in the margins. Today she showed me one of a cat playing the drums and then she gave it to me."
He pulled a folded piece of paper from under his pillow and handed it to me, careful, like it was something fragile. I unfolded it, and there it was, an adorably scribbled cat, sunglasses on, banging away at a drum set made out of teacups. My chest ached, full and warm. In the middle of all the heaviness of life, he had this—this strange, pure kind of light.
"She gave this to you?"
He nodded. "She said it reminded her of me. Because the cat looks serious, but it's actually kinda ridiculous."
I smiled, handing it back. "She sees you, huh?"
He shrugged, but the smile he tried to hide gave him away.
"That's special, Jimmy. When someone notices the little things, when they see the quiet parts of you and like them anyway? That's rare. That's good."
He looked at the drawing again, running his thumb over the edge. "It just... made my whole day better."
I rested a hand on his back. "You deserve that, buddy."
He laughed, head finally lifting. "She's weird. In a good way."
"You like weird."
"I do."
We sat in the soft quiet of his room for a while, surrounded by posters, mismatched socks, and the steady hum of a teenage world still unfolding.
"I'm so proud of you," I told him, grinning. "Kind, respectful, and totally adorable. You're like a rom-com hero in the making."
He let out a dramatic groan and buried his face in his hands. "Oh my God, please never say that again."
I laughed, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Too late. Immortalized forever."
"Ugh," he muttered, but I caught the smile sneaking through.
"Can I text her goodnight first?" he asked, eyes hopeful.
"Two minutes."
He nodded, already typing.
At the door, I turned back. "Jimmy?"
"Yeah?"
"She's lucky if she gets to know you."
He didn't look up, but his smile stretched wide across his face. "Thanks, Dad." Then he looked up at me, eyes open and earnest, "Dad... do you have any advice?"