21. Jenna
JENNA
I t’s clear that living at my mom’s house isn’t going to work.
It’s not even the commute, which is a solid two and a half hours each way.
It’s my family.
“Are you drunk?” Bethany hisses when I stumble into the office two days after the town house that really should be half mine almost burnt down.
I am drunk.
I did not drink this morning, but I am drunk from last night.
“Noooo. Nope. Not I! I’m just feeling extra creative and happy to be here in the Prism PR offices!”
Great-Granny Mavis’s moonshine and my mom’s mead are the only ways I’m able to survive the evenings of my female relatives being critical of my love life or lack thereof .
The only way I can sleep through my mother sneaking into my room, butt naked, to pray over me, begging the goddess to bless my womb, is to be black-out drunk.
Mom: You remember Oona?
Jenna: Oona the eighty-five-year-old who thinks that her garden gnome is trying to kill her?
Mom: She keeps him tucked into a little bed *smiley face*
Jenna: Mom, I’m working.
Mom: She’s convinced her son to drive up and be your boyfriend.
Jenna: Mom, no. You can’t just move a strange man into my room.
Mom: I’m putting a diaphragm in your nightstand.
So, yeah, I am definitely regretting moving back home.
Jenna: I’m not going to be home tonight.
I wince as I send the text message, because honestly? I don’t have anywhere else to go.
I type into Google, “How much is a hotel in Seattle?”
Hannah peers over my shoulder. “McCarthy taking you on a trip?”
“Shhh!” I hiss as Bethany marches by.
“I bet that belly is fake.” Hannah glares after our boss. “No pregnant woman can walk in heels like that.”
“It’s very real,” I assure her tiredly.
“You think I could get away with sleeping in the wellness room tonight?” I yawn. “Turns out being drunk does not give you the best sleep, at least not when you’re in your late twenties. Very late. Might as well be thirties.”
“Cameron’s basically moved in there.”
“Crap. Time to hit the dating apps. I need to reactivate my profile.”
Hannah makes a noise as I open the Meat Market dating app.
“What? I know it’s a little soon after Nathan, but I need a place to live. My mom’s trying to get me to shack up with Oona’s son.”
“I mean, if you need a place to stay…” Hannah says.
“He’s in his fifties, and he’s unemployed and lives with her estranged daughter, who wants him out of her house. If he thinks he has a shot, my mom’s just going to move him into my room. Permanently. Things are dire.”
“I think you want some updated photos, then,” Hannah says delicately.
Okay, so I haven’t started the wedding dieting I’d been planning on. My photos do not reflect reality.
“Doesn’t the RDC office have a rooftop garden?” Hannah reminds me. “A few new selfies wouldn’t hurt. You know, weed out the chaff.”
“ I lost my job because of you. ”
I scream when a scruffy-looking man shoves me against a wall.
Nathan.
Truman growls from his bag, all his teeth showing.
“You owe me.”
Truman nips at Nathan. My ex raises his hand like he’s going to hit the dog .
I kick him in the shins.
“Ow! You stupid cow! That hurts.”
“So does being cheated on and thrown out of a car!”
“You jumped out of that car.” Nathan smells like stale beer. His eyes are bloodshot, his teeth are stained, and he hasn’t shaved in days. Guess we know why he didn’t wake up with the fire alarm.
“You humiliated me just so you and your friends could laugh at me. You think I’m going to let you get away with that?” He grabs the strap of my bag to keep me from running.
“I’m not scared of you. Get lost. Go harass the mother of your child.” I yank away from him.
“You’re going to him, aren’t you?” Nathan calls after me. “I know you’re cheating on me with him.”
“Brock? As if.”
“No. McCarthy Svensson.”
I am admittedly a little shaken when I slide into the RDC office lobby. Not because I’m scared of Nathan. Despite McCarthy’s overreaction, I know exactly how to handle my ex, okay?
No, what I don’t need is Nathan to start spreading rumors around town that I’m sleeping with my client. Bethany will find out, and then I will have to move in with my mom and Oona’s unemployed adult man-baby son.
I bypass McCarthy’s office and head to the roof deck.
It’s empty, because of course McCarthy would spend all this money building an office complex for his company and then not have his employees here, like he’s just proving to the world that RDC is so flush with cash that they can do things like that .
The roof deck is pretty with native plants, wooden benches, and shady trees. Perfect backdrops for dating-app selfies.
My photos look good, even if I do look a little puffy.
“Already got a match!” I squeal to Truman, swiping “Yes” on the guy who chose me.
“Employed, check; uses grammatically correct English, check; handsome, check, check! He could give McCarthy a run for his money.”
I look through the next phase of the ten-step plan in between messaging the man I hope is my new fiancé.
“He could be the one. Don’t you want a new daddy?” I ask Truman as I flip through the pages of potential girlfriends for McCarthy.
They’re all pretty and sweet with big doe eyes. They love puppies and kittens and making the world a better place. They don’t binge drink mead or run out of clean underwear.
“What do I care if McCarthy doesn’t want a girl like me?
I’m not dating him. I’m going on a date with Mr. Tall Green Flag here, who, as his latest message says, loves going to restaurants and wants to invite me to this new place he heard about but maybe coffee first so we can get to know each other. ”
“ You’re already dating? Haven’t you learned your lesson? ”
I shriek, sending my papers flying.
“No warning?” I say, scolding Truman, who is happily wagging his tail at McCarthy’s feet.
Irritated, I pick up the papers.
“And now she’s on her knees.”
I stand up quickly, my head almost knocking against his chin .
McCarthy’s hand briefly grabs my face before I can hit him.
“Is she not ready to submit to my superiority? You can’t keep going back and forth to your mom’s, Cupcake. You’re tired. You’re making bad decisions.”
He nods to my phone, which is lighting up with notifications from my dating app… and from my various “stalkers.” And I suppose I now need to officially add Nathan to the list.
I stuff the phone into my bag and shove the papers at McCarthy.
“The Evergreen Trust charity ball is in three days. You need to pick a girlfriend. I’ve vetted these ladies for you. They are all good-looking and care about health, their community, animals, and giving back. Not to mention, they volunteer with charities that are close to their personal story.”
“That’s what we’re doing? We’re just going to pretend like the only reason you’re here right now is because of me? Fine.” He picks up the top sheet.
“I’m trying to do my job.”
“‘Maxine Cavendish, works with the Evergreen Trust,’” McCarthy reads. “You know that organization is a huge scam, right? The woman who runs it uses the donations to throw lavish parties under the guise of bringing in more donations, and the dolphins don’t see so much as a fish McBite.”
“Everyone loves that charity. The model FiFi Lemieux promoted it at her wedding.” I hold up my wrist. “I have the dolphin charm.”
“I’m investigating them.”
“Do not show up at the charity ball and conduct a repeat of that press conference,” I warn .
“Tell me who you’re seeing tonight and I won’t,” he snarls.
I don’t look at him, not sure why I feel guilty when I say, “I’m not seeing anyone.”
Sitting in the coffee shop, I stare at my date’s photos—the dirty-blond hair, the piercing green eyes—I’m half in love already.
“Wait…” I zoom in on the photos. “Why does he have six fingers?”
“Found you.”
I clap a hand over my mouth, stifling a scream. My heart races, and my mouth is dry as Andreas slides into the booth beside me.
I’m trapped.
I force myself to calm down.
I know Andreas. Sure, he can get a little angry, but he’s not violent.
He reaches for my coffee, picks up the cup, then spits in it.
I flinch.
My ex smashes the cup down on the table, hot coffee sloshing everywhere, all over the paper menu.
“I am actually meeting someone, Andreas. Can we schedule this conversation for another time?”
My ex scoots farther into the booth. I huddle against the window.
His thinning red hair is longer than the last time I saw him, probably because I’m not around to make him get a haircut—or to wash his clothes, judging by the sour smell of him .
“You’re meeting me.”
My eyes widen in horror. “You catfished me?” I hiss.
The waitresses in the mostly empty coffee shop are bored. Andreas and I look like drama they can gossip to their girlfriends about over wine this weekend.
“I want my money.” He grabs my arm. “And you’re going to give it to me. Now.”
I wrench my arm away and turn as much as I can in my seat.
The waitresses look apprehensive. Are they calling the police?
I smile at them, smile at Andreas.
Everything is fine. All under control.
“I think if we work together, we can figure something out.”
“I have figured it out,” my ex sneers. “You pay me what you owe.”
“Sure, sure, let’s get a snack and talk about it.”
Andreas starts to settle down, but I’m amped up, on edge, out of my depth.
Even though I can’t stand McCarthy, I wish he was here to save me.