36. Jenna
JENNA
“ W hy are they so into him?” I rant, my pale lavender cocktail sloshing over the side of the glass. “He’s been texting with them. They’re sending him nudie images. He’s looking at them.”
“I remember you sending some inappropriate photos over text message…” Hannah gives me a pointed look.
“I was engaged.”
Hannah makes a noncommittal noise.
Last night, I locked myself in a guest room after running away from McCarthy.
A part of me wanted him to break the door down, kiss my face, gather me into his arms, and assure me that I was special, that he did care for me, that I was the only girl for him.
But he didn’t .
He didn’t even care when I told him I was leaving this morning, just slapped my phone into my hand and told me not to call him when I got kidnapped.
“Why doesn’t he want me?” I wail. “It’s not that I even care about him. I just don’t want to be rejected. Again. I can’t believe I slept with him. What is wrong with me? This whole time, he was using me. I knew he was using me, and I let him. Like, I literally knew what he was doing.”
I take a long sip from my cocktail. “The photos of him with Sable went viral. She wore a trendy designer with a big social media following. Now she’s a hashtag icon.”
“That’s probably why all those fake girlfriends keep messaging you, wanting to know if McCarthy needs another date.”
“I could understand if they just wanted the clout, but they seem to think McCarthy’s going to fall in love with them and give them the happily ever after every girl dreams of.”
“It’s that ‘doesn't text back’ energy.” Hannah spears the booze-soaked cherry in her glass and pops it in her mouth. “A man has to be born with that level of casual indifference.”
“You should have seen the filthy text messages Sable was sending him. She’s all horny cat for him, even after he treated her like dirt.” I stab at the little slice of fig that’s in my drink. “He called her sweetheart. It’s so obnoxious. Why do they just eat it up?”
“‘Sweetheart,’ but it's got a subtext of ‘I hate you,’ and that's like catnip.” Hannah kisses her fingers. “McCarthy’s like every guy we ever dated before twenty-five.”
I think about my exes, their casual disregard for me and my feelings and well-being. My head thunks down on the rickety bar table .
“Why is my life so crappy? I’d love to be one of those girls whose only problem is finding a date to the high school reunion and showing up the mean girl.
Meanwhile, the best-case scenario in my life is that my stalker is one of my jilted ex-fiancés and not some rando who’s going to kidnap me and turn me into soap, because that would set off my mentally ill client and he’ll drop a one-thousand-ton mother of a bomb and level half of Seattle. ”
“Aww! McCarthy loves you!” Hannah giggles drunkenly.
“Shh! No!” I look around furtively. A lot of Prism employees go to this bar. “He’s a self-absorbed prick and a walking red flag.”
“Sounds like just your type.”
“What do you mean?” I cry.
“Come on,” Hannah says, “you pick the worst men. I don’t know why you’re getting so hung up on McCarthy.”
“Wow.”
“I don’t mean it like that,” my friend says kindly. “Just, you know, of all the shitty men you’ve been with, at least he’s hot and has money. I bet you could spin that into a free place to stay for a few months.”
“I’m not like that.”
“Homeless? Because yeah, you are.” She grabs the cocktail menu. “See if the pussy pass lets you bring a friend.”
“Why does everyone want to have a threesome with him?” I shriek too loudly. A server startles next to me, almost spilling the drink he’s carrying.
“Sorry,” I apologize, grabbing napkins.
“I don’t want to have sex with McCarthy and definitely not with you.
I know how often you shower.” Hannah swipes one of her calamari into the spicy sauce and chews.
“I just want a couch to crash on. My roommate seems to never sleep and only have phone sex with her boyfriend. It’s rough out there trying to find a place to live, is all I’m saying.
You were on that dating app just to find a guy to date in exchange for a place to live.
I’m saying you could do worse than McCarthy, even if he is a grade-A douche. ”
“My job…” I moan.
“Oh, FYI, Berthy’s defo firing you. You weren’t at the meeting Friday, but she lit you up. I think the grand bosses are going to give in just so they don’t have to hear about it anymore.”
“Why is my life a disaster?”
“Have the threesome with McCarthy, then move into his guest bedroom. If you can convince him to buy you a car, then you can pawn it later, and you’ll be set until you can find a new job.”
I’m not sleeping with McCarthy again. I’m not giving in to him.
I believe every catastrophe has a silver lining, and this one where I’m being stalked and thrown out of cars and threatened by fiancés? The silver lining is that I finally have my wake-up call.
I need a list.
I’m at my desk, hoping Bethany doesn’t call me into her office, wanting to know why this weird stain is on her chair and if I have anything to do with it, and oh, by the way, she was at our major client’s house last night, and it looked like I was living there, so…
Not anymore.
I’m done with McCarthy .
Not done with men, though. My insurance doesn’t cover that much therapy.
I write: Red Flag List.
I chew on my pen and contemplate.
No, Truman isn’t with me. McCarthy refused to let me take him.
“You can put yourself in danger but not Truman” is what he said.
Then why did he actually let me out of the penthouse, just open the door for me and call the elevator? Kiss me and wish me a good day at work, if he thought I was in danger?
It’s suspicious, right?
I take the pen out of my mouth before I can destroy it.
Totally freaking suspicious.
Number 1. Shadiness is not tolerated.
Number 2. No attractive guys. They’re all self-absorbed.
Number 3. Must have pets. Guys who like animals are a green flag, right?
Number 4. Must be in the nonprofit world.
Number 5. Boring. Extremely boring.
“That’ll do it,” I decide and hit the Meat Market app to find Mr. Right.
“Man, there are a lot of fish in this sea.”
Ernie. Middle-aged. Balding. Has a parrot and likes to bake banana bread.
Score.
He’s excited when I message him.
Ernie: You’re the first girl who’s ever messaged me!!!!
Ernie: I can’t believe it. Kimi and I have been on this app for two years.
He sends me a photo of the bird. It looks like it has a disease.
Good for him for saving that bird. Ernie is a good person.
Jenna: Oh no!
My response sets off a novel’s worth of text messages from Ernie.
Jenna: Maybe we can just save it for the date.
Ernie: A date!
Ernie: I promise I won’t propose to you. I’m not weird like a lot of men out there.
I screenshot it and send it to Hannah.
Hannah rushes over.
“So, you’re dating serial killers now? Yet you’re not going to give McCarthy a shot because why?”
“Ernie is boring and normal.”
“This guy is not normal.”
“He rescues parrots.”
“How many parrots does he have?” Her eyes narrow. “Because I count, like, five in these photos.”
“As long as the photos have the correct number of fingers…”
“He has four fingers on his right hand. I think one of the birds took it off. ”
“I’m not asking.” I throw up my hands.
“Because you don’t want to know.”
I’m meeting Ernie at a brewery. He wanted to take me to a fancy restaurant so that we could have a real date, a true romantic evening, but I’m trying to learn the lessons life is teaching me.
The hostess smiles at me when I step in from the cold.
“You must be Jenna. Your table’s right this way.”
He’s early; that’s a green flag.
The man who stands up from the table isn’t Ernie.
“Did you seriously catfish me again?”
Andreas screws up his mouth. “No, I’ve been following you.”
I clutch my purse. “Is this about the time-share?”
“No, it’s about the disrespect you’ve been showing me!” he shouts.
We’re getting weird looks from people.
I like this brewery. They always give Truman snacks. I don’t want to get banned from here. I don’t want to cause a scene.
So I sit down.
“Even if I wanted to give you money, which I don’t because I’ve already given you money, I don’t have any, okay? I’m about to get fired. I don’t have anywhere to live.”
“You can come live with me.” Andreas’s teeth look like he hasn’t been brushing regularly. “You know, pay it off another way. We were good, Jenna, we were—where the hell have you been? I haven’t gotten my drink order yet,” he barks at the waiter who has stepped behind me.
He peers up in the dim light of the brewery .
“You’re in my seat.” The deep voice sends a shiver through me.
“Actually, I’m not,” my rat-faced ex says. “I’m her fiancé.”
“Ex-fiancé,” I say automatically.
“This is who you let put a ring on your finger? After all that, I’m unimpressed.” McCarthy’s tone is dangerously cold.
“You owe me.” My ex hunches over the table.
“She doesn’t owe you a damn thing. Jenna, go sit in the corner. I’m going to deal with this.”
“You don’t get to just—”
McCarthy grabs the back of my chair. I hold on for dear life as he wrenches my chair away, the metal legs scraping the concrete floor, and leans over the table in front of my ex.
He’s not angry, though, or murderous. He’s got that dark glee in his eyes. He’s a wolf cornering a rabbit it’s about to eat for dinner.
“She owes me.” My ex doesn’t seem to understand that he has an apex predator bearing down on him. “She ruined me,” Andreas whines.
McCarthy hums. “The time-share, right? She fucked you over on the time-share.”
My ex nods.
I can barely breathe. What’s McCarthy doing?
“Is that the only reason you’re after her?”
“I mean… yeah, I guess.” Andreas is nervous now.
“Cross your heart and hope to die?” McCarthy’s voice drops.
Andreas nods uncertainly.
“Good news. The time-share is no longer a problem, so you can stay away from what’s mine. ”
“You can’t. That’s not how time-shares work. She has to pay.” Andreas sputters.
McCarthy slams his hand on the table. He’s not worried about getting banned from the brewery. “I said, it’s not a problem.” McCarthy reaches over to Andreas. Long fingers slide Andreas’s phone out of his pocket and toss it on the table. “Check the news.”
Andreas swallows.
My mouth is dry.
Fingers shaking, my ex types into the phone, presses a button.
I hear the faint sound of sirens and a reporter talking unintelligibly.
“See, not a problem anymore.” McCarthy smiles. It doesn’t reach his eyes.
“ It’s gone. ” Andreas looks up at McCarthy in horror.
“ Gone, ” McCarthy mocks. “Burned to the ground. Massive fire. No casualties.”
Andreas glances over to me, face ashen.
McCarthy grabs the collar of my ex’s shirt and drags him forward.
“Don’t look at her. Don’t ever look at her, or talk about her, or so much as type her name into Google.
Do you understand? If you so much as think about her, I will blow up your house.
There won’t even be enough of you left to put in a to-go container. ”
My ex nods and jumps up, a hand over his mouth.
McCarthy watches as Andreas scurries away. Then he grabs the back of my chair and slides it and me back in place. He takes Andreas’s seat.
Smug.
He stretches out his long legs and regards me. “You can say thank you, Cupcake. ”
“I’m not going to thank you. You burnt down a building.”
“I did the people a favor. Do you have any idea how hard it is to get out of a time-share? Those things are predatory.”
“I didn’t ask you to—”
He reaches out, grabs the collar of my shirt, and yanks me forward.
“Don’t fuck with me.” The words are snarled against my mouth. “I will protect the people I care about.” He releases me with a shove. “Now, you tell me—you understand?—if he contacts you. You’ll tell me immediately.”
“But—”
“Don’t argue with me. Answer the question, or keep your pretty mouth shut.”
“Yes, I understand.” I grind my teeth to keep the tears at bay.
“Good girl.” He picks up the menu, which is printed on card stock.
“Did you know this place is dog friendly? We can bring Truman,” he says conversationally.
“There is no ‘we.’” The tears are coming now. “You’re a monster.”
There’s that dark light in his eyes.
“Am I?” He raises his voice. “I’m not the one who lied to my date that she’s dating another guy.”
“None of these men are stalking me.”
“And Brock’s not dangerous as long as you’re not in a relationship with him,” McCarthy says mockingly.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
I jump as he slams his hand on the table. “I see what they’re doing to you, how he’s affecting you.”
“That’s not them! It’s you!” I scream at him .
He blinks and jerks back. “I haven’t done anything to you.”
“You yell at me, you don’t respect my work, you’re playing some sick game trying to manipulate me to fall in love with you or something, as if your ego needs to get any bigger, like there aren’t other, better women out there who clearly have no problem losing their minds over you.”
“You’re jealous.”
“I am not. You hate me for some reason.”
“I don’t hate you. You drive me crazy.” He leans toward me, forehead pressed against mine to whisper the words to me. “That’s all.”
“I already have too many crazy men in my life.”
On the table, my phone rings and rings. I can’t tear away from McCarthy.
It finally stops ringing, then a message comes in.
“Wonder which crazy ex it is,” McCarthy remarks.
“Oh no. Ernie.”