38. Jenna #2
And even though I know it’s a trap, know that he told me he wanted me to fall in love with him just to win, not because he actually wanted me, I still want to stand up in front of God and everyone and say, “I do.”
I won’t.
While McCarthy’s tracing the ill-advised butterfly tattoo I got when I was fourteen, I drink the rest of my wine then his as well, just to prove a point to myself.
I remind myself that McCarthy’s not the only asshole, because I know just how to make him the golden boy of America.
“There she is.” The beads knotted in Zephyr’s red beard tinkle softly as he holds his arms out for a hug.
“It’s good to see you.”
“How’s the problem child?” he jokes as we choose a table outdoors at the fermentation co-op and order kombucha.
What look like Renaissance-fair musicians are playing old-timey music on a low stage near the hydrangeas.
Zephyr looks placid as he sits cross-legged on his wooden chair .
“More of a problem than you know,” I mutter.
Zephyr gives me a sympathetic look. “Anything I can do to help?”
“Actually…” I hand him the printed photo. “I was hoping you could do me a favor.”
“Of course!” He beams at me. “Cute puppy.”
“That’s an almost eighteen-year-old photo.”
Zephyr frowns when I relay the saga.
“Poor guy. There are unfortunately a number of charities out there that are not, shall we say, mission focused.”
“I know! They completely traumatized him when they promised they were going to help him.”
“That’s what I’ve discovered doing prison rehabilitation work. You have to help these guys heal their inner child before they can move forward. Poor thing.” He pats the photo like he can give McCarthy a loving, fatherly hug.
You don’t have to tell me twice. I’m all about jumping on the bandwagon of helping men who don’t want to help themselves.
“I don’t know if the dog is still out there, but I’m hoping you can find out?”
“Think positive thoughts. I’ll put some feelers out.” He tucks the photo into one of the many pockets on the handwoven vest my mom made him.
“I’m so glad you called, Jenna. We must have been standing on the same ley line for a moment.”
I can feel a Serious? conversation coming.
I take a sip of my drink and gag dramatically, hoping to stave it off. “What the hell is in this nasty-ass kombucha?”
Zephyr puts his hands together.
“I have asked your mother to join me in a handfasting ceremony. ”
“Marriage?” I choke out, giving up on the unnaturally burbly drink. “You asked her to marry you?”
“Marriage is a government institution. We are pledging our souls before the universe.”
“Okay, I mean, sure, whatever, but, my man, my mom does not do commitment.”
“We’ve been together for four years,” Zephyr says gently.
“You have?” I blink. “Damn, your twenties sure fly by, don’t they?”
I feel a little panicky, and I’m not sure why. Zephyr slides my kombucha back in front of me. I push it back out of the way.
“Mom agreed to this? I mean, she’s always said she’s a free spirit. She’s had, like, a hundred boyfriends, just one after another after another.” I reel my hands, trying to show him.
“As am I,” he says sagely, “and our spirits will be free together.”
“You two can do whatever you want with your own souls, I guess. You’re adults.”
I take a sip of my kombucha, wish it was wine, then swallow it, since there are lots of people in this place and I don’t think I can realistically spit it on the ground.
Zephyr gives me a concerned look at my wince. “Is this about your sperm giver?”
“I don’t know why my mom insists on using that term, and no, I’m fine!” I force the cheeriness out. “This is great news, you guys! I love a wedding!”
“Did he call you at all?” Zephyr asks hesitantly.
“Why would he do that?”
“He contacted your mom and asked for your contact information. ”
“He what?” I shriek.
The woman who’s nursing her eight-year-old at the table next to me gives me an ugly look.
“I take it that’s a no.”
I shake my head. “No, he didn’t contact me.”
“I’m sorry.” Zephyr takes my hand and gives it a sympathetic squeeze.
“I’m not upset,” I declare.
He pats my hand. “It’s hard to heal when they keep reopening the cut.”
“I’m healed. I’m fine. Let me know when the wedding is. I’d say I’d help plan it, but I’m sure Mom’s just going to want to show up the day of and wing everything.”
I’m annoyed and raw when I stomp off the elevator at the Prism offices.
My phone is going off, the noise grating. Maybe I should just let McCarthy go apeshit all over my exes.
Part of me wants him to be my one true love, my knight in shining armor, and for me to be the center of his universe.
I scroll through the messages.
There are fewer than there used to be, and hey, look, nothing from Andreas or any unknown numbers making vaguely threatening puns about time-shares. Seems like McCarthy was right after all.
Great.
I don’t go to my desk, too mentally frazzled to create my progress report. Instead, I head for the break room. Someone has had a breakfast meeting, but there are only crumbs left.
I pick at bits of icing from a Danish and keep scrolling through my messages, looking for anything—a sign, a message that just says “Hey” or “Call me”—anything that could be from my dad.
“Bethany is piiissed, girl!” Hannah rushes over to me. “I don’t know why she can’t just hurry up and go on maternity leave.” She grabs my arm. “She’s telling everyone you’re sleeping with McCarthy.”
“I think Truman really let the cat out of the bag on that one.”
Hannah’s eyes bug out, and she drags me into the bathroom and checks under the stalls. Someone tries to open the door, but Hannah kicks it shut.
“Closed for cleaning! Go to the one upstairs.” She turns to me. “What the fuck? You’re sleeping with McCarthy? Bethany was right? I just made a whole impassioned speech about how you’re dating guys online to cover your ass.”
I wince.
“I’m sorry, Hannah. I should have told you. It just—”
“Don’t apologize!” She shakes me. “Tell me everything. How was it? Is he huge? How many times did he make you come? What does his spunk taste like?”
“Eww. I shouldn’t have. He’s a…” I trail off, thinking about the little boy in the photo. I can’t stop a wistful sigh. “I thought he was a complete asshole, but he’s not. He’s, like, seventy five percent asshole.”
“Oh em gee! You’re in love with him— what part of ‘it’s closed’ did you not understand? ” Hannah yells at whoever’s on the other side of the door.
“No, no,” I lie, “that’s not what this is.”
“Hey, bank account, penthouse, handsome face? Like, what’s not to love?”
“It’s not his bank account.” I start chewing on my nails then close my fingers into a fist. “It’s…
He’s just so… him . And anyway, I didn’t tell him I’m in love with him, because I’m not, you know.
And besides, he actually said that he’s obsessed with me.
He’s so protective of me. I mean, it’s not like a duke in a romance movie.
It’s more like a mangy alley cat protecting his territory, but it’s still, well, if you ignore the derisive comments, it is a little romantic.
And he’s so cute with Truman,” I say, gushing.
Hannah collapses against the wall. “Did Jenna do it? Did she find true love?”
I can’t stop my smile. “I wouldn’t say that.”
“Sounds like he’s head over heels for you.
” Hannah nods. “He just hasn’t said the L-word yet.
You’re going to get married! You’re going to get engaged!
Oh ,” Hannah says on a breath, grabbing my ringless left hand.
“I bet he gets you the best engagement ring.” She jumps up and down gleefully.
“Your wedding’s going to be amazing! Aren’t you glad you listened to me and didn’t marry Nathan?
” She hits my arm. “Lock him down; no fifteen-month engagement. Lock it down immediately.”
“It’ll have to be after my mom’s wedding.”
“Double wedding?” Hannah waggles her eyebrows. “In the buff?”
“Lord no.”
“Ring on it,” Hannah chants.
“You think? I’m not just being delusional? Because I feel delusional.”
“Because you’re so used to being mistreated that you can’t handle it when a man actually treats you like a woman instead of a sex doll-cleaning-ATM bot. You’re addicted to toxic men.”
I’m apprehensive. “McCarthy’s a little toxic. ”
“It’s different when they have money and buy you muffins! That’s what set Bethany off in the first place,” she explains to my confused look.
On my desk is a paper sack from Starbucks. Inside is a ginormous chocolate muffin.
This is not better than a car. You have low standards. It’s embarrassing. -MS
Somehow, this is weirdly the most romantic thing a man has ever done for me. McCarthy’s right—I do need to raise my standards.
“Gimmie,” Hannah wheedles. “I need chocolate, and you’re about to get engaged. You can’t eat a whole muffin.”
“I mean, I can…”
“I deserve a bite. You’re going to get a bite of that firm ass tonight.”
I feel my face go red.
Hannah grabs the muffin from me, rips off a chunk, and holds it in both hands like a squirrel. “That’s him, isn’t it?” she asks, nodding to my phone, which is lighting up on my desk.
McCarthy: Where’s my driver?
“He so wants a booty call.”
“You think?”
“Tell him to send over more muffins.”
I resist the urge to open up my Pinterest wedding page.
Maybe McCarthy’s come to his senses and he’s calling me over to his office to belittle and berate me, put me in my place .
Except his face lights up when he sees me.
He holds up Truman, who is wearing a brand-new RDC doggie T-shirt.
I can’t help the beaming smile, the way the tension leaves my body just from seeing McCarthy.
He sweeps me in his arms and kisses me. “I love that you come when I call. I might have to keep you on full-time. What do you think about that, hmm?” He hums against my mouth.
After picking me up, he spins me around as he kisses me again, like he can’t get enough of me.
I sink into the softness of his mouth.
He chuckles, and it vibrates through my chin.
Truman’s cold nose presses to my cheek.
“Stop, Truman. This is my girl. I’m kissing her. You can have sloppy seconds,” he jokes to the dog then kisses me one more time before Truman slobbers all over my face.
Wrinkling my nose, I fish out a Kleenex from the little pouch on my Stanley cup.
“You can’t call a ride-share?”
“I’m stuck here without you. I need a pretty girl to drive me around, one with a filthy mouth.”
“You just want someone to call you a passenger princess.” I jingle the keys at him. “Where do you want me to drive you? And it better not be to go get in another fight in the middle of the street.”
“Unless you want me to fuck you in the car, you better take us home,” he whispers in my ear as we head down to the sunlight-filled lobby.
“New car?” I ask as we get in after the valet pulls it around .
“I bought it on the off chance that you came to your senses and realized a muffin is not what your heart desires.” His arms wrap around me when we stop at a light.
As he kisses my neck, I see something in the mirror and tense up. “Is that…” I say before I can stop myself.
McCarthy locks in on the tension, stiffening, on high alert.
“It’s nothing!” I chirp, pulling him in for a quick kiss before the light turns green.
Because, after all, it’s only my dad, who, for some reason, is heading toward the RDC offices.