50. Jenna
JENNA
“ I am,” I announce drunkenly to my audience of naked elderly women, senile senior dogs, and of course, the mounds of zucchini, “ very good at my job.”
The post didn’t just go viral. It’s freaking nuclear. My caption? Pure poetry.
I wrote it like I was McCarthy talking about my dog getting stolen then miraculously returned after fifteen years.
The thousands and thousands of comments are littered with sobbing emojis, threats against people who steal other people’s dogs, and women declaring their undying love for McCarthy and their desire to wrap him in blankets and feed him pasta.
He does look vulnerable with the tears on his eyelashes as he hugs his beloved childhood dog. Like I just wanted to cup his face and kiss him, feel him rest his head against my chest and curl up around me .
We are in our season of independence.
Everyone is singing his praises. Hannah calls me, saying that Prism is fielding hundreds of requests for press for McCarthy.
Too bad I’m not there to reap the rewards of my hard work.
I reach for another zucchini.
“Is it this big?” Granny Mavis cackles as I carve up the zucchini for the three thousand gallons of zucchini relish my mom is canning.
Too bad I’m not actually independent. It’s one thing to move back into your childhood bedroom if your parents live in a nice suburban house. It’s another to move back into your childhood bedroom when it’s uninsulated and filled with geriatric rescue chickens.
“Jenna-bug, I’m so glad you moved back home.” My mom squeezes me. “Once you’re done with those zucchini, pack your bags. We are going on a feminine mystic retreat to celebrate the ending of this chapter of my life before I merge my soul with Zephyr’s.”
“You mean a bachelorette party,” I say, feeling the crushing weight of the disappointments of my romantic life.
Mallorca Cabo? Shoot, Las Vegas? No. A nude forest retreat in rural Oregon. My eye’s twitching. All I can think about are ticks crawling up my snatch.
Zephyr swoops in. “Actually, dear heart…” He gives my mother a kiss. “I need Jenna to help with managing the volunteers at the senior dog center farm this week. We’ve had an influx of volunteers and donations because of her post for McCarthy.”
My mom pouts. “But the retreat.”
“So sorry I have to miss it. Maybe another time… ”
Like when I’m extremely desperate, which, if I have to keep reading all these messages and watching all these Instagram videos of girls online lusting over McCarthy, is going to be sooner than we all think.
“What if I made a mistake?” Hannah and I are scrubbing out dog bowls in the outdoor horse trough.
Elderly dogs mill around slowly, wagging their tails or lying out in the sun to warm old bones.
“You’re seriously falling in love with the version of the man you fabricated for PR?”
“When you put it like that, I sound delusional.” I sputter as water splashes back from the spigot and sprays me and Truman, who is perched on the edge of the trough.
He barks at the water and tries to bite the spigot.
“No! Maybe I should go on the retreat.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but I don’t think your hair can handle being outdoors for five days.” Hannah rinses off a bowl.
“What’s the point of taking care of it?” I groan, adjusting my hat over the rat’s nest. “Let’s face it.
Every relationship I ever had has been a disaster, each one worse than the last. I’m not wife material.
I’m just, I don’t know, the type of girl a guy uses.
I’m the seat filler until a guy’s one true love comes along.
I’m never going to have a happily ever after. ”
I stack up three clean metal bowls. “I can’t even be Miss Independent, because I have no job, no savings, and an ungodly amount of credit card debt. I spent all day yesterday selling vegetables on the side of the road so that I can pay for my Netflix subscription. ”
“Seems like that might be something you need to cut from your budget, maybe?”
“I need it to disassociate from living with my mom at the compound,” I cry. “Don’t judge me.” Now I’m really crying, big, heaving sobs.
“It will be okay.” Hannah rubs my back. “You need to call an employment lawyer. Prism can’t just fire you like that.”
“I screwed up.”
“No,” Hannah says, “Bethany unfairly targeted you because of her husband. It was a hostile workplace. They got a ton of new clients because of your post for McCarthy. I bet they pay you a few thousand dollars to go away if you threaten that you’re going to hire a lawyer.”
I sniffle. “I could use a few thousand dollars.”
“I’ll help you write an email tonight.”
“Can you help me with my dating profile too?”
“Oooh, we’re getting back on the wagon, huh?”
“I can’t keep living with my mom.”
“And nothing of value was learned from this experience.” Hannah sighs.
“I’m not”—I wipe my nose—“actually going to fall in love with the guy. I’m going to straight-up tell him it’s okay if he cheats or whatever. I just need a place to crash. I’ll be a pretty good starter wife.”
“Mmm, we might be a little too old for that… Okay, okay!” Hannah pets my tangled hair as I start sobbing again.
“I’m old.” I sob. “I’ve wasted my youth.”
“Cupcake, I told you, you can’t keep crying around me. It makes me crazy.”
A big furry head bumps my knee.
“McCarthy? ”
I look up at him through tear-stained eyelashes then groan, burying my head in my hands. “No, you can’t be here.”
He looks good in the canvas work pants, the boots, the gloves, the aviator sunglasses, and the dirt streaked on him.
Meanwhile, I look like I’ve been sleeping outside for a week.
“You found her.” Zephyr lopes up, barefoot, and with a big straw hat on his head. “Blessed be, Hannah.”
My friend returns the bow.
“Do you think you could come help show these new volunteers how to store the dog food?” Zephyr asks.
“Why… yes…” Hannah nods knowingly.
“Are you kidding me? Don’t leave me alone with him!” I shriek.
McCarthy grabs my hands, my stained pink rubber gloves in his canvas work gloves. “Jenna, please. Just give me five minutes.” He props the sunglasses up on his head.
Hannah and Zephyr are already sneaking off.
Truman’s bouncing around, trying to sniff the other dog.
“Truman, leave him alone. Wait, oh my gosh! Is that Buddy?” I bend down to pet the brown-and-white dog.
He gives a happy woof.
There’s a softness I’ve never seen in McCarthy as he crouches down and gently strokes the dog’s graying ears.
He looks at me, and his gray eyes look almost blue in the sunlight. “I wanted to say, Jenna—”
“I thought you were in jail.” I blurt it out just to have something to say, so I don’t have to hear him tell me he’s sorry and he loves me and I don’t have to hear myself say it’s okay, I will take any and all terrible behavior from him because I have no sense of self-respect .
McCarthy looks down. “They let me out. Community service. Also can’t drive for years. Not that it matters. Salinger took all my cars and my bike.”
I wince. “You didn’t have to take the fall. It was my fault.”
McCarthy reaches out and trails his gloved hand down my cheek to cup my jaw.
“I told you, you’re mine. I’ll do anything to protect you.
I couldn’t survive it if anything happened to you.
” McCarthy’s mouth quirks. “Besides, a girl who snorts cupcake sprinkles as a coping mechanism isn’t going to survive in prison. ”
“Honestly, jail might be preferable to living with my mom.”
“You could…”
I know he’s about to say “come home to me.”
“Well, um, thanks for that,” I add quickly.
He nods. Buddy tries to crawl into his lap.
“You can’t be ready to go home already, boy.” McCarthy kisses the dog on the nose. “You’re worse than Truman.”
My ovaries explode, and my heart melts.
Stop it, I warn myself.
“Why did you…” McCarthy’s eyes search mine. “I mean, you said you hated me. Why did you…” He gestures to the dog.
“Because that’s your dog.” I’m tearing up. “I don’t care what you did. No one deserves to not have their dog.”
The tears flow as I watch Buddy, who’s looking up at McCarthy like he still can’t believe his boy is here. “I can’t believe he still recognizes you.” I’m sobbing now. “We don’t deserve dogs.”
McCarthy huffs out a laugh then leans over to wipe the tears off my face. His hand lingers on my cheek .
“Jenna. I’m sorry,” he says softly. “Not for going after your shitty exes and your stalkers—fuck that. I’m sorry I hurt you, though.
That wasn’t my intention. Not that it means anything, but I love you.
I’m in love with you. I know I don’t deserve you, but can I still want you anyway?
I’m a selfish bastard, you know that.” His mouth twists.
“I promise I won’t buy you a car or a house or take you to Paris. We can go dumpster diving and take long walks along a deserted highway and drink cheap beer on the pier.” The way he smiles at me, almost hesitantly, makes me fall in love with him all over again.
Nope.
Never.
Can we please, for once, learn from our mistakes? The universe is trying to teach us a lesson.
I tug away from him gently. “McCarthy…”
“Jenna, please. I love you.” He sounds desperate.
“McCarthy, don’t, please. I can’t.” I sigh. “I think I need a break. Well, I got fired, so I have one, technically. I need to take a break from dating. Since I was twelve, I’ve always had a boyfriend. I should take care of my own shit. You can’t love someone until you love yourself.”
“I absolutely loathe myself, and I still love you. I hate myself for hurting you, for ruining the one good thing in my life.” McCarthy’s face is serious.
I point at his dog. “You have Buddy.”
“Jenna, please don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you,” he begs. “I’ll go crazy when you’re not around me. I love you, Jenna. Don’t you see that?”
I grind my teeth together so I don’t give in and throw myself into his arms. “I’m trying to get my life together, McCarthy, raise my standards.”