“No.” She looks up at me. “I mean I tried with your father. I lived in his parents’ house for six months. They were the worst six months of my life. They were snobby and controlling. I kept trying to make myself smaller to fit in, until I realized one day that I didn’t want you to grow up like that. I wanted you to be your own person, to have the space to expand to fully be you.”
“That didn’t work out as planned.”
“Of course it did. Jenna, you’re wonderful! You are your own amazing person. You have your own life, and it’s yours, not anyone else’s. I’m sorry if I was controlling you. I just didn’t want you to be like them, or your father. I wanted you to go out and experience life with no guardrails, enjoy the big wonderful world, explore, make mistakes.”
“No chance in there of me being like Dad, since he’s a successful homeowner and happily married with children?”
“But he’s not you. I love you just the way you are.” She plants a kiss on my cheek. “Though you should try to eat more vegetables.”
“That’s fair.”
My phone rings, and I jump almost out of my chair.
It’s not a stalker,I tell my racing heart.
I haven’t gotten any messages since the day of the HopeWorks fundraiser. McCarthy’s methods were terrible, but you couldn’t argue with the success rate.
For a second, I think maybe it’s him.
Consignment Shop:Your Hermes bag just sold.
My eyes prick.
Suddenly I feel lost.
The bag is my last connection to McCarthy.
“I shouldn’t get sentimental about a bag I didn’t even want. Three thousand dollars is great.”
The phone goes off again, and my heart races as I read the message.
Unknown Number:I’ve been looking everywhere for you.
51
MCCARTHY
“Four hours down and 296 more hours to go of community service.”
Hawthorne raises a glass to me when I walk out onto Salinger’s patio on his private island, Buddy lumbering after me.
Salinger’s girlfriend’s corgi, Pepper, is asleep on her back on the porch. Buddy gives her ear a sniff before continuing after me.
I pick him up and haul him into my lap.
“What’s all that?” I peer at the platter of grilled zucchini on the table. “I thought we were having salmon.”
“You dumped three bags of zucchini on me, so you can fucking eat it.”
“This is actually only like two zucchinis’ worth of zucchini.” Whitman shoves the platter toward me. “Dogs like zucchini. You should bring it to your volunteering job.”
“You mean his prison labor.” Fitz snickers.
“The only reason he’s going is because he’s trying to get back with that girl,” Faulkner sneers.
“Shut up.”
“You owe me,” he hisses under his breath.
