“To be fair, you told him to get lost and give you some space,” Hannah reminds me, sipping her coffee. “You can’t be mad when he respects the boundaries that you set.”
“I wanted him to stomp all over my boundaries.” The tears well.
“You’re addicted to the drama.”
When I’m backin my childhood bedroom, putting out old pots and pans to catch the water that’s leaking through the roof, I realize…
“Hannah’s right, Truman. I don’t want the happily ever after. I just want the drama of a toxic guy.” Truman runs and hides under the daybed when a big fat drop of water lands on his nose.
“Maybe I wasn’t in love with McCarthy or any of my exes. Maybe I just liked being the main character in my own life.”
Cue existential crisis.
“Guess I really do need that retreat.”
My phone beeps, making me jump. I don’t think I’ll ever get over the fear that it’s another crazy message. Fortunately, it’s someone wanting to know if I have an opening at my PR company.
As I text them back, I can’t help the feeling that something is outside my window… watching me.
53
MCCARTHY
“I’d say this is a new low point for me,” I tell the dog in the dark, “but I just spent, like, fifty grand on buffalo, so…”
Buddy, in his backpack, pants against my neck and digs his paws against my shoulders as I paddle up to Salish Island, where Jenna’s parents live.
My boots splash softly in the shallows as I jump out of the kayak and wade up to the island. I creep the wooden boardwalk past an enormous rusted statue of what might be intended to be a sea witch.
Is this illegal and marking me as no better than the rest of Jenna’s delusional exes?
Maybe it would if I wanted to think too hard about it, which I don’t.
I creep through the rain. Unlike Truman, Buddy in his backpack doesn’t seem to mind the rainyweather.
Jenna’s bedroom seems like it used to be a small sunroom or something, and I stand in the shadows, peering in through the glass door that looks like it was taken from some other house and patched into this one. Poorly, because there’s a big crack where I can see water leaking in.
Jenna’s wearing a handwoven robe, her hair up in a messy bun, tendrils brushing her neck. She’s texting someone on her phone.
Bet it’s a dating app. It’s the parrot guy or someone equally terrible.
I reach out. The sliding door isn’t even locked. She has no sense of self-preservation.
“Don’t bother, Cupcake.”
Jenna screams when I step into the room.
“I’m going to chase off any man you try to date.”
Jenna clutches the robe. “Why are you in my room?”
“You can decide you want to take a break from me, but I’m not letting another man near you. If I can’t have you, no one else can. I don’t care if it makes me delusional and crazy.” I smile at her. “I, of course, mean that in as nonthreatening a way as possible. To you, anyway.”
Jenna swallows. “Obviously nonthreatening. You have a senior dog in a backpack.”
Buddy wiggles his body in happiness when she acknowledges him.
“Like, ugh, no wonder I’m in love with you. I mean,” she adds in a rush, “not like that, like in a self-destructive, toxic way.”
