It’s my family.
“Are you drunk?” Bethany hisses when I stumble into the office two days after the town house that really should be half mine almost burnt down.
Iamdrunk.
I did not drink this morning, but I am drunk from last night.
“Noooo. Nope. Not I! I’m just feeling extra creative and happy to be here in the Prism PR offices!”
Great-Granny Mavis’s moonshine and my mom’s mead are the only ways I’m able to survive the evenings of my female relatives being critical of my love life or lack thereof.
The only way I can sleep through my mother sneaking into my room, butt naked, to pray over me, begging the goddess to bless my womb, is to be black-out drunk.
Mom:You remember Oona?
Jenna:Oona the eighty-five-year-old who thinks that her garden gnome is trying to kill her?
Mom:She keeps him tucked into a little bed *smiley face*
Jenna:Mom, I’m working.
Mom:She’s convinced her son to drive up and be your boyfriend.
Jenna:Mom, no. You can’t just move a strange man into my room.
Mom:I’m putting a diaphragm in your nightstand.
So, yeah, I am definitely regretting moving back home.
Jenna:I’m not going to be home tonight.
I wince as I send the text message, because honestly? I don’t have anywhere else to go.
I type into Google, “How much is a hotel in Seattle?”
Hannah peers over my shoulder. “McCarthy taking you on a trip?”
“Shhh!” I hiss as Bethany marches by.
“I bet that belly is fake.” Hannah glares after our boss. “No pregnant woman can walk in heels like that.”
“It’s very real,” I assure her tiredly.
“You think I could get away with sleeping in the wellness room tonight?” I yawn. “Turns out being drunk doesnot give you the best sleep, at least not when you’re in your late twenties. Very late. Might as well be thirties.”
“Cameron’s basically moved in there.”
“Crap. Time to hit the dating apps. I need to reactivate my profile.”
Hannah makes a noise as I open the Meat Market dating app.
“What? I know it’s a little soon after Nathan, but I need a place to live. My mom’s trying to get me to shack up with Oona’s son.”
“I mean, if you need a place to stay…” Hannah says.
“He’s in his fifties, and he’s unemployed and lives with her estranged daughter, who wants him out of her house. If he thinks he has a shot, my mom’s just going to move him into my room. Permanently. Things are dire.”
“I think you want some updated photos, then,” Hannah says delicately.
