JENNA
McCarthy never comes to rescue me. I don’t know why I even want him to.
Blowing my nose, I head out into the drizzling evening, checking behind me to make sure Andreas isn’t following me.
I bought him a slice of pie to calm him down.
Maybe this will give me a break from his crazy messages for a while. I check my phone impulsively to see if he sent any more after.
I have to duck under an awning of a closed bookstore to catch my breath. There are messages—a few whiny ones from Brock, drunken angry texts from Nathan, then more of those unknown numbers that I assumed and assured myself were just from Andreas. Andreas, who was an unemployed software developer who didn’t have anything better to do except set up burner numbers toharass me from.
However, my ex was in the café with me for the last forty-five minutes, ranting and raving. He definitely was not texting me.
Then who was?
I missed the last ferry.
I delusionally believed “Jason” was the one and scheduled the date late. Now I’m stuck in the city. I could spend the night in the park, like I did with Granny Mavis and the seniors, but I don’t have Cher to sleep in.
The rain is falling harder now.
I huddle under my umbrella, my feet squelching in my heels.
My phone rings, and I almost drop it in a puddle, thinking it’s my unknown stalker.
“Mom?”
“Are you coming home? It’s cold outside.”
“I told you I have to work.”
“Oona’s son just found a cot to rent on a houseboat, and his friend offered to take you in.”
My new boyfriend is waiting in the wings after all. Great.
“Sorry, Mom, I can’t. We have a deadline.” I cover the mouthpiece as thunder rolls.
“The corporate world will steal your soul. You need to prioritize love and family! Who cares about money or spreadsheets? Nature will provide.”
Thank God for Granny Mavis. I’d never have learned to read with that attitude.
“Gotta go, Mom—have a meeting.”
Though my mom annoys me, the night does feel colder and darker once the call ends.
I head uptown. Maybe the wellness room will be open?
A car speeds past me. I jump to avoid getting splashed.
Should I move to a small town and open up a bakery, sell pastries shaped like dachshunds, meet a lumberjack, and have baby lumberjacks?
Another car speeds past me.
Something niggles in my subconscious…Is that the same car?
“It’s a city,” I say to remind myself. “It’s not the same car. There are lots of green sedans out in the world.”
But what if it is?
