Like a good boyfriend would do.
As I pull into my own garage I am struck by a simple thought: it would be kind of nice right now just to have a boyfriend, just a boyfriend, nothing more.
Chapter Thirteen
I don’t usually have questions about whether to fight or flight. I’m almost always on the side of fight. But when I see Amber a few days later power walking with her baby strapped to her chest, all I want to do is flee.
Because Amber is the living, breathing manifestation of all that I never was.
Good enough to keep a man walking all the way down the aisle.
She had something I never had. I don’t even know what it is about her. Is it her looks, all hourglass redhead? Or is it her body and the way she can bend? Or it is more? Is she funnier, smarter, more interesting? Does she love harder, better, more? How did he know in one night that he wanted to be with her forever?
I don’t have those answers as I walk my dog along the Marina bike path on a weekday morning. I don’t think I’ll ever have those answers. Worse, I don’t know if I’ll ever stop wanting them. It’s like there’s this raw wound inside me that can never be exposed to enough air to heal. I’ll never be able to treat it, so it’ll become a part of me, the ulcer in my heart that won’t ever go away.
And that’s why I want to duck and hide right now, to roll into a bush and curl up with my dog, like we’re two soldiers who’ve found a foxhole for protection.
But she sees me, and she waves and smiles.
Breathe deeply. Turn over a new leaf. I am Zen McKenna. I am cool, calm and collected McKenna, as I walk in her direction, imagining I am a guru, a yoga instructor, a therapist. I am serene, I am graceful, I am a mountain breeze.
“Hey, McKenna,” she says and stops.
Okay, so I guess I have to stop now too. But I don’t have to be nice because I’m not a yoga instructor or a therapist. I’m the jilted and I don’t like that the jilter is on my territory. “What are you doing in the city? Don’t you live in the suburbs?”
Amber pats the back of the sleeping baby on her chest. “I started teaching again. Gymnastics. I have a class with two-year-olds in about a half hour over in the Marina with some of the mommies there.”
“Oh, that is so sweet,” I say and somehow find the restraint not to fake gag.
“I love teaching, and Charlotte is a good baby. She sleeps during the class. But I also just love being an independent woman and supporting our family.”
“Oh,” I say and place my hand on my chest as if I am so touched. “That’s so lovely.”
“It’s important, don’t you think? That’s what your Trophy Husband quest is all about right? By the way, I love it. I love your show. And I just think we have to set examples. And mine is that I can be a working mom and help pay the bills.”
“That’s great,” I say through gritted teeth.
“And how is sweet Ms. Pac-Man?”
Amber leans down to pet my dog, the sleeping baby angling close to my dog’s face. I make a mental note to give the dog a bath when I return home. Then Ms. Pac-Man emits a low rumble. I snap my head and look at my dog. She’s pulling back her doggy lips and showing her teeth.
I yank her collar and pull her away.
Amber stands at attention, a look of terror in her eyes.
I’m about to admonish my dog, who has never been anything but sweet with kids, when I realize she wasn’t going after the baby. There’s Michelangelo up ahead, trotting in our direction, his wrinkly little face and beige puggy body aiming straight for one of Ms. Pac-Man’s legs.
A wicked sense of glee floods my veins. Because this isn’t just parking karma. This is all the karma in the world.
“I’m so sorry about that, Amber. Todd must not have told you?”
“Told me what?”
“Oh. Yeah. Ms. Pac-Man doesn’t like babies. Or kids for that matter. She growls at all of them. I’m working on it with her, but she’s just not fond of the littles ones.”
“Oh,” Amber says and nods in understanding. “That’s really good to know.”
“Isn’t it, though? All right, toodle-loo. I have to go.”
Thank the lord for horny pugs.
* * *
“Here’s my favorite part of dating. I get to do what I like best – devote my mental energy to assembling cute outfit combos,” I say to the camera, then model the newest ensemble I’m wearing for an afternoon coffee chat. “Here’s the worst part. You’re caffeinated all the time. Because you constantly have to go out for coffee for first dates. I have never had so much coffee in my life.”
We’re shooting outside today, so I gesture to the coffee shop near my house, Your Other Office.
“So I’m just going to head in and grab another. After all, I have a date in, oh, about two hours. And guess what? It’s Bachelor Number Four, thanks to you!” I point at the camera. “You know the drill. You picked ‘em for me and I’m doing the dirty work, going on the dates. So, in two hours, I’ll be reporting for duty and tomorrow, I’ll report back so you can choose who deserves a second date. So keep voting, keep sharing your thoughts on the candidates. Because this isn’t just about me. This is a communal effort, a collective Trophy Husband for all of us.”
I salute the camera and give my usual sign-off. Then Andy turns off the camera and I sigh heavily. It’s getting harder for me to keep up the act, but I don’t want Andy to know.
“How was it?”
He gives a silent thumbs up. He packs up, staying quiet most of the time. I do my part, helping with the microphone, but decide to ignore his noiselessness. I counter it with chatter. “I’m exhausted.”
He gives me a harrumph.
“What should I talk to this guy about?”
“Don’t know,” he says curtly.
“You want to just add a ‘don’t care’ to the end of that statement?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I mean, that’s kind of what you meant, right? Don’t know, don’t care?”
He stares at me for a second, then continues packing his camera gear.
“What is eating you?”
“You know what it is.”
I do. The same thing that’s eating away at Andy is what’s been eating away at me since that kiss with Chris on Saturday night. Since then I’ve been going on the requisite dates with the top five, and, as I predicted, the viewers voted for Chris as one of the five. The dates are chaste, as they should be at this point in a dating contest, and nothing has happened physically with any of them. Chris is the only guy I’ve kissed and he’s the only one I want to kiss. Even when I’m on other dates, my mind is on him. So I have to wonder if Andy’s instincts are right.