“She was really hung up on Jonathan.”
He looks saddened by the mention of Jonathan’s name. He was Tina’s boyfriend, and he died right after high school graduation. For almost a decade, Tina seemed like a princess under a spell in a fairy tale, preserved in a bubble, until her prince came along.
“We went to his gravestone,” Luca says. “I wanted to go. I sort of said hello, and then I waited in the car while she had some time with him.”
I swallow down what I’m feeling. Jonathan was my friend, too. Maybe even my best friend. Everyone was so worried about Tina, they didn’t notice me grieving in her shadow.
I turn and look out the window of the diner. I survived, and I don’t blame anyone for assuming I was fine at the time. It’s my own fault for being so tough on the outside. I guess I’d rather be ignored than be vulnerable in front of people. At least you can keep your hurt to yourself, small and contained.
The waitress comes to our table with two milkshakes in tall glasses.
“I didn’t order a shake,” I tell her, but she’s already rushing off to another table.
Luca pushes one tall shake toward me. “I ordered two, because the last time you wanted a sip of mine, I hardly got any.”
I pluck off the maraschino cherry and pop it in my mouth. “You’re a good guy, Luca Lowell. Unlike the others.”
“What happened with that guy you liked? From your group?”
“What happened? Grass stains.” I turn and stare out the window again. “I don’t know. Who can say? It just didn’t work out.”
“I’m sure you’ll meet someone better,” he says, and he’s so solid and steady—so Luca-like about the whole thing—that as we eat our lunch and talk about how things are going at his garage, I actually believe him.
Chapter 23
Thursday and Friday are marked by a heaviness in my chest that won’t let up.
Why do I feel so terrible? I’m the one who ended things with Drew. He didn’t dump me, because I beat him to it. Is this how the dumper always feels? Honestly, it’s easier being the dumpee.
Every song on the radio is about sadness, and I feel like I have no right to that sadness, but here it is, all up inside me like an invasive weed.
I’ve thought about calling Drew. I even looked up his office address and drove by, but I couldn’t stop the car. What would I even do, anyway? Go into his upscale dental practice, get on the reclining patient chair, and beg him to take me back? Ugh. I can smell the desperation, just from the mental image alone.
Nope. I need to get on with my life, and look for someone more like Luca. Someone gruff, with motor oil stains on his fingers. Someone who swears a lot, maybe.
Better yet, someone who doesn’t speak English.
That would work.
Saturday afternoon, I’m working at Gardenia Flowers when I come across flowers that would be perfect for Drew’s dinner party tonight. I would bring these if I was going. I’m not going, but he should have flowers for everyone to enjoy.
I pull out my phone and jot his address down on a delivery card. The arrangement comes together nicely, and I smile as I think about what a decent gesture this is—sending flowers to apologize for not attending. More people should be this thoughtful.
When our delivery guy shows up, he groans at the additional delivery, but he takes it anyway.
It’s almost six o’clock already. I’d be rushing to close up the shop if I was actually going to Drew’s place instead of just sending very nice, perfectly appropriate flowers.
I close up about ten minutes after, and I pull out my phone as soon as I get into the car. Drew’s address is still on the screen.
My brain suggests I go there. Meenie, you’ve already got the car pointed in the right direction. You might even get there before the flowers. Think of how nice it would be to see Drew’s handsome face smiling at you.
I shake my head to show my brain who’s boss, and I delete the message permanently. Next, I delete Drew’s phone number. There. Now I can’t embarrass myself.
I drive home, feed Muffin, and have a beer. I don’t need to cook, because the food Rory brought is still in the fridge. I warm up the food and enjoy my beverage.
“Pub night at home!” I declare to Muffin. “Beer and hot wings on Saturday night. This is our new thing.”
He keeps grooming his ears, pouting that I won’t give him any of my people food. I’d be happy to share with him, but things like onions and garlic powder are toxic to cats—something my old duvet cover found out the hard way.
Once I’m full of pub food, I let out a big burp and get into my warm blankets on the couch. Time for some quality TV viewing.
I’m at the Tuesday night self-help group, which is weird. I don’t remember driving here.
OH MY GOD I’m not wearing any clothes. Everyone is staring at me. How did I get here with no clothes on, and not notice? This situation defies logic.
Feather takes off a stunning gray cape she’s wearing, which reveals an equally stunning baby, suckling at her breast. She’s ten feet tall. Working with only one free arm, Feather magically fashions the cloak into a dress. She graciously uses it to cover my nakedness.
With the new dress on, I look around the group. At least Drew isn’t here, to my relief.
“Your hair has certainly grown out nice and long,” says someone.
I look across the circle and find my mother sitting in a chair that’s higher than all the other chairs. I think it’s a throne. She’s got two gorgeous men sitting on either side of her, and they’re both grooming her like she’s a movie star. One is buffing her nails and the other one is rubbing night cream on her face.
This is definitely my mother, and not an impostor, because that’s her night cream that she smuggles in by registered mail. I’ve never asked why she can’t legally buy it here in America, because I don’t want to know.
As I’m staring at my mother’s face, wondering how she got back into town without me noticing, a woman walks up behind her and starts talking to me.
It’s her sister, Aunt Jane.
“Meenie, your mother’s speaking to you,” Aunt Jane says. “She said your hair is bleep gorp meep funf.”
I lean forward. “What?”
Everyone laughs.
Feather switches her baby to the other breast, and someone hands her a second baby, which she cradles to the first breast. I want to tear my eyes away, but I can’t stop staring at Feather’s chest. “Meegoop lebby snorb,” she says.