Shifting the kale, I pull out my phone and stare at the photo. McCarthy has his face next to Truman’s, and the dog is grinning, ears flapping in the wind.
McCarthy looks endearing, boyish, like freaking catnip, like a man a girl would want to fall in love with.
“Fake, fake, fake, it’s all fake.”
What if it’s not?
“I’m not going down that road.” I started walking down it when I was a tiny little girl and my mom brought the first of many boyfriends home, and I thought, “Yes, this man will be in my life forever.” Now here we are. McCarthy is standing in front of me, blatantly carving himself up so that he fits nicely in the daddy-issues-sized holein my heart, and I’m letting him do it. He’s literally telling me who he is, and I am not believing him.
I sneak another look at the photo and runbanginto a light post.
It’s a sign. I am turning into my mother.
A car horn wheezes.
“Back from the farmers’ market, I see!” Zephyr calls as Cher rumbles up beside me. “I can’t stop the van. I think something’s wrong with the clutch.”
Probably nothing at all to do with the bomb that Granny Mavis set off.
“Booo, boring!” Granny Mavis yells at me as I jog beside the car. “You should be out looking for a man.”
The door slides open.
“Hannah!”
“Oh my god.” She grabs my arm. “I thought your stalker got you! You weren’t answering your phone, and I called your stepdad.”
“Get in, loser. We’re going to the vet.” Granny Mavis helps pull me into the van.
Magnum is hacking up a lung in the back seat.
“He has his yearly checkup.”
“You need to put that poor dog out of his misery, Mavis,” Rainbow declares.
“Isn’t that nice-looking kale?” Zephyr inspects the enormous bushel of greens in my arms.
“No! No kale. We have kale at home,” Granny Mavis complains.
“How are you, Jenna?” Zephyr asks me kindly as we trundle down the road.
“On the plus side, I’m still employed. Downside is I think I’m legally homeless at this point.”
“The Haven Foundation used to be here,” Rainbow says wistfully. “They could have set you up with resources.”
“My great-granddaughter doesn’t need resources. She needs to find herself a man.”
“I’m done with men. I’m decentering,” I declare.
“You are?” My friend is shocked. “You always have a boyfriend.”
“That’s exactly my problem. But no more. I’m taking charge. I don’t need a man to protect me; I can do it all by myself.”
McCarthy sends me another photo.
“Is that Truman?” Hannah’s staring over my shoulder. “AndMcCarthy?”
“Look,” I hiss at my friend. “I’m not in my season of good decision-making.”
