My dad holds up a hand to interrupt me. “No, I actually didn’t know you were engaged.” He winces.
“It was on my Instagram. Do you follow me? I’m @JennaLovesPups. I assumed that was why you wanted to get in touch?”
“Actually, I saw you at the Evergreen Trust Charity Foundation ball, but you disappeared before I could get a chance to talk to you. I heard that Prism PR is representing McCarthy Svensson’s account.”
My stomach sinks.
We don’t know that’s why he wanted to see you. We just don’t know.
“I don’t know if you’ve been on my LinkedIn,” he says as I suck down my wine to keep from sobbing. “But I work at the HopeWorks Foundation. I like to explain to people that it’s a clearinghouse of sorts for charity dollars. You know, if you don’t want the liability of your client’s companydonating to an organization that in five years might have a less savory reputation. We don’t like to think it happens, but these small charities are so poorly run. I heard that you were looking for potential nonprofits to partner with on McCarthy’s behalf?”
I try to steer my brain away from theGilmore Girls-style reunion with my dad and back into business mode.
“The HopeWorks Foundation? Isn’t that where Joseph works? The one McCarthy threw in the fountain? He hates McCarthy. He’s not going to approve that partnership.”
My dad just laughs—not a real laugh but that fake, corporate finance-bro laugh. Nathan’s laugh. “Joseph is the director of the media arm. They handle the podcasts and documentaries and whatnot. I’m on the financial side. We’re less emotional about these things.” He sets down his glass.
“Who makes the final approval on the financial charity contributions, by the way? I’m happy to schedule a meeting with the appropriate person. I think that you’ll find there’s a lot of synergy between our two organizations.”
“I’ll, uh, talk to the client.” My voice sounds faint. I feel like I’m going to pass out.
I look out over the evergreen trees rolling down the steep hill dotted with fancy houses. “I’ve always wanted to live in a place like this,” I say. “It’s beautiful here.”
“It’s a nice neighborhood.” My dad is impatient. “So, you’ll work to get a meeting on the schedule?”
I nod numbly.
“Fantastic.” My dad beams at me and shakes my hand. “I’m glad we got a chance to reconnect.”
It’sdark and drizzling when I step out onto the pavement.
I tried to keep a conversation going with my dad for as long as possible. I felt like I owed my younger self, but it was so painfully obvious that he was trying to hurry me out of the house.
Now here I stand, shivering, a few doors down, near a manicured rose bush. The rain drips on my hair then down my forehead and into my eyes as I wait at the bus stop.
I give in and sit on the waterlogged bus bench. What does it matter now?
“Jenna.”
“God, no.”
“Jenna, what is it? What happened?”
McCarthy’s in a dark raincoat, and the cold drops of water pelting me stop as he holds an oversize black umbrella over us.
I ignore him.
He grabs my shoulder. “Talk to me, Cupcake.”
“I don’t feel like seeing you gloat,” I say to his shoes.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” he asks quietly.
He doesn’t sound mean. I almost want him to be mean so I can have an outlet for my anger and heartbreak.
“It’s not fair.” I grab my middle, doubling over.
McCarthy gathers me to him. “I’ll fuck him up, Cupcake.”
