I winced. “That sounds…interesting.”
“It was adequate. I like my men a bit beefier, but that’s a personal preference. Obviously, however, in light of recent events, I cannot continue to support the Rural Trust.”
I pinched my nose to try not to cry. “I am so sorry about all of this,” I said. “The organization still deserves the support. I’m resigning and won’t be involved, so hopefully this won’t be a black mark on the Rural Trust.”
“The fact that the Svenssons treated you so horribly is a black mark in my book,” Barbara boomed through the phone. “I believe in investing in people. If those men can’t see that you’re a talented, strong, capable woman, and they’re going to treat you like some throwaway hussy, then I don’t want anything to do with them. No, whatever organization you are involved with has my support.”
“I appreciate that. I’m not sure what I’m going to do next, honestly, but I’ll let you know.”
“Right, I suspected as much. I have an interview set up for you at the Holbrook Foundation. They do good work, though they’re a bit institutional. I think you could shake things up over there. Your interview has been scheduled for three p.m. tomorrow. Arrive early. I’m good friends with Nancy. She runs the place over there. She’s expecting you.”
“Thank you. That’s very kind.”
“Don’t mention it. It must have been a shock. Drink a stiff glass of brandy, there’s a good girl. You’ll be right as rain in no time.”
“See!” Erika said, hugging me. “The Holbrooks pay really well, I hear. Your debt will be cleared out, you’re on your way to achieving professional acclaim, and now you just need a man.”
I have one—Parker.
“Don’t think about Parker,” Jasmine said, wagging her finger. “He’s like that Oreo you find under the bed after a night of binge eating sweets and drinking. You think it’s going to let you relive the glory moments, but it’s a trap. It’s stale and covered in fluff.”
“It’s still good,” I protested. “I’ve eaten Oreos like that.”
“You deserve fresh cookies,” Erika said.
“But what if you really like Oreos?”
“Oreos that try to sell people off to a cult don’t deserve to get eaten,” Jasmine said, pouring me a new glass of wine. “Eat your pizza crust. That’s where all the nutrition is.”
“At least my phone is still working,” I said, tapping it.
“And look!” Erika said. “You have a match on Tinder.”
“I can’t,” I said, slumping back on the pillow and half-heartedly biting into a slice of pizza.
“Ooh!” Erika squealed. “He’s hot—like really hot. Six feet four inches, blue eyes, black hair. He’s tall, dark, and handsome, with a face you want to shove between your legs.”
“He is hot, but I wanted a tall, gray-eyed, blond-haired man!” I wailed.
“Stop. Parker is dead to you.”
“I know,” I said sadly.
“He didn’t even call you,” Jasmine insisted. “If he actually missed you, he would call, right?”
“You need to get back out there!” Erika said. “Here—I’m messaging him.” She tapped quickly on the phone. “He likes your corgi picture,” she said, showing me the screen.
“Make him send a shirtless picture,” Jasmine demanded, cutting pieces of the chess pie and handing them out. “He could have just used good lighting on his face.”
“He works in tech. His name is Mark,” Erika said.
“Ask him for a picture!” Jasmine said, clapping her hands to punctuate each word.
“Oooh!” Erika said gleefully. “He sent one. Sadie, look at this.”
“It’s not as nice as Parker’s,” I said, glancing at the phone.
“Goodness gracious, Sadie.”
