The Happy Ever After Playlist

by Abby Jimenez

“You and me.”

  “How do you know that I’m qualified to be on your zombie apocalypse survival team?”

  “Are you?”

  I scoffed. “Of course. But you didn’t know that. Do you always give out important jobs to people without checking their qualifications? It seems to be a thing with you.” I pulled a blanket over Tucker and me and grabbed my iced coffee, snuggling deeper into the sofa.

  “You’re right. Totally right. Admission into my survival compound is contingent upon a satisfactory comprehensive interview, illustration of survival skills, and a thorough physical. I’ll be conducting the physical personally.”

  I laughed, hard.

  “Okay, so provided I’ve passed all of your tests, we’d be holed up in a rural—what? Cabin?” I asked, putting the straw to my lips, still smiling.

  “Yes, on my property in northern Minnesota where we could live off the land until things blow over.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Live off the land? Do you know how?”

  “Did you think Tucker was just a pretty face?”

  “You hunt? With Tucker?” I looked down at him. Brandon would have loved a hunting dog.

  The phone shuffled, and Jason was quiet for a moment. “Check your phone.”

  A picture came through of Tucker wearing a life jacket at the bow of a small fishing boat on a choppy-looking lake. A shotgun rested against the boat bench, and a gray, cloudy sky loomed behind him.

  Jason wasn’t in the picture, and I felt a pang of disappointment. Then I felt disappointment in myself. I had become some sort of voyeur over this beautiful man.

  It felt strange to be attracted to someone and even weirder to be attracted to someone I’d never met before. I hadn’t really noticed another man since Brandon died. It kind of felt like cheating.

  “And do you cook this meat that you kill?” I asked.

  “The meat is eaten,” he said, sounding somewhat evasive.

  “You give it to your mom,” I deadpanned.

  He laughed. “She’s an excellent cook. There’s no shame in giving it to my mom.”

  “So you hunt. You’re familiar with firearms. You’ve got a bunker in the woods. You do seem like a good candidate for zompoc survival,” I allowed. “I might join your team. Not sure how I’d feel about holing up in northern Minnesota in the winter, though.”

  “You’d be surprised at how warm the cabin gets once the fire gets going. And we could always share body heat.”

  I arched my eyebrows. “You are awfully flirty for a man who’s never seen me before. What if I’m hideous?”

  “So you object to me flirting with you based solely on your personality?”

  He had me there. “And what if I have a boyfriend?”

  “Do you?”

  I smirked. “That sounds like a question for tomorrow’s round of truth or picture.”

  “Come on, you’re not going to give me one freebie? It’s a simple yes or no. Shouldn’t I know if Tucker is spending time with another man?”

  I snorted. “Really? You’re going to make this about Tucker?”

  “I just think we should discuss it if my dog is going to be around an unfamiliar male influence. I don’t want to confuse him,” he said in a mock-serious tone.

  I rolled my eyes and laughed. “No, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

  “All right. See? How hard was that? I’m single too. Now we can move on. So what makes you qualified to be on my zombie survival team?”

  “Where are you?” I asked. “Don’t you have a job? Aren’t I keeping you from something important?”

  “Are you avoiding the question? Is it possible that you’ve oversold your ability to survive a zombie apocalypse? It feels like you’re sidestepping. Answer the interview question, please.”

  God, he was fun.

  “Oh, I’m qualified, believe me. I just wondered how you have so much time for phone calls during your fancy filming-on-location work trip.”

  “It’s only eight a.m. here. I have something later, but not until noon. I’ve got time to hear all about how you’d make a good addition to my end-of-days squad. Stop changing the subject.”

  “How about this,” I said, switching the phone to my other ear. “I’ll send you a link that’ll explain exactly why I’d make a good survivalist. But if I do, you have to give me an extra day with Tucker.”

  He sucked in air. “I don’t know. I miss him pretty badly. Waiting an extra day to see him when I get back is a tall order.”

  “I think you’ll really appreciate my skill set,” I said, in my best salesperson’s voice. “And there’s a photo of me. It’s old and grainy, but if you zoom in, you might get a rough, pixelated idea of what I generally look like.”

  “Pixelated, huh? Sounds sexy. Here’s an idea, how about we share him on your extra day? Take him somewhere together.”

  Together? I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. “Like where?”

  “On a hike somewhere. You pick. You’re the local. I don’t really know anyone in LA, and I love the outdoors. It would be nice to have someone show me some good hikes.”

  I considered this. I wanted the extra day with Tucker. But the thought of going somewhere with Jason was a little daunting. It felt too much like a date. And I liked him, I realized. I liked talking to him. And that made going somewhere with him feel like a betrayal of Brandon. That was stupid and irrational, but it did. But I guessed I could always opt out if I decided against it when it rolled around. After all, it was my extra day.

  “Okay. You have a deal. Give me a second to get to the page. Hold on.”

  I found the blog and sent him the link just as Kristen knocked on my screen. Tucker bolted up and ran to the door, barking.

  “Hey, I sent you the link, but I have to go,” I said quickly. “A friend just came over. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

  Chapter 5

  Jason

  ♪ Give Me a Try | The Wombats

  Room service showed up with my breakfast right as I hung up with Sloan.

  I poured myself a black coffee and sat on the bed with my plate on my lap and tapped the link she’d sent me. When the blog came up on my phone, I stared at it, my fork halfway to my mouth.

  No. Fucking. WAY.

  My thumbs couldn’t move fast enough over my phone.

  Jason: Are you trying to tell me you’re The Huntsman’s Wife?

  I waited. The dots didn’t appear, and I went back to the blog with my mouth open.

  The Huntsman’s Wife was a well-known website containing recipes for wild game. In hunting circles, it was the go-to for good wild meat dishes. Mom used it religiously when Dad, my brother David, and I brought home our hauls. Hell, everyone who hunted used it.

  Tucker had scored The Huntsman’s Wife as his dog-sitter? Un-fucking-believable.

  I went right for the About tab and scoured the contents. It was brief.

  If you’re here, you’re probably looking at some ridiculous amount of wild something or other in your freezer, wondering, “What the hell do I do with this?”

  I laughed, hearing Sloan’s voice as I read.

  I’m here to help. My man is an avid hunter and I am an enthusiastic chef. Enjoy.

  At the bottom of the About page, as promised, was a small picture of a smiling man in camo posing with a crossbow. A blond woman with tattoos down her arm stood on her toes, kissing him on the cheek. She wore light-gray capris and a white tank top with her braided waist-length hair in a pink bandana.

  I tried zooming in and the photo distorted severely. I couldn’t really make out her face. All I got from the picture was long hair and a nice figure.

  I looked back at the man in the photo.

  Mom had said, rather disappointedly, that The Huntsman’s Wife hadn’t been updated with any new recipes in years. Was it because the hunter in Sloan’s life had died?

  The site contained no other information to give me a clue as to who she was. She signed off on every post as “The Huntsman’s Wife.”
No last name to google or search on Instagram.

  It didn’t escape me that I wanted to shamelessly google her, just like the creeper she accused me of being, but my curiosity about her had just gone from moderate to extreme. I was impressed. Really impressed.

  I scrolled through the blog, looking at it with a new appreciation. I could taste some of the familiar dishes in my memory. Some of these were my family’s favorites. The slow cooker Dr Pepper boar pot roast, the venison Bolognese, rosemary smothered pheasant. It was incredible to think I’d eaten Sloan’s food without ever having met her in person, that she’d already been in my life in this way for years. It was like I already knew her.

  Mom was going to flip. Shit, everyone back home was gonna flip. And I’d just weaseled my way into a date with her. I should play the lottery with my luck.

  My phone pinged.

  Sloan: So did I make the team?

  I smiled.

  Jason: Oh, yes. You’re definitely on the team. Looking forward to the apocalypse.

  Chapter 6

  Sloan

  ♪ Future | Paramore

  I must have looked guilty when I hung up with Jason so quickly because Kristen eyed me suspiciously as she let herself into my house.

  “Who was that?” She dropped a bag from In-N-Out on my coffee table, flopped onto the sofa beside me, and ruffled Tucker’s fur.

  I debated lying to her. I don’t know why. Maybe because Jason was a man and he wasn’t Brandon and that made me feel guilty? But she’d see it on my face if I lied. She always saw through me.

  “That was Jason, Tucker’s owner.”

  Her eyebrows went up.

  I shrugged. “It’s nothing. He’s taking Tucker back.”

  Her gaze softened. “He is? I’m sorry, Sloan. I know you really got attached to him.” She dipped her head a bit to look me in the eye. “Now quit fucking with me and tell me what’s really going on.”

  My eyes narrowed. “I don’t know why I bother trying to keep things from you.”

  “I don’t know why you bother either.”

  I let out a breath through my nose. “We’ve kind of been talking.”

  “Talking?” She grinned.

  “Yes. Texting and on the phone.” Then I scoffed. “And wait until you see this.”

  I grabbed my phone and went to the pictures Jason had sent me of him and Tucker. I handed it over to her and waited as she looked at them.

  Her eyes flew wide. “This is Jason?”

  “That is Jason. And he’s nice. And funny. And really, really flirty.”

  “And he has a great dog,” she said.

  “Yes, and he has a great dog.”

  “Is he single?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is he asking you things like whether or not you’re single?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  She beamed, handing my phone back. “Have you met him?” Then she looked over at Tucker. “Why is his dog still here?”

  “He’s in Australia for work for a few more weeks. I’m keeping Tucker for him until he gets back.”

  My phone pinged and I glanced at it. It was Jason. My eyes shot up to Kristen, and she arched an eyebrow.

  “Is that him?” she asked, smiling like the Cheshire Cat. “Is it a dick pic? Is it amazing?”

  “No, it is not a dick pic. Ewww.” If he ever sent me one of those, this little back-and-forth would come to an abrupt end. “He wants to know if The Huntsman’s Wife is my blog.”

  Her eyes lit up. “Are you posting again?”

  “No, it’s a long story, how that came up.” I pursed my lips. “Why do I feel guilty about this?”

  “Because you haven’t dated since Brandon. Because you’re like a hermit. You remind me of those veiled Italian widows from the Old World, wearing black and lighting Virgin Mary candles, shuffling around with their rosaries and—”

  I hit her with a throw pillow and she laughed.

  “Seriously, Sloan. You’re a hot bombshell. You’re beautiful and talented, and you deserve to be happy again. This recluse stuff is bullshit.”

  “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

  “No, I mean it, Sloan. Josh and I talked about this a few days ago. We’re staging an intervention. We decided that once the two-year mark hit, we weren’t going to let you continue to make your life a shrine to Brandon. Enough is enough.”

  I looked at her tiredly. “I don’t choose to feel like this, Kristen.”

  “Like hell you don’t. You used to be one of the most driven people I know. You had galleries fighting over your work.” She looked around the living room, and when her eyes fell on my most recent commissioned artwork, she turned to me accusatorily. “This is the shit I’m talking about. What is that? A fucking astronaut cat?”

  I had the sense to look abashed.

  “You’re a crazy-talented artist. Look at the crap you’re painting. You choose this.”

  I sighed. She was right. She was right about all of it.

  “Do shit that makes you happy. Why don’t you paint something you like? Paint Tucker.” She shook her head at me. “And that guy? You should climb him like a tree. Or at the very least shake his branches. See what kind of nuts fall out.”

  I laughed. Then I bit my lip. “Okay. You’re right. I will try.”

  “You need to get laid. Find a guy who’ll fuck you like he just got out of prison. Oh! Let’s get you a Brazilian wax!” she said suddenly. “Let’s vagazzle you! We’ll make your vagina shiny and new!”

  I recoiled in horror and her eyes danced mischievously.

  “Oh my God, no.”

  “Yes. My treat. I want the cobwebs yanked off that thing.”

  My eyelid twinged. “You are awful.”

  “I pushed a small human out of this body. My vagina is destroyed. I have to live vicariously through your vagina.”

  We both giggled.

  “If I agree, will you stop saying ‘vagina’?”

  * * *

  Kristen stayed until almost 11:00 p.m. I’d sent Jason a quick text asking him if I’d made his zombie survival team. He’d said I had. That was the last of our back-and-forth for the day.

  The next morning, Tucker woke me up at 7:30. That was another good thing about Tucker, he got me out of bed. He always wanted to be let out before 8:00 and he made sure I knew it. After I took him out, I couldn’t ever get back to sleep, so I stayed up and started my day. I used to sleep until noon, sometimes later. I liked the earlier routine. It gave me more sunlight hours, and the sun perked me up.

  To my surprise my phone vibrated at exactly 9:00 a.m. It was Jason.

  I wondered if he’d waited until 9:00 on purpose, so he wouldn’t text me too early. It made me smile to think he’d sat there watching the time, waiting for the exact moment it would be acceptable to text.

  Jason: You up?

  Sloan: I am. Your dog doesn’t sleep in. What time is it there?

  Jason: 2:00 a.m., Thursday. Just got back to the hotel. Wednesday there, right?

  Sloan: Yup. Late night for you.

  Jason: Rehearsing. So who came over?

  He was fishing. I smiled.

  Sloan: My best friend, Kristen.

  Jason: Did you talk about me?

  I blanched. Then I panicked. How was I supposed to respond to that? Yes, we talked about you? My best friend advised me to climb you like a tree in search of your nuts? And then we talked about my vagina? Of course I was going to lie. But I was too guilty to think up a believable one on the fly. I was weighing my responses when another text came through.

  Jason: You totally talked about me.

  My thumbs jumped into action.

  Sloan: I did not.

  Jason: Liar. If you didn’t talk about me, what did you talk about?

  Sloan: I may have mentioned you in a casual, very platonic way. Briefly.

  Jason: Did you tell her about our date?

  Sloan: It’s not a date.

  It wasn’t. Right?

 
Jason: What would you call it?

  I put my palm up in exasperation.

  Sloan: An appointment.

  Jason: Huh. How do I get it switched to a date?

  Sloan: You don’t.

  I chewed on my thumbnail. The dots jumped, and I waited to see what he had to say in response to my rebuff.

  Jason: When I tell my friends about it, I’m calling it a date. You can’t stop me. There’s literally nothing you can do about it.

  I laughed. This guy. He did not lack confidence, that was for sure.

  I decided, in the spirit of keeping my promise to Kristen, to give him something small.

  Sloan: I’m 26.

  Jason: Another freebie! I’m 29. What high school did you graduate from?

  I smirked. He was sneaky.

  Sloan: Nice try. Then you’ll Google my yearbook and figure out my last name.

  Jason: I’ll tell you my last name if you tell me yours.

  Sloan: Nope.

  Jason: It’s a really great last name.

  Sloan: I’m sure it is. Not gonna happen, though.

  Jason: Truth or dare?

  Sloan: No.

  Jason: Spin the bottle?

  Sloan: No!

  I was giggling now.

  Jason: Monopoly???

  Sloan: Yes, I will play Monopoly with you someday.

  Jason: Now things are getting exciting.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  Chapter 7

  Jason

  ♪ Talk Too Much | COIN

  The massive time difference between Melbourne and California was fucking with me. I wish I could say I was jet-lagged, but the real issue was that I had to put off texting Sloan so I didn’t wake her up in the middle of the night. Poking her had become my new favorite pastime.

  We’d chatted and texted on and off all day Thursday, my time, but I got slammed the whole day Friday with rehearsals and sound checks. She’d sent me a picture of Tucker and I’d shot her a one-word reply. After that I didn’t get a second to breathe until after dinner. At 7:00 p.m. Australia time, it was 1:00 a.m. for Sloan.