Alec shakes his head, a wary expression filling his face. “A sociopath?”
“Exactly,” I say, with a frustrated laugh. “You stayed with Mr. Spock for three days and didn’t poison him once. She was in my apartment for all of one minute and my poor kitty almost exploded.” Throwing my hands in the air, I add, “And she sent me a glitter bomb! Do you know how hard it is to rid your entire home of glitter? It’s worse than having bed bugs. We might as well just burn down the building.” I’m ranting now, really loud too so I’m sure the whole team is hearing every word. “Then she called me a two-timer and a liar on national television? That’s going to do wonders for my career.”
“Not to mention your dating life,” he says with a look of trepidation.
“Crap, I didn’t even think about that, but you’re right. Who’s going to date me now? No nice, normal, intelligent woman is going to have anything to do with me after all the abuse Serafina hurled at me. She made me sound like a real loser.”
While I continue complaining, Alec steps forward, takes one of the legs in one hand and starts to unscrew it.
My shoulders drop. “Are you serious? It just unscrews without a safety latch?”
“Apparently.”
I collapse into my chair and look up at Alec. “What a mess,” I groan.
“It’s not that bad,” Alec says. He’s already taking off the last leg. “We can have your old office setup by muffin time.”
“No, I meant my life. This is why they say don’t fish off the company pier.”
“Who says that?” Alec asks, narrowing his eyes.
“I don’t know. People, I guess.”
“You went fishing at Cape Canaveral?”
“It’s an expression about not engaging in workplace romances …”
“Gotcha. Yeah, that didn’t exactly work out for you,” he tells me.
Thanks for your support, Alec.
My phone rings and I pluck it off the coffee table. My heart is pounding at the thought that it’s Serafina. But it’s not. It’s Gwen. Suddenly I remember what I said about her family on TV. “Crap. I’m afraid my ugly scenes aren’t over for the day.”
“I’ll leave you to it,” Alec says, hightailing it out of my office and closing the door.
“Gwen, I’m so, so sorry,” I say in place of hello.
“I cannot believe you threw me under the bus like that, on live television, no less! What is wrong with you?”
Crap. Angry Gwen is a force to be reckoned with. “Honestly, I completely forgot the cameras were there.”
“How in the hell would someone forget they’re on a stage in front of a live studio audience and that they’re being broadcast across America?!” she yells.
“There’s no excuse, I was just extremely ang—”
“The bit about Dr. Kwak? Are you kidding me? You called my entire family meddling busybodies? And you made me look like a complete liar to all of them. Did you forget we were pretending to be a couple?” She’s full-on raging now and I’m going to do exactly what one should do when they’ve been a total idiot. I’m going to sit here and take it. “And that kiss? Well, my goodness, no wonder I never had a shot because you were already clearly very in love with someone else.”
“To be fair, I wasn’t in love with her when we first met.”
She pauses for a breath, then really lets me have it. “You’re an idiot. Of course you were in love with her. Why else would you sign up for her dating app just to prove her wrong?”
“I know it sounds bad, but—”
“It is bad,” Gwen shouts. “You’re a sicko, you know that? A total sicko. You used me to ruin another woman’s career. Not only that, but my whole family thinks I’m pathetic now.”
“I wasn’t trying to ruin her career; I was trying to save other people a lot of heartache. And when I met you, I really liked you. I honestly do want to have you in my life as a friend.”
“That rocket has already blasted off, buddy,” she growls. “And it’s never coming back to Earth. NEVER. Delete my number because I don’t ever want to hear from you again, you … you sick pig.”
She hangs up on me, leaving me to think about what she said.
I am a sicko.
A sick, science-loving, bad man. No wonder Mr. Spock is the only long-term relationship I’ve ever had. Well, him and my mom, Lita, and Lynda. They’ll always be there for me. I stare around at the chaos that used to be a very nice office, realizing nothing will ever be the same again. I was in love, really in love, for the first time in my pathetic life, but I’ve gone and screwed it up so badly, it’s over forever.
While I want to think I was justified in what I did, that conversation with Gwen really brought the truth home. I did what I did because I wanted to be right. My stupid intellectual pride has really screwed me over this time.
My phone buzzes and I see an incoming text from my mom. Oh, nice. This should make me feel better.
Mom: I thought you should know, Lita, Lynda, and I are all VERY disappointed in you, Ben. We still love you, of course, but we cannot condone or respect what you’ve done. Maybe it’s time you moved home where you’ll have better influences in your life. It seems like those space people are leading you to forget humans have hearts that can be broken.
Et tu, L-Triad?
Thirty-Nine
Serafina
My brain hurts, my heart is broken, and my pride is positively shattered. It’s bad enough that Ben is a two-timing man-whore, but he also set out to ruin me at the same time he was wooing me? How could I have fallen for that?
I slam into my apartment like I’m Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, late for my mid-morning grilled chicken feast. Charley is sitting on the couch staring at me, but she wisely sits back and watches me before saying anything.
“Did you see it?” I demand.
She nods her head tentatively, so I ask, “Can you believe it?”
Shoulder shrug.
“I swear to God, first my dating app doesn’t work for crap and then this? This is a debacle of Titanic proportions.” I fall onto the sofa as though my bones have melted. “I’m sunk. My career is over, and my love life remains a non-existent wasteland of sadness.”
“Uh-oh,” Charley mutters.
“What do you mean by that?” I demand harshly.
“I mean that when you allow drama to get the better of you, we’re in for a wild ride.”
“Drama?” I yell. Then repeat, “Drama?! You think I’m being dramatic? You don’t think my reaction is justified?”
She rolls her eyes.
“Charlotte Francesca Jenkins, don’t you dare call me dramatic. I have been run through the wringer of life. I have been treated more harshly than I’ve ever been. My life is a tornado of grief.” Then, as if on cue, sobs erupt from my soul. I cry and snuffle and weep until I’ve exhausted myself. Charley remains silent.
When the buzzer rings announcing a guest, I cover my head with a pillow and declare, “I’m not receiving visitors right now.”
“Oh. My. God,” Charley mutters as she walks to the intercom. “Who is it?” I hear her ask.
“Hey, Charley, it’s Zay.”
She buzzes him up before saying, “I know Your Highness said she wasn’t receiving, but it’s your brother.”
“You’re making fun of me,” I pout.
“Glad you noticed. I feel for you, Sera, I do. You’re just being so melodramatic about this. It’s not like you guys were in love or anything.”
I don’t answer her or make eye contact, which has her asking, “Were you?”
I remain silent.
Charley demands, “Was it rom-com insta-love? Oh, Sera, that’s the best! I’ve got to tell you that if that’s what it is, then you and Ben are still going to wind up together. How exciting!”
“As if. There’s no way on earth I can ever forgive that man for what he’s done to me. He … he … he ran a harpoon straight into my heart!” I release another anguished sob.
Charley
jumps up when the doorbell rings and lets in Zay, who walks straight toward me carrying a bakery box and a grocery bag. “We’d best commence phase one,” he declares.
“Phase one?” Charley asks.
Nodding his head, my brother tells her, “When Sera has a broken heart, she requires copious amounts of sweets and comfort items.”
“Too much will knock her off balance,” Charley warns.
“It’s how she rolls. First, she’ll overindulge to the point of making herself sick. Then she’ll go so far in the opposite direction that she’ll eschew all things she loves as punishment, and finally the scales will balance out and she’ll be back to normal.” He feels the need to add, “You know, as normal as she can be.”
“Wow,” Charley says. “Does this happen often?”
“This will only be the fifth time since she’s graduated from college.”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not even here!” I yell. Then I open the box full of donuts and take one in each hand.
Charley looks at me with surprise registered on her face. “You’re going to double-fist it?”
With my mouth full, I tell her, “Yup, not only that, I’m not going to stop until I’ve consumed six donuts.” Then I ask Zay, “Did you bring a can of whipped cream?” When he nods his head, I tell him, “Grab it and spray some on my donuts, will you?”
“I’ve never seen you like this,” Charley says. “I feel like I should help you somehow.”
“If you want to help, make me a cup of hot chocolate and call down to the Surrey Diner and order two family-size french fries with extra ranch.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not going to enable you.”
“What are you, forty?” I practically snarl. “I’m going to get what I want whether you help me or not, so you’d better just earn your pay and do what I tell you to do.”
Charley stands as still as a statue. Before she can click into gear, my brother says, “Aside from aiding you in your grief process, Ser, I’ve brought news for Charley.” Then he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a newspaper and hands it to her. “Your article came out today.”
Charley grabs it so fast I barely see her hands move. “I didn’t think it was coming out until next week.”
“It wasn’t supposed to, but The Post had to pull another article and they put yours in its place. You even got a better slot. They put you on the first page of the People section right next to Kim Kardashian.”
“What?” Charley rips the paper open before falling into a bean bag chair. She reads quietly for a minute before reciting, “According to fellow Mathlete Jacob Fein, Charley Jenkins is one cool chick.” Charley drops the paper in her lap before flailing her arms and screaming like she’s being attacked by a swarm of bees.
“Isn’t Jacob Fein ‘Hunky Pants McHottiestein’?” I ask her. At my brother’s questioning look, I explain, “Just the most studly math nerd at Eleanor Falls Academy.”
“He’s a senior,” Charley interjects. “We had the same advanced calculus class, but he never even looked at me, let alone spoke to me. I can’t believe he said I was cool.” She picks the paper up again and reads while giving us the highlights. The principal said she was a tribute to private school education, and Tiffany Connor — head cheerleader and mean girl extraordinaire — said that she always thought Charley should be a model, and that some girls felt threatened by her because she’s so smart and beautiful, but not Tiffany (who apparently was one of her BFFs and really wishes she were back in the halls of Eleanor Falls).
“Sera, thank you, thank you, thank you for letting me be on Wake Up America! with you and for suggesting this article.” Then she turns to Zay and adds, “Please thank Shelby for me for passing the idea on to her mom.”
I stare at my brother and young employee, who have completely forgotten that my life is falling apart at this very moment. They continue to chatter excitedly about the newspaper article, leaving me to fend for myself.
“Fine,” I mutter, even though they clearly aren’t listening. “I’ll just get my own whipped cream.” I grab the can and spray it over all the donuts that are left in the box. Then I turn my attention to eating as many of them as I can, hating myself for not being mature enough to let Charley have her moment in the sun.
I am actually thrilled for her to have such epic revenge on her horror show of a high school career. I’m just having a hard time showing it at the moment. Finally, when there are only five donuts left in the box and my stomach is stretched out to maximum capacity, I smile at my young friend and say, “I’m really happy for you.”
Zay and Charley both stop talking and turn to me with matching expressions of horror.
“What?”
“How did you manage to get sprinkles on your forehead?” Zay asks.
“I don’t have sprinkles on my forehead.”
“Yeah, you do,” Charley says, pointing and making a wide circle to indicate the spread of tiny hard candy bits that I can’t feel for some reason. “And you’re literally covered in icing sugar.”
I glance down at my dress and see she’s right. I don’t care, but she is right. “Forget about that. I said I’m happy for you. You did what few people manage, which is to get sweet, sweet revenge on the jerks in your high school.”
Charley grins while Zay narrows his eyes at me. “Nope. Do not even think about it.”
“What?” I ask innocently, even though I know he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“You’re wondering how you can get your revenge on Dr. Banana Pants.”
“I am not!” I spit out, even though I totally am.
“You want me to order another glitter bomb?” Charley asks.
“You sent him a glitter bomb?” Zay asks, rubbing his temples with both hands. “What are you, twelve?”
I shrug as if to say pretty much. The donuts expand a little more, making me feel very much like I imagine a beached whale would feel. “Quick, get me some black olives. I need to balance out the sugar.”
Forty
Ben
Dev emailed me at the very end of the day yesterday and told me to report to him first thing this morning, which can’t be good. After a night of tossing and turning under the weight of regret, I’m still exhausted, even after four cups of high-test coffee. The only plus of being up all night is that I managed to write and memorize an apology speech to end all apology speeches that I’m about to use right about … now.
I knock lightly, even though Dev’s door is open. Without looking up, he says, “Come in and shut the door.”
Nuts. I do as he says, then sit down on the chair across from his desk and just wait while he taps away at his computer. After a good long minute, he lets out a sigh, then sits back and folds his arms. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”
“There’s no way I can begin to express the depth of regret I feel about how I’ve conducted myself. I lost sight of our mission and I’ve humiliated not only myself, but NASA, and my friend Gwen as well as her family.” I sigh before continuing, “I never should have allowed my personal feelings to come into play while acting as a representative of the team, and if you want to let me go, I completely understand.”
He stares at me, his brown eyes boring into mine like he’s trying to see into my soul to determine if I’m really sorry or if I’m just saying what I think he wants to hear. “Have I ever mentioned my oldest son is currently employed as a male stripper?”
What? I shake my head.
“There’s a reason for that. He got a full academic ride to Harvard and pissed it away to strip for horny old women. He’s been the single largest disappointment in my life.”
Okay, so maybe it’s not as bad as I thought. It’s not like I’ve taken my intellectual abilities for granted or something…
“Until now…”
Damn. It’s much worse.
“Do you know what you were supposed to do on Wake Up America!?”
I start to answer but he holds up one finger t
o stop me. “You were supposed to make astronomy more accessible, more fun, more exciting. You were supposed to make us heroes again. Do you think you did that, Ben?”
Shaking my head, I open my mouth, but he says, “Ah-a-a,” which must mean it’s still not my turn to talk. If he doesn’t want me to say anything, he should really stop asking me questions. “You confirmed for the American people that we’re narrow-minded intellectual snobs who are also, ironically, too stupid to remember we’re on national television. Are we too stupid to behave in a manner befitting of the greatest space agency on the planet, Ben?”
I stare, waiting for him to go on, which apparently is the wrong choice, because he barks, “Answer me!”
Crap. Now I’ve completely forgotten the question. Oh, right. Are we stupid? “Yes. No, I mean we’re not, I am.”
“Do you know what I spent my day doing yesterday?”
“No, I—”
“Be quiet. I’m the one who’s talking here,” Dev says.
“I spent the day taking calls from reporters who wanted the inside scoop, a four-star general who was mad as hell about your conduct and wants you court-martialled—”
“Court-martialed? That’s not a thing at NASA.” Is it?
“If he has his way, it will be.”
“You know who else called me? Some woman named June Devereaux, who you called” — he glances down to consult his notes — “a meddling busybody. Looks like we’re going to hear from her lawyer for a defamation suit.”
I snort at that, even though I really shouldn’t. “Good luck with that, June.” Dev’s nostrils flare and I mutter, “Sorry.”
“If all of that wasn’t enough, your mother called.”
My shoulders slump. Seriously, my mom?
“We wound up having quite the long chat about you. Apparently, Lydia thinks I should force you to go home for a few months to get your head on straight. I’m not sure she’s wrong about that.”
“You can’t actually send me home,” I tell him. “You can fire me, but you can’t physically put me on a plane to Oregon.”
Text Wars: May the Text be With You ... (An Accidentally in Love Story Book 3) Page 20