Page 18 of Happily Never After

“Please make your answer concise and direct instead of a long story.”

That made me want to smile, the asshole. I lowered my voice and said into the phone, “I’m next in line for a big promotion, so I have no intention of leaving the company just because that little wanker cheated on me. He can leave, and if he doesn’t, he can deal with my presence here.”

I heard a low, deep chuckle that didsomethingto my stomach. “Dear God, you make his life hell on a daily basis, don’t you?”

I shrugged and kind of liked telling someone. “I do my best, yes.”

“Mad respect,” he said. “And I also pity your ex just a little because I have a feeling you’re very good at your job.”

“Thank you, you shouldn’t, and I am.”

“So about the boots. Do you have a pair?”

“Yes, although I have to say it feels a bit ghoulish, destroying lives while wearing a pair of Justins.”

“You’re not destroying lives, you’re saving them.”

“That’s right, I am.”

“That’s right, Steinbeck—youare,” he reiterated, sounding sincere. “Now drop me your address, and I’ll see you tomorrow at three fifteen.”

eight

Max

I don’t knowwhat I expected when I knocked on the door, but it wasn’tthis.

“Who are you?” A tiny white-haired woman in a flowered dress—holding two cats—stood inside the door, the door that had only been opened a crack. Big eyes stared up at me suspiciously from behind a pair of round-framed glasses, and she said, “Sophie doesn’t date, so I find it hard to believe that she invited you over.”

“We aren’t dating,” I said. “We’re friends.”

“Well you’re wearing a lot of cologne for a ‘friend,’ ” she said, and the woman actually did air quotes with her bony fingers.

“Is, um, is your granddaughter here?” I asked, trying to see past the lady.

“For fuck’s sake, Soph isn’t my granddaughter,” she said, rolling her eyes and scratching the black cat’s head. “Just because I have white hair doesn’t mean every goddamn person under the age of fifty is my grandchild.”

“Who’s there?” a second voice yelled, but it wasn’t Sophie, either.

It sounded like another... senior.

What the hell?

“What’s your name?” the woman asked, then added, “Is it Julian? You look like a Julian.”

“No,” I said, unsure ifJulianwas a compliment or an insult. “I’m Max.”

She rolled her eyes again and shouted, “Someone named Max.”

I heard footsteps and then the door was yanked open.

Yep—another senior, only this one was male and wearing skinny jeans with a Green Day T-shirt.

“Hi, I’m Larry.” He crossed his arms, nodded his head at the other one, and said, “This is Rose. What’s your business with Soph?”

“We’re friends and she’s going with me to a wedding,” I said, feeling somehow persecuted as the two elders glared at me. “Is she here?”

“That depends,” Rose said, still peering at me as if I resembled a serial killer.

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