Page 89 of Grumpy Puck

“What?I’m not.”

“Why not congratulate me for getting the job?Why not tell me I’m better off without him?Why not?—”

“Look, I’m not the one you’re mad at,” Seraphina says.

“Don’t tell me whom to be mad at.”

“You know what?This conversation is over,” Seraphina says.“Call me when you’re ready to apologize.”

I’m about to counter with something along the lines of that happening on one chilly day in hell, but she already hung up on me.

Asshole.

I fume all the way to the hotel, then drag myself out of my funk by rehearsing an actual show with my rats—an activity that makes me feel a tiny bit better.But not that much.

The next day, the first thing I do is call Linda from HR, but then I recall that it’s Saturday and hang up.To my shock, she calls me back, so I apologize profusely for the short notice and give my resignation.

“That saves us from making a difficult choice,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Ted is back,” she says.“And it turns out that missing work was beyond his control.”

Ah.Right.So that part of Michael’s crazy story is true.

“Great,” I say.“Glad you don’t have to fire me.”

“I didn’t say we were going to,” she says.“You did us all a huge favor with the ‘Honey and Boo Boo’ business, so?—”

“That’s over also,” I say.

There’s no way Michael would be willing to pretend to be with me, and vice versa.

“PR will be disappointed, but I completely understand,” Linda says.“Best of luck to you with your future endeavors.”

I thank her and hang up, somehow still feeling guilty for ditching the hockey team like this.No goodbye to Coach.No sayonara to Dante or any of the others.

Shit.I haven’t even told my parents about my move—though telling Seraphina means they know by now.My sister is like a Klaunbut internet.

Still, I call to tell them officially, and my heart squeezes when they tell me how happy they are for me.

“So sad about Michael,” Mom says just as I was about to tell her about that part.“Your sister told us you broke up.”

“Yeah,” Dad says.“I liked him a lot more than What’s-his-face.”

What’s-his-face is what everyone calls most of my other exes, and I think it’s because the dislike was mutual in those cases.

“I have to go,” I say, not ready to discuss Michael.

“Sure,” Mom says.“Break a leg.”

I hang up with a smile, which turns into a frown as I check my phone for any calls, texts, or emails from Michael.

There are none.

Just as I thought.It’s over.I’m never going to hear from him again.

Was Seraphina right?It’s true that every boyfriend I’ve ever had dumped me after meeting my family.Did I break things off with Michael so fast because I was afraid it would happen again, no matter what he said about liking my family and wanting me to stay?

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