Accordingto the cookie display in the front window of Cookie Madness, today is Kangaroo Awareness Day. I wave at the clerks and continue on, past the flower store.

Square of cardboard.

I spent forever picking out that square of cardboard, and even more time figuring out what to write on that square of cardboard.

But does Hugo care?

I get it, he wants to open it alone. He doesn’t like surprises, but did he have to be so eager to get rid of me?

I stop at the bookstore to pick up a little pressie for Kelsey—the newest in a mystery series where an old woman and her cat solve mysteries at a retirement village.

I wait for the clerk to ring me up hating that Hugo still has the power to hurt me. How is that still possible? I thought I was past that!

I need a way to shock myself every time I think smitten thoughts about Hugo. I had a friend who snapped her wrist with a rubber band when she thought about chocolate. I need something stronger. An electric shock. Salt-coated spikes that dig into my arm.

According to the gossip rags, Hugo dates brainy supermodel types—women with big important Wall Street jobs and nary a hair out of place. Perfect women with perfect pedigrees. The opposite of me.

I walk into Gourmet Goose, all smiles, as though I don’t remember what happened the last time. It’s a two-cheeseball night—one for me and one for Kelsey and anybody who might stop by. I can say with full honesty that I’ll be sharing this time.

I grab a pack of crackers and examine today’s cheeseball offerings. “My friends are going to be so excited!”

“I’ll sell you the crackers, but you know I can’t sell you a cheeseball,” Greta says, somehow seeming both bored and angry at the same time.

“But I’m having guests! It’s practically a cheeseball party!”

Greta arches one eyebrow. “I think we both know what your idea of a cheeseball party is.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

She comes up to the counter and looks me square in the eyes. “Can you guarantee me that none of these cheeseballs will be eaten with a spoon?”

I hesitate, taken aback by her directness.

“Cheeseballs are for entertaining. End of story. Buy yourself flowers.”

“I don’t want flowers,” I say, fighting back stupid, stupid tears.

I want a cheeseball.

I want to not have gotten pre-fired from my dream job.

I want off the wheel of emotions I’ve been on ever since catching sight of grown-up Hugo, but I’m trapped here, wheeling away like the saddest hamster ever.

ChapterSixteen

Hugo

I leanStella’s unopened card against the lone candleholder that marks the precise center of my dining room table and then I head to the kitchen and get to work on a savory roasted vegetable medley, diligently cutting each piece to uniform size to ensure even cooking. While the veggies roast, I grill a chicken breast, paying meticulous attention to time and temperature.

Fifteen minutes later I’m at the head of the table, mixing the vegetables to get a uniform distribution of colors and taste. My perfectly grilled chicken breast rests diagonally. The silverware is positioned symmetrically on the left side of the plate, forming an acute angle that complements the dish’s visual balance.

And there in front of me sits the envelope.

I can’t smell it from here, but I happen to know that the scent is bright flowers mixed with something earthy.

The mix is very Stella; she loved all kinds of different things. You’d see her shooting hoops with neighborhood kids, all messy hair and unruly bravado, and then a couple hours later she and her wild girlfriends would head out with their blow-dried hair and sparkly outfits—hidden under oversized shirts when parental eyes were around.

Charlie didn’t approve of Stella’s girlfriends—he seemed to think they were corrupting her. The way Charlie would talk about Stella sometimes, you’d think she was a doltish hunk of clay. I’d frequently point out how wrong he was, but it never seemed to affect him.