Page 63 of Dear Adam
Glenda nods solemnly.
“What were you going to do if I didn’t hire you?”
She shrugs. “I would’ve found some other way to weasel into your life.”
“So how did you end up out here?”
“I wanted a change of scenery,” she says simply, and I chuckle at how on brand that is for her, to move clear across the country on a whim. “And when you moved out here, your mom asked me to keep an eye on you.”
“So you two have been in cahoots this entire time?” I ask.
“Yep!” Glenda says happily, then walks over to the moving truck, and for reasons unknown to me, opens one of my carefully packed boxes.
Finally, everything makes sense. How woefully under-qualified Glenda is for her job. How fast she and Mom became best friends. Why Glenda had always had her nose stuck so far into my business.
I make a mental note to do more extensive research before actually hiring someone next time, then remember, there won’tbea next time. I’m closing up shop in California and heading home to work for Dad again.
When I called to ask what he thought about me moving back, his response was, “About time. We’ve got a big project in Mount Pleasant that I could really use your help on next month.”
And that was that. So, I finished the last remodel in California as quickly as I could, found a renter for the warehouse, packed up, and here we are.
“Did you ever apologize to that girl? What was her name? Amy?” Glenda asks, rifling through a box. She pulls out a pair of my underwear, the ones with unicorns on them, and lifts them up for me to see.
“Her name is Aly,” I snap and grab the underwear from her. “And quit going through the boxes I just spent days packing up.”
“Testy,” she whistles. “I take that as a no.”
“I tried. I’ve tried calling her, texting her, everything I can think of. She must’ve blocked my number.”
“I probably would’ve, too,” Glenda says, examining her nails. Today, they are bright red to match the shirt she has tucked into her stretchy, yellow pants that are pulled up to her chin, per usual.
“What else am I supposed to do?” I say, thinking of the YouTube video I watched on box breathing to keep myself from getting worked up around Glenda. Unfortunately, all the video accomplished was reminding me of Aly and her love for DIY videos.
“Tonight’s the night of her family’s big shindig, right?”
I look down at my watch to check the date. How could I have forgotten?
I nod, and Glenda says, “Well, are you ready or what? You’ve got a girl to get back, and I’ve got a thirty-five hour drive with a dog that snores louder than you do. Let’s get this show on the road. I’ve been waiting hours for you anyway.”
“I’ve been a little busy packing and loading this truck,” I say through gritted teeth, then do some mental math. If my flight leaves in two hours, I’ll land in Charleston an hour before the gala starts. If I don’t have any delays, and as long as traffic is on my side, I should be able to make it in time to find Aly. Imighthave a shot at getting my girl back.
“Get in!” Glenda says and scoots her seat as close to the steering wheel as she can. Hank jumps in between us, and we’re headed to the airport.
“Good luck getting your girl back!” Glenda yells over her incredibly loud fiesta music. Why that’s her station of choice, I have no idea. She shakes the top half of her body along to the music, and I try to erase that image out of my brain but I’m afraid it’s seared there for the rest of eternity.
“Be careful, please,” I tell her. “Let me know as soon as you make it to your first stop tonight. And please don’t forget about Hank.”
“I could never forget about Hank!” she says. My anxiety lessens, but only for a moment until she adds, “His gas is terrible.”
“I’ll see you soon, okay, buddy?” I say, scratching behind his ears and giving him a kiss on the head. “Hang in there. Thirty-five more hours until you can see Pretzel.” At this, he perks up, and I give him one more scratch under the chin.
“See you soon!” she calls over the mariachi band. I throw up a wave and head into the airport, wondering if Hank will ever forgive me.
Once I’m through security, I locate my gate. They’ve already started boarding, but only the first group of passengers. I wait patiently for my turn before taking my place in line. The flight attendant checking my ticket looks down at it then up to me before blurting, “You’re the hot contractor, aren’t you?”
“Excuse me?”
“The hot contractor! On Instagram! I knew you were from California, and I wondered if I’d ever get to meet you!”
