Page 77 of Dear Pink

I hold the door for her, and she pushes the buggy into the lobby. Gloria stands by the front desk in a sleek gown with a slit to her navel, hair and makeup photoshoot ready.

“Glory, you shouldn’t dress provocatively for strangers at a Latin bar,” Aunt Agnes says.

“It’s the twentieth-first century, Auntie. Women can dress to suit their mood. Stop slut-shaming.”

“Your generation.” Aunt Agnes sighs. “You should settle down already.”

I keep my mouth shut, happy to let her attention land on Gloria instead of me.

She walks over and plants a kiss on Aunt Agnes’s cheek, leaving a red lip print. “You’ll be the first to hear when I do, Auntie.”

“Il tempo passa e non ritorna,” she calls to Gloria before opening the door.

I translate the words in my head: “time passes and does not return.” That’s the damn truth.

“How would she pick only one, Auntie?” I shout as we leave. I catch Gloria’s annoyed glare. Suck it, Sis.

After walking Aunt Agnes to her car, I return to find Peaches tucked into bed with her favorite fuzzy blanket wrapped around her. I turn on her nightlight and click off the overhead lights.

Lolly rises from her bed on the floor. “You don’t want to sleep here with Peaches tonight?” She jumps up and rests her head on my shoulder. I’m happy Lolly’s coming home with me tonight. Even though I’m relieved Hannah didn’t ghost me, I feel lonely.

I decide to walk home. I maneuver my bike inside and lock the office doors. “Let’s go get tacos,” I say, putting a leash on Lolly.

We walk a couple of blocks, stopping for strangers to gawk at her and make the obligatory Great Dane comment, “Are you walking that dog, or is she walking you?” Lolly wags her tail greedily. She loves the attention.

I open the doors to the Salsa Shack, and Lolly takes off. Shit. When she sees a familiar person, she’ll roll over anyone in her path. Maybe one of my sisters came for tacos. Lolly adores them since they always have a treat ready for her.

She stops in front of a petite woman in a sundress with a pink streak in her hair. The woman bends to give Lolly a huge hug. It can’t be her. She saidsomething came up. She turns to face me with a box of takeout in her hand.

“Hannah?”

“Gabe. I . . .” Her face blushes bright red, clearly busted. Damn it. Andre was right. She’s moved on. Or Gloria’s right, and it’s me. I’m such an idiot to presume she felt the same way.

“Lolly, come.” She obeys, confused by my stern tone. I take her leash and stare into Pink’s eyes. “At least you like my dog.” And I storm past her.

Chapter 20 - Hannah

I throw a soft-sided animal carrier in my Target cart. The bright green dog bag has a long handle I can toss over my shoulder. Should fit Homer with room to spare. People don’t normally tote their turtles places, but maybe I’ll start a new trend. Homer-on-the-Go.

Weaving through the cosmetic displays, I stop in front of the nail polish shelves. I never paint my toenails, but today a pedicure might cheer me up. I search for an upbeat color in the bright orange and pink shades, but my eye drifts over to dark blues and blacks. The morbid colors accurately express my downer mood. Retail therapy is a bust. No matter how many random items I throw into my bright red cart, Gabe invades my thoughts.

I tossed and turned all night long. I shouldn’t have ghosted him. Failing to return his texts was a dirty thing to do, but I didn’t know how to respond. I couldn’t say, “You don’t like me, you're falling for my dead best friend.” Ignoring the texts was the only option, but getting caught with takeout in my hand is worse.

My entire body aches. Maybe I should have been honest at the diner? If I told him the truth—he likes Libby, not me—he could walk away on his own. But I’m chicken. My heart can’t take the rejection again. Jack-Keroass broke my heart, and I refuse to let Gabe do the same. At least ignoring him is on my terms.

Gabe doesn’t want to be with me. He hasn't even met the real me. I’m disgusted he thinks I played him, though. Does he assume I date around and crush men for fun? But isn’t a con-artist worse? And that’s what I am, a damn fake.

Libby directs my adventures, and Gabe’s drawn to the daring stunts she picks. It’s simple. He admires Libby, not me. If I had kept our relationship casual and avoided the whole girlfriend label, we could still date. There would be no hurt feelings, and I wouldn’t worry about the other women lurking in the background ready to pounce. No, wait. I can do casual.

No, you can’t, Hannah.

Ugh. You’re not helping, Libby.

Maybe I’m lying to myself? Mr. Fancy’s dejected face last night broke my soul. Am I cut out for casual sex?

Nope.

Shush, Libby.

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