“No, ma’am,” Rosie shouted.
“We are dissecting the point at which Sven the Were-man gets picked up by animal control.” Sylvie tilted her head back and blinked rapidly, containing the unshed tears. “It absolutely wrecked me.”
Frannie sat down again, fresh from another trip to the punch bowl. “It was clearly a metaphor for unrequited loveandspaying and neutering your pets.”
“Unless you have something to say for the good of the group,” Sylvie warned, “keep it till after the meeting. When I can listen.”
Olivia wrapped her arm around my shoulders. “Hattie broke up with Miller.”
The entire room of women gasped.
Sylvie powered off her iPad and snapped the case shut. “AnnnndHildie the Witch and Sven the Werewolf bought some flea and tick spray and lived happily ever after. Join us next month for our volunteer opportunity when we work shifts for Rosie’s grand opening. Grab some food on your way out. Meeting adjourned!”
Five minutes later, Sylvie and Frannie had the place cleared, and my face was smooshed into my grandmother’s overly perfumed bosom.
“You poor, poor dear.” She patted my back and cooed. “Tell Sylvie all about it.”
“I can’t breathe,” I said to her sweater.
“I know, sugar.” Sylvie continued to smoosh and pat. “Grief can make it feel as if there’s no air in your lungs.”
“No,” I muttered into her chest. “I really can’t breathe.”
Sylvie finally released me but kept her grip on my hands. “Frannie, get her another cup of that witch’s brew and let’s get down to business. I want names, dates, and GPS coordinates for where to drop Miller’s glitter-dipped body.”
I took the offering of punch from Frannie, not even bothering to question how she got fog to seep from the cup. “Two nights ago I went back to Miller’s house, and I overheard him talking to Kayce.” The details spilled out, and in no time I had narrated the entire story.” I tapped the cup of punch. “Is there vodka in here?”
Aunt Frannie rolled a hand, her collection of bangles rattling. “This is no time for questions. Keep moving with the story.”
I took a deep breath and plunged back in. “And then Miller told me that I point out other people’s issues, but don’t deal with my own.”
Sylvie gasped. “That cad!”
“Then he repeated that he was crazy about me, I was allowing my bio-father to use me, and he’d fly me to California often.”
Nobody moved.
Not a sniff. Not a breath. Not so much as a blink.
“Okay, well, thanks for letting me vent.” I searched for the trash can, ready to go home and hide beneath my covers. “I should get back to the house and pack. By the way, Sylvie, I’m going to need to stay with you for a few weeks.”
“Hold it right there, just a darn minute.” My grandmother circled me once, then twice, her eagle eyes trained on me like she was considering my fate. “Did you say your bio-father?”
“I did.”
“You’ve seen Buck?” she asked.
“He was at a rodeo in Oklahoma.” I watched my sisters exchange another look I didn’t even want to decipher. Frannie shook her head like she was in the presence of a fool. “I guess I should’ve mentioned this sooner.”
“I’d like to know why you didn’t,” Olivia said.
“Because of this reaction right here.” My sisters could never understand. My stepdad was myrealfather, but Buck would always be the man I was tied to in more ways than genetics. “I keep making the same mistakes with men—over and over. I fall hard for these guys who don’t love me back. I’ve done everything I’m supposed to—therapy, prayer, books, all of it.”
Frannie held up her novel. “Hildie the Witch has a healing spell on page eighty-nine. It does involve a yellow slug and the nose hair of Harry Styles.” She took in my unimpressed demeanor. “I’m guessing that’s not real helpful.”
“Until my childhood wound is fixed,” I said, “I’m going to keep picking these loser men who throw me right back.”
“Hattie, you don’t need Buck in your life to fix that wound,” Sylvie said. “You just need to repackage it in your brain and cut off its power.”
