I pick up a pen and twirl it between my thumb and forefinger. “Nice to see you too.”

She steps inside my office. “Are you bummed out about how the scavenger hunt ended? Because we’ll live.”

“No, I’m not. It’s fine. It’s whatever.”

“‘Whatever’? You’re not a whatever person.”

But maybe I should be. Maybe I should say whatever to this whole upturned mess, since I don’t know how to fix it.

“I’m turning over a new leaf. Thinking of becoming a whatever person.”

“Is this because of what happened in the park?”

I say nothing.

She shuts my door, moves some papers, and parks herself on the edge of my desk. “Listen, you didn’t ask for my advice.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“But I’m going to give it to you anyway.”

“I had a feeling you would.”

“The father of my child?”

I sit up. She never mentions him. Never talks about him. “Yeah?”

“He didn’t get his act together when I told him I was pregnant.”

“Okay.”

“But now he wants to be in my kid’s life. Now. When she’s ten. And can you add up what that means?”

I’m good at math, but I have no clue how to perform Ginny’s arithmetic. “No. I can’t.”

She pauses dramatically. “It means he missed ten years of her life.”

“But Lulu’s not pregnant.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“Do you want to miss ten years of your life?” Ginny leaves the question trailing behind her as she hops off my desk and squeezes my shoulder. “A bunch of us are going to this new place up the street that has pinball games. Let me know if you want to join us.”

“I’ll think about it.”

But the more I think about it, the less I want to be with anyone tonight.

When moonlight blankets the city, I shut off the light in my office and leave, the last one to do so.

Once I’m home, the silence of my apartment cinches unwelcome arms around me. I try to pry them off, but it’s powerful.

I’m not in the mood for silence.

I’m not in the mood for anything.

I turn to the walls in my home. “Fuck off.”

I walk into the kitchen and talk to the counter, the fridge, the stove. “Fuck off.”

I pivot around and pass the picture of Tripp and me at his restaurant. I stop to stare at it. Somehow, somewhere, I’m vaguely aware of words I could say to his image—thoughtful, caring words.

Those don’t come. Others hiss from my lips.

“Most of all, fuck you.”

But I don’t think he’s the one in the photo I’m speaking to.

34LULU

My mother answers the door at eight that evening. I brandish a bag of Thai takeout, some popcorn, and my phone.

“I’ve got Facebook, and I’m not afraid to use it.”

She laughs and lets me in. “I’ll never forget how much you loved Shrek in middle school. You used a variation on that line for everything. ‘I’ve got a dragon, and I’m not afraid to use it.’”

“It’s your fault. You taught me how to study film and movies and pop culture.”

“Correction: I taught you that Shrek was full of irony.”

I frown, shouldering my way into her place. “My life is full of irony.”

Once inside, I flop down in a chair at the table and extract the pad thai and pumpkin curry. She grabs forks and plates.

“Let’s just eat straight from the carton.”

“My home. My rules. Use plates.”

“Fine.”

She serves the food and slides a plate in front of me. “So . . .”

I sigh heavily. “You nailed it.”

“Did I?”

“When you said years in his eyes. You were right.”