“Wrrr wrrr wrrr,” Donna, my trusty Toyota Camry moans back at me before finally falling silent altogether. “No, no, no, don’t die on me now, old girl. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” I say, gently rubbing the spot of leather I was just pounding moments ago. “You can do it. You’re all full, fresh tank of gas, new wiper fluid, everything.” Okay, well not everything. Admittedly, she’s gone without an oil change for . . . well, a while. But that’s not the point. She was purring strong when I left Edmonton, and now? What the hell happened? And where the fuck am I?

Welcome to Pine Ridge! The old torn sign on the door says. And then right underneath in bold red letters “CLOSED. Come again!”

Welcome to Pine Ridge! The old torn sign on the door says. And then right underneath in bold red letters “CLOSED. Come again!”

“Donna is dead.” Her brows furrow before she raises one in suspicion. “Please don’t tell me you’ve just added me as an accomplice to murder.”

“I’m so sorry, Nari. I should have paid more attention. I—” “You don’t have to apologize, Charlie,” she says bluntly. “Bodies and brains are weird. It’s not your fault that it happened.”

need to focus on all the positive things in life.” Nari gives me an unamused smile, raising her eyebrows until her forehead creases. “Wow, revolutionary advice,” she says, sarcasm dripping from her tone. “Yup.” I laugh. “Extremely helpful.”

“You’re the only person you could ever be, Charlie. I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else.” My throat instantly dries. She doesn’t mean it that way, does she? She can’t. She made that perfectly clear. “That’s . . . not how the rules work,” I say, still trying to put together her previous intentions. Nari raises an eyebrow at me. “Says who?”

old computer that probably gained a hundred viruses from the project? Okay, maybe I am thinking about it. Speculation won’t solve anything, I remind myself. You don’t have to rationalize every single thing in life. But it’s my favourite pastime, I argue back. And that’s when I decide to focus on cleaning instead of having a philosophical debate with myself.

In response, Nari takes a giant swing at the trunk of the tree, letting out a low grunt, the muscles in her neck straining from the effort. I can’t decide if the blood racing through my veins and gathering in my chest and cheeks is from being extremely terrified or absurdly turned on. Maybe I shouldn’t investigate further.

“Yeah, well, some people want to have kids, but they don’t want to be parents. Mine made that abundantly clear.”

“Do you have batteries?” I ask. Nari rolls her eyes. “Charlie, I’m a woman living alone in the middle of nowhere. Of course I have batteries.” She gives me a knowing smirk.

Okay, two possible scenarios, either she wants a private moment with Toni, or she wants me to take care of Mitch the old fashioned way in the back yard. I settle on the first, although I’m not certain she’d be displeased if I landed on the second.

“What’s the history between you two anyway?” I ask. He lets out a low laugh. “Long story short? I’m pretty sure she turned my wife gay.”

“You-you don’t remember? On Snapchat? The summer after graduation? I was leaving for the UofA the following week and sent you a photo of me holding up a whiteboard with “you’re my nucleus” written on it, labeled with your name and me as the electron?”

You need to take better care of your car, Charlie. You need to protect your oral health, Charlie. You need to make eye-contact, Charlie. You need to hug people back, Charlie. Ask people detailed questions about their lives, Charlie. Stop looking so disinterested, Charlie. You’re making them uncomfortable, Charlie. Charlie. Charlie.

“You’re going to be such a little heartbreaker,” Aunt Marlaina says as she bends over to pat Jake, who is all of two years old, on his head.

Historically speaking, every hour with Aunt M has resulted in at least an hour of therapy though, so the longer this goes, the more expensive everything else gets.

“Oh, but why, sweetheart? Cancer’s been cured. Those scientists are just greedy.”

“I’ve actually stopped dating men,” I tell her simply before taking another spoonful of potatoes into my mouth. She gasps. It’s almost comical the way her jaw drops and her hand comes to rest on the performative cross hanging between her breasts. “But then . . . what about children? Life is about more than work. And you’re getting to an age where—” I roll my eyes. “No offense, Aunt M, and I love Jake and Kylie with every part of my being, but having my own kids actually sounds like a living hell to me, thank you very much. Plus, I already sacrificed my uterus to the science gods as payment for knowing the cancer cure.”

Finally, thank YOU, dear reader for being here and supporting me. Please consider leaving a review (even just star reviews help) and telling your friends and family about my books! Every little bit helps!

Finally (x2), I owe the last few years of my life to my beloved escitalopram and my incredible therapist. Thank you, modern medicine, and thank you, little white pill that keeps my brain from going haywire.