Page 25 of From Nowhere

“Lola, you’re not supposed to mess with my phone,” I say before grumbling a few expletives beneath my breath as I trek toward her, peeling off my leather gloves.

“I’m helping you by being your secretary.” She gives me a toothy grin and bats her eyelashes while I pluck my phone from her hands.

Based on Maren’s responses, she thought she was talking to me, and why wouldn’t she? Except Lola’s responses make me sound like a dumbass.

Ozzy: It’s me. My daughter took my phone and was responding for me. So sorry

“Who’s Maren? You had pizza last night? Does she like you? Why is she texting you? Does she have chickens? We should get chickens. Ellie has chickens. They eat the eggs.”

“You’re not riding to school on your own.” I glare at her.

“But Dad—”

“And you’re not getting dessert breadsticks tonight because you snooped in my phone and pretended to be me. And you haven’t helped me do anything outside yet.”

Lola narrows her eyes and parks her hands on her hips. “You. Are. A. Big. Meanie.” She spins on her heel and stomps up the deck stairs.

Instead of responding to Maren’s cringe emoji, I call her.

“I am so sorry,” she answers without a hello.

“That’s my line.” I laugh, inspecting the tulips blooming along the back fence. “It’s fine. She won’t let it go, but I’ll keep her grounded in her room until she promises never to mention your name again.”

“You know how to make a girl feel special,” Maren says.

I scratch the back of my head. “That came out all wrong. It’s not you; it’s Lola’s recent obsession with my dating life.”And my sex life.

“I don’t blame her,” Maren says. “I’m curious about your dating life too. Have you had any recent dates? Been caught in the rain? Wrangled any chickens?”

My smile grows exponentially. “What are you up to today?”

“Oh, I thought you’d never ask. I’m finishing my coffee while my roommate and his fiancée have loud sex upstairs. I should probablymake them a snack. They’ll be famished when they’re done, at the rate they’re going. I bet you’re jealous that you don’t get to enjoy my level of fun.”

I kick at the clump of mulch under the tree. “No. I get a different kind offunin the form of having to explain pornography to a ten-year-old.”

“Oh my god, what?”

“She woke up after midnight and needed a drink of water, and she found her grandfather in the living room watching porn.”

“Nooooo ...” Maren laughs. “I’m sorry. I know it’s not funny, but—”

“It’s fine. If it weren’t my life, it would be hilarious.”

“You win, Ozzy. No one has to explain to me what my roommates are doing upstairs. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be a parent, let alone a single parent—a single parent of a daughter who experienced something incredibly traumatic. Well, not counting the porn incident.”

“There’s no cake for surviving this parenting gig. There should be cake,” I say.

“Mmm, cake. What kind of cake should there be?”

I chuckle. “Carrot, of course.”

“Stop. You did not just say my favorite cake.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” she says. “But it has to have pineapple in it. That’s the secret ingredient. Crushed pineapple makes it so moist. And the frosting has to be cream cheese.”

“Keep talking,” I say, gobbling up every ounce of her cheeriness.

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