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“Well, baby, think of it this way, you have your whole life ahead of you with a clear and unobstructed path. It’s a fresh start. Now you can figure out what you want and do it. Tucker won’t be there to weigh in with his opinions.”

She’s right. I know she is. And honestly, I’ve told myself that, but I still want to nut punch him a few times.

“I know, Mama. And I will. I think I just need a little time to grieve the loss of us, you know? ”

She sighs into the phone.

She knows. If anyone on this planet can relate to this situation, it’s my mother.

When she was my age, she fell madly in love and whoops, got pregnant.

Her beau, we never speak his name, disappeared, transferring schools and leaving her with an unfinished degree and an infant.

She dropped out of school, moved back home, and became a waitress.

She never married and ended up being a jam up manager at the local diner called Mae’s.

No, she isn’t Mae. But Mae taught her everything she knows, and now Mae’s is opening another store in Atlanta. Mom’s proud to have been such an integral part of this expansion. So is Grandma, but she would never admit it.

All this to say, my mom is not a proponent of men. The only man in her life is the cutest dog ever, Opie. Together, they live a single, happy life.

“Loss, any kind of loss, is hard. Take all the time you need. Find yourself, Ainsley. The world is a vast place, and there’s no need in limiting yourself over one prick with a saggy ass.”

“Mom!” I can’t help the snort that escapes.

“You’re going to hell for saying such things.”

But it’s true. Ten billion squats could not help Tucker’s ass. It’s flat as a pancake. So flat that you can’t even see the curve in his underwear. But when you love someone, you love them for all their faults and imperfections.

“Well, if I’m going to hell, then I’ll sit by your father, so I can torture him forever.”

I smile, noting all the in search of flyers. There’s several, but they are all out of my price range.

“I think that’s the perfect punishment he deserves.”

I try not to encourage her online stalking of my father.

It’s been twenty years, but I guess when you’ve been burned as she has, you want to know what someone has that you didn’t.

I’ve never met or spoken to my father. He’s been a ghost in our lives, and that’s just fine with me.

My grandfather was the father in my life.

I never wanted for love or attention, so there was no need to seek out my sperm donor.

I’d rather not know if he’s equal to or less than my thoughts of him after all these years.

I can feel my mom’s smile through the phone. I miss her crazy ass. “Are you looking for somewhere else to stay?”

I nod at the bulletin board. “Yep. I’m looking as we speak. Not much is listed that I can afford.”

The line goes silent, and I know what she’s doing. “No, you aren’t taking another loan on your retirement account. I’ll be fine. I’m sure there are rooms I can afford somewhere. I’ve only hit one board so far. There’s like a bazillion here, not to mention the ones posted online. I got this.”

She exhales a worried breath. I’m only lying a little bit. This isn’t the first board I checked. It’s about the eighth, but she doesn’t need to know that. The woman is a fixer. She’d auction off her soul if she thought I needed something.

“I can ask your grandmother for some money,” she says, her voice strained.

“We’re not that desperate,” I respond.

That gets a laugh out of her.

“I promise I’m fine. I can make this work. I just need to find the right person.” And she has to be here somewhere on one of these boards. All I have to do is keep searching.

“Okay, sweetheart, if you’re sure. You promise to let me know if you can’t, though, right?”

I nod again and realize she can’t see me some eighty miles away through the phone. “I promise.” Opie, the one and only man in her life, whines in the background. “It sounds like Opie is ready for his afternoon walk.”

She baby-talks to him, and I miss what she says, but he stops whining, so she must have assured him they were heading out soon. “Call me tonight?” she asks, as shuffling crackles over the speaker.

“I promise.”

I’m sure I’ll need some comforting when I’m sleeping in my car again. I won’t even be able to sleep at the fire station because I assured Boss I would secure a place tonight. And the whole alarm thing was awful. I just can’t do it another night.

Mom and I hang up, and I stuff my phone back into my bag. There has to be something here. I’m not picky. If I could find another part-time job, I could afford the steeper rents posted. Either way, I have options. It’s just a little slim today.

Scanning, I find listings from everything from turtle sitting (which doesn’t sound too awful) to tutoring to sharing a one-bedroom, one mattress apartment.

Yeah, like that’s going to happen, Clint, whoever you are.

That’s not a real listing. Our fine Clint is looking for a hook-up.

You have to be careful with ads. I’ve seen Single White Female , and if that movie didn’t teach me enough about stranger danger, then the last two years at Havemeyer and these bulletin boards sealed the horror.

Rumor has it these boards are mostly hook-up ads.

Any guy looking for a roommate is a no-go.

I would never want a guy for a roommate anyway.

After sleeping over at Tucker’s apartment, I feel pretty damn sure that guy roommates are basically code for a free, live-in maid.

I’m not about that life. I want a quiet roommate who enjoys studying and contributing to her share of groceries and cooking.

Picking up after herself and a Netflix subscription is also a plus.

But I’m not going to be picky. For now, I’ll settle for a roof over my head and running air conditioner.

This board scavenge has been a waste. There’s nothing here I can afford or that I want to tempt fate with and have some kind of Ted Bundy roommate.

I don’t mean that to sound like this is some kind of war zone around here.

It isn’t. Havemeyer is a bustling university.

The problem is it’s a rumor mill of epic proportions.

Half the time, I can’t distinguish the rumors from the truth.

So, in instances that I’m unsure between fact and fiction, I err on the side of caution.

I’m not down to become some captive or frat girl being passed around between the guys. I just want to do my time, get my degree, and move on with my life sans Tucker and his horrific morning breath .

I check my watch and realize I don’t have enough time to check out the board outside of Morgan Hall.

That one will have to wait until after I endure a two-hour Behavioral Psychology class where I can spend the whole time self-analyzing what happened between Tucker’s and my relationship.

Then, once I realize it’s merely a case of it’s not me, it’s you, I can move onto self-discovery.

Who am I without Tucker? What the hell am I going to do after I graduate?

Clearly, I’m not buying a house with him and making wedding plans.

Do I go home? Stay in Atlanta and find a job?

Who knows? All I know is that I made the fatal mistake my mother always warned me about.

In loving Tucker, I lost sight of me.

Women should never lose sight of their hopes and dreams. They should be individuals that are amplified by their mates—she for real used the term mate.

Women should always be independent because the older you get (her lecture, not mine), the more you forget who that woman is.

I’m pretty sure she’s speaking from experience, and at the time she gave me that sound piece of advice, I was already in love with Tucker.

My relationship was going to be different from hers and my dad’s. We were different.

Until we weren’t.

But I can’t change what happened.

People make their own choices. Tucker made his by slipping his dick into my roommate while I slept, and he supposedly couldn’t. It’s not my fault he’s a whore. It’s not Taylor’s fault that she’s a conniving little cunt.

We are who we are. Ugliness and all.

Hustling, I make it to the lecture with mere seconds to spare.

This breakup has shaken me. I’ve never just made it .

I’m always in my seat with at least ten minutes to spare.

Tucker thought it was annoying that I was always on time, but I thought it was respectful.

Why set a time if you don’t intend to be there at said time?

But we’ve already established Tucker is a dick, so I need to move on.

He’s already invaded my thoughts for far too long this morning.

I take a seat toward the back and pull out my laptop—thank you, Boss—and boot it up.

I’m not a heavy note-taker, but occasionally Dr. Mathis will say something note-worthy.

And I’m in desperate need to play Who Wants to Be a Millionaire.

Don’t judge me. Since I’ve basically been a nomad, I haven’t had much time to dedicate to my quest of millionaire-dom. I know that’s not a word, but you knew exactly what I meant.

The game is my security blanket. My home away from home. And seeing how I no longer have a home, I’m more than a tad bit needy.

My finger hovers over the trackpad. Do I have enough time for one game? Eh—“No, dude. He’s never here. I heard he was locked up for the weekend.”

The male voice startles me, and I click open a new document instead of my game. Guess that’s a sign—no games until after class. Wait, no games until after I find a roommate.

“That’s why he’s looking for a roommate. The last one moved out. Rumor has it he couldn’t deal with the cops knocking on the door all the time.”

Great. Rumors. In my head, I clear my throat like I’m a WWE announcer.

“This morning, wearing the distressed jeans, weighing in at 200 pounds of bullshit is Stan! His competitor and partner in the spread of inaccurate and stupid information, weighing in at 235 pounds of bullshit, is Booker! Hold your tits, ladies. You’ll be liable to lose your bras over this malarkey. ”

“I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for a peek inside Maverick’s apartment.”

Stan, I think, makes this giddy noise. “I heard there is a plethora of women in and out of there at all times of the day. Can you imagine?”

I snort. I can imagine it being annoying that you’d never get any sleep with all that commotion. And cops? Yeah, I’ll pass. I’d like for my first background check to come back clean.

“Pussy would be aplenty. If I weren’t locked into my lease, I would gladly take his empty room. ”

Booker scoffs. “No, you wouldn’t. Last time you saw Maverick Lexington, you ran, and all he did was shuffle the cards in his hands.”

“You know what those cards do!” Stan whisper hisses. “Paul in my Econ class won’t even speak to me since he took one of those cards.”

I don’t know who Paul is, and I’ve only ever heard of―well, I do know who Maverick is.

I don’t know him, know him, but I’ve heard of him.

Maverick Lexington is well-known around this campus for the deck of playing cards that he keeps tucked in his back pocket.

Rumor is, if you need a favor, you can go to him, and he will grant it.

On one condition. You will owe him a favor.

He’s like our own magic genie. Or so I’ve heard.

He could be some geek behind an iPad for all I know. I’m just saying, I’ve heard of him.

And, no. It’s a stupid idea.

I’m not that desperate.