Cleo McDougal Regrets Nothing - Allison Winn Scotch Page 0,43

with my dad. And it was private. And it was ours. And also, there were items on that list that she did not want exposed, could not have exposed.

“Understood. You have my word. She won’t know. And honestly, there’s no reason she has to.” Gaby nodded, an affirmation. “It’s my understanding that she likes the gumption—and that’s all she really needs to see. Also, though, she wants to meet on Friday, and I think we should bang out another one by then.”

“Gaby, these aren’t like . . . items on my grocery list.” Cleo debated another Trefoil but felt a stomachache coming on, so she closed the box and opened her bottom drawer, dropping the box back inside. “Besides, the mess of MaryAnne hasn’t exactly been cleaned up.”

This was true. Lucas had been texting nonstop with Esme (Cleo had yet to ask him about the girl here at home and whether or not he was being unfaithful, though she didn’t know what this meant for fourteen-year-olds), and this morning on the drive to school he informed her that her visit had only made MaryAnne more determined. The video of Cleo’s escapade was still blazing through YouTube, rocketing all over Twitter, and viewers remained split on who really was in the wrong. Maybe MaryAnne liked her odds of swaying the public opinion tide. Or maybe she was still just furious.

“More determined to do what?” Cleo had asked Lucas.

“She just said more determined, then put the rolling-eyeball emoji,” he said. He held up his phone to show her, but then the light turned green, and someone behind them honked, and Cleo jolted forward.

“Well, can you ask? Also, I thought emojis were—”

“God, Mom,” he interrupted. “I’m just trying to help. I’m not, like, your spy.”

Gaby’s phone buzzed, and she hopped to her feet, her message to Cleo received. “By the way, speaking of MaryAnne, CNN sent over a request for a comment.”

“Comment on what?”

“MaryAnne posted something else on Facebook, and you’re right, the story isn’t going away.”

Cleo nodded. One of their male reporters had chased her down the hall this morning before she ducked into a bathroom, just about the only place he couldn’t pursue her. She’d waited him out until he finally gave up. Stall tactics. Another thing politicians excelled at.

“I don’t think we should give them one,” Gaby said. “I don’t want to have to answer everything she does with a tit for tat. Let’s think on it, put a pin in it. And in the meantime, ten regrets, and I choose four more. ASAP.” She paused. “Please.” Her phone vibrated again, and she grinned and held it up for Cleo to see. “Oliver.”

“Lovebirds already,” Cleo said.

“Speaking of good sex, I’ve been thinking.” Gaby sat back down.

“Oh God.”

“No, seriously. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing if we lined up some dates.”

“Whatever happened to being proud of how independent I am? How I don’t need a man to stand by my side?” Cleo reached back down for the Girl Scout cookies.

“Jesus, you don’t.”

“So then what?”

Gaby stood again—moving on to her next item, ready to put this one to bed. “For you, Cleo, for you. Not because you need one or because you’re lesser for it. But because Lucas is getting older now, and maybe I might actually like Oliver Patel.” She laughed, corrected herself. “Who fucking knows. But you can’t be on your own forever.”

“I can be single forever,” Cleo snapped. “I am perfectly happy being single.”

“Being single and being on your own are two different things,” Gaby said, not unlike what Matty had echoed at the bar in the Sheraton. “No one can do anything in this career, much less in this world, on their own. I’d think you’d know that by now.”

Gaby’s phone blipped, and she said, “Shit,” and disappeared out the door.

And Cleo stared at her bottom drawer and wished she had thought to buy a few more boxes of Girl Scout cookies. She’d like to be better prepared.

Emily Godwin had volunteered to drop Lucas after practice again, and this time she came to the door.

“Mom! Mrs. Godwin is here!” Lucas yelled, then stomped up the stairs to his room. Cleo, from her office, heard two pairs of feet and realized that Benjamin, Emily’s son, must have trailed Lucas inside. His door slammed, and Cleo rushed out in slippers and sweats to thank Emily personally. She hoped everything was OK; Emily usually just did the flyby drop-off, and though Cleo genuinely really liked her, she was also always

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