“Hey, thanks, but I’m just not up to it tonight. There’s a lot going on at work, and I’m just going to eat here tonight.”

“Give me a break, Dani. You’ve got to get out of there and mingle. We’ve invited a bunch of guys from Larry’s acting class over. These guys are hot.”

“No murderers?” I asked.

“Are you ever going to let that go? Garrett’s a great guy. Every-one is allowed to make mistakes. You should be a little kinder with your heart.”

Ina truly was unbelievable. “I have a kind heart. Look, thanks for the invite, and the concern, but I’m doing okay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, I do worry. What are you going to do with yourself again this weekend? I mean, think about it—even Marilyn Monroe killed herself on a Saturday night.”

“What?” I asked.

“You know—even the most beautiful, successful actress in the world killed herself over a lonely Saturday night. We’re just worried about you, with the news about Dave getting married and everything.”

“Marilyn didn’t kill herself. It may have been ruled a suicide by Thomas Noguchi, the coroner, but there’s enough evidence today that raises questions about whether it was a suicide or not.”

“That’s not true, Dani,” Ina said. “I just watched this documentary on the Discovery Channel where they say Marilyn had tried to commit suicide four times before. It was just that she was finally able to pull it off that time.”

I grimaced into the phone. I was glad Ina could set me straight about Marilyn, finally. “Why are you bringing Marilyn into this?”

“Being this alone isn’t good for anyone, and breakups can be devastating. We worry about you not moving on after Dave.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“You know, me, Lauren . . . Larry.”

I closed my eyes and tried to do my anxiety breathing. This was almost as bad as talking to my mom. I ran my free hand across my face, and something flicked off my chin, landing lightly on my desk. It was just a tiny piece of something, but there was enough to get my attention. Distracted from Ina’s rambling, I inched my face closer to the desktop, curious.

“That’s weird,” I said.

“What’s weird?” Ina asked.

Ina’s voice drew my attention back to the phone I was still holding, and I saw it . . . goo.

More specifically, it wasn’t goo; it was someone’s snot.

Someone had blown their nose and wiped the mucus all over my phone. I was beyond repulsed. I could see that the yellowish smear was firmly lodged in the tiny holes of the phone mouthpiece. I’d been on and off the phone all afternoon, tightly cradling the receiver against my face.