“Let me guess” was the first thing Carol said when she picked up. “You got arrested for a DUI, and I’m your phone call.”

“What? No! I’m at a movie.”

“Fascinating. Is it starring Dame Judi Dench?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then you felt so terribly impressed to call me because…”

“I was on a double date, and our ride left without us.”

“Us? Who’s us? Is us a boy?”

“Us is a boy, yes.”

“And I suppose this boy needs a ride home?”

“Yes, Carol,” said Wynezra, who was standing close enough to overhear the conversation. “In an ideal world, that would be how this plays out.”

“If that’s not too much trouble,” I said.

“You tell me if it’ll be trouble. Are you two going to be all over each other in the back seat? Will I have to pry your young, sexually charged bodies apart with a crowbar?”

“Christ, no,” I said. “He’s not even my date.”

“What?”

I sighed. “Our dates left together.”

“Your date left with another girl? Or boy? Sorry, I guess I don’t know what the dynamic is here. Probably not important.”

It was more important than she knew, but definitely not in the way she was thinking.

“It’s not what it sounds like,” I said. “It’s… complicated.”

“I’ll say,” said Carol. “Text me the address. I’ll get there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Carol,” I said.

There was a long pause on the other end. Finally, “You’re welcome, Wynonna.”

I was about to hang up, but Carol’s voice chimed back in, slightly louder—in a naked, vulnerable sort of way.

“Wynonna?”

“Yeah?” I said.

“You can call me Grandma,” she said. Then, rather hastily, “If you want, that is. What I’m saying is, I’m not opposed to the title.”

Wynezra overheard that, too. Her eyes were bugging out of her skull.

I nodded reflexively. “Okay. Yeah. Thanks… Grandma.”

There was another prolonged pause. Finally, she hung up.

“Dude,” said Wynezra. “Did you just call Carol Grandma?”

“She is your grandma,” I said. “Isn’t she?”

“Biologically speaking. But she’s also a bitch. And I like to think that the latter title is the one that resonates loudest with her whole thing.”

“Can I tell you what I think?”

“Christ. Do I have a choice?”

“I’m not saying that Carol isn’t rude. She obviously is. But I think you’re probably just as rude, right back at her.”

“Duh,” said Wynezra. She leaned forward and flicked my right forearm—hard—where the word “karma” was embedded in my skin. “Karma, bitch. She gets what she deserves.”

“Ow!” I said, cradling my arm to my chest. “That hurt!”

Wynezra chuckled. “Sorry. I forgot you’re on your period.”

I glanced at the word “dharma” on my left forearm. “What does this one mean?” I raised the tattooed arm in question.