Текст книги "Wet"

Автор книги: Ruth Clampett

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

THE HIGH DIVE

I’m in my car just a few blocks from finally getting on the freeway to head home when my phone vibrates. It’s Elle. I pull over to dig my headset out of the glove compartment and by the time it’s on, her call’s gone to voicemail. I’m about to call her back when my phone rings again. It’s not Elle’s style to call repeatedly, something must be wrong.

“Elle?” I ask.

There’s a muffled sound and then what sounds like a sob.

“Elle? What happened?”

I barely recognize her voice it’s so weak. “I got served papers.”

I’m tempted to pull over again as I tightly grip the steering well. “Served by who?”

“They’re from Stephan’s lawyer.”

“When did this happen? You were on top of the world just a few hours ago.”

“I know,” she wails. “The guy rang the bell just minutes after I got home. He must have been outside waiting for me. What do I do Paul?”

I’m trying to merge on the freeway and I’m going too fast. I have an overwhelming urge to get to her, but with the rush hour traffic this could take a couple of hours. I keep glancing at my car’s clock. “What did the paperwork say?”

I hear the rustle of papers and sniffles. “It’s a summons and a complaint.”

“Lowlife fucker,” I growl.

She starts crying again and I feel like the raw flesh of my heart is being torn apart. “What Elle?”

“He’s demanding a paternity test. I just looked it up and the kind he’s demanding is very invasive, and there’s a chance of miscarriage from the procedure.”

“Well, fuck that. I won’t allow it!”

Elle is gracious enough not to point out that as the pseudo-uncle, I have no claim on what happens with the baby.

“And if paternity is established he wants partial custody.”

“Oh for God’s sake.” I keep gunning the car’s engine I’m so full of fury. What will a clean-freak asshole do with a baby? It’s unbearable for me to think of him alone with the kid for ten minutes, let alone for days at a time.

“What am I going to do, Paul?”

“We’re going to fight it, that’s what!”

“I can’t ask you to take that on with me,” she says with the most strength I’ve heard in her voice since she called.

“You didn’t ask me. It’s what I want so let’s not even waste our energy talking about it. I’m all in.”

She cries harder and I can hear everything in her tears: she loves this baby and she’s afraid of the baby’s father. I have to protect her, and I’ll do anything to make sure the two of them are safe. It’s all that matters to me.

“Where are you? Are you almost home? What if he comes by here?” she whispers.

“Damn. I wish I were almost home. I’m still at least an hour or two away. Is there someone you can call?”

“No. You and your family are the only ones who know about it.”

“I’m calling Trisha.”

“What?” she asks, her voice laced with disbelief.

“Believe me, there is no one on Earth you want on your side in a crisis more than my sister. I don’t know if it’s the firefighter training or what, but she will stop at nothing to make sure you’re safe.”

“I don’t know,” Elle whispers.

“And her best friend is a top lawyer. Trust me. Okay?”

“I guess so.”

“He what the fuck, what?” Trisha barks into the phone.

“Exactly. He tells her he wants nothing to do with it and now he’s trying to take control.”

“Well, we aren’t putting up with that.”

I smile. I knew she’d be like this. My sister may not be good for much, but she counts for two people in the tough times. She didn’t even hesitate when I asked her to go check up on Elle until I make it back to L.A.

“And call Jeanine, will you?” I ask. Her best friend, Jeanine the lawyer, is tough as nails like Trisha. She helped me once when a girl I’d hooked up with started harassing me.

“As soon as we end this call,” she says, her tone all business.

I let out a breath of relief. “Good. I’ll call you to check up in an hour. Meanwhile call me if anything else comes up.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks, Trisha. I owe you.”

“Just get back safe,” she says.

The last thing I remember clearly before the bottom fell out was a call from Trisha when I was inching along the fucking 5 freeway due to an accident in Downey. My stomach was already churning but Trisha’s tone took everything down a notch darker.

“Did you know Elle’s been cramping since yesterday?”

“No. What does that mean?”

“Hard to say yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s not good. I’ve been trying to keep her calm but I just made her call her doctor. She’s on with her now.”

“Is something wrong with the baby?”

“I hope not.”

I don’t like her ambiguous answer. Why the fuck did today have to be the day I was in Orange County? I feel so hopeless. “What can I do?”

“Just keep your focus and get here as soon as possible. Meanwhile I’ve faxed the legal documents to Jeanine for her to review them. If I need to take Elle in to be checked I’ll let you know so you can meet us there.”

A surge of emotion wells up in me. Elle can’t lose the baby. She just can’t. “I’m going to kill that fucker for upsetting her,” I rage.

“Paul,” my sister snaps at me.

“I mean who the fuck does he think he is?”

“Paul!” she practically yells.

“What?”

“You need to calm your ass down, and for God’s sake don’t bring any of this anger home. She needs us calm and focused. You hear me?”

She’s right. I’ve never appreciated Trisha more. “Yeah. I’ll be calm for Elle. I promise.”

I’m still on the 5 approaching Griffith Park, and close to the 134 when I get a text from Trisha to meet them at a women’s clinic on Van Nuys Boulevard. She instructs me to call her once I park and she’ll meet me outside. I’m desperate for some shred of hope to hold on to and her text sure as hell didn’t give it to me.

When I finally park and get out of the car, my hands are trembling as I text Trisha. I’d been praying the entire last endless leg of my journey, but when I see the drawn look on Trisha’s face I realize that God must not have heard me.

She walks straight up to me and grabs my forearm. Her sad eyes look even darker with the mascara smears.

“It’s happening fast,” she says.

I swallow hard, forcing down the surge of despair. “She’s losing the baby.”

Trisha nods as her grip on my arm tightens.

I fold over, my palms push against my knees to keep me from toppling over. A sharp shudder runs through me.

“No.” I don’t even recognize my voice. It sounds like it’s been dragged against asphalt.

Her hand rests on my upper back. “I’m so sorry, Paul.”

I take a sharp breath at Trisha’s tenderness. The baby may not be my biological kid, but I realize that it isn’t just my parents who understand what Elle and her baby had come to mean to me.

I stand back up and look at Trisha. “Elle?”

“It’s hit her hard, Paul. That’s why I wanted to get to you before you see her. She needs you to be strong.”

“And there’s nothing they can do?”

Trisha shakes her head. “It’s common in early pregnancies, up to twenty percent miscarry. There are various reasons why it happens.”

My hands curl up into fists. “It’s because of that fucking Stephan.”

“The dad?”

I nod, feeling like my grimace is permanently etched across my face. I’ve never had a burning desire to see someone’s demise, but I have it now. If I didn’t know that Elle was inside this building and needed me, I’d probably go after him tonight.

Trisha sighs. “Well I’m sure all the stress he caused didn’t help anything, but these early miscarriages are usually caused by a chromosomal abnormality.”

I start to pace back and forth trying to get my bearings. I can’t even believe this is happening. Of all of the times I’ve thought of Elle and the baby, this scenario never crossed my mind.

“I don’t want to hear about any of that, Trisha. I just need to see her. Can you show me where she is?”

She turns and walks toward the door, and when she realizes I haven’t followed she stops and turns. There’s a measured look between us, as if she knows that once I see Elle my heart will be battered, but I need to pull myself together. I nod and walk toward her, as the fragments of the future I was reaching for fall behind me.

When I step into her private room the first thing I notice is the quiet stillness. There are no monitors beeping, no hopeful chatter of visiting family, just the silence of loss. Elle is turned on her side away from me and I try to imagine what I can possibly say to her.

I clear my throat as I approach her. When I reach her side of the bed, her arms are crossed over her chest and her eyes pressed shut. She looks like a battleworn soldier who lost the war.

I lean over and press my lips against her forehead. “I’m here, Elle,” I whisper.

Her eyes blink open and she looks completely broken as our gazes meet. She presses her hand over her mouth. “I lost the baby, Paul,” she cries as tears slide down her face.

“Shhh, I know.” I take her hand in mine and hold it firmly. “I’m so sorry, Elle. I wish I’d been here.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t say that. You’ve been here all along for us, more than anyone, and you’re here for me now.”

I nod. “I am. And I’m not going anywhere. I want to help you get through this.”

She closes her eyes again. “I have no idea how to do that. I feel like I’ve lost a part of me . . . it’s like every dream I had for my baby and our future together will haunt me the rest of my life.”

I think about the dreams I had, too . . . maybe they were fantasies, but they felt real to me. My favorite was imagining the three of us at the beach, Elle holding the kid’s right hand, and me the left, while we swing the little one over the ocean swirling around our feet.

Without letting go of her hand, I reach behind me and drag the chair as close to her bed as possible. We let the silence and pain wrap tightly around us. All I can do is hold onto her hand while she cries, knowing these tears are the beginning of a river we will wade through. There’s no other way.

After a few intense minutes the tears slow down and she closes her eyes. I rest my head on the mattress next to her thigh. The weight of defeat is swallowing me and I frantically blink back my own tears. I need to be tough for her, but it’s hard, damn it, when I feel broken too. Elle seems to sense my spirit falling and without opening her eyes, she gently places her open hand on my head.

It’s in this intimate moment that the door opens and Trisha sticks her head inside.

“Sorry. Elle? They’re ready. Do you still—”

Elle doesn’t wait for the rest of the question. “Yes,” she says.

Trisha gestures for me to join her. “Come on Paul, we’ll wait down the hall.”

I try to hide my confusion and concern from Elle, figuring whatever she’s made her mind up about I need to trust.

I lean into her. “I’ll be out there. Tell them to let me know when I can come back to you.”

She nods. “I will.”

I slide down into the waiting room couch and press my hand over my eyes. These fucking florescent lights are making me edgy. The last thing I need right now is everything in this bleak place brightly lit and defined when my mind is so dark.

Trisha lets out a long sigh as she sits down next to me.

“So what’s happening in there?” I ask.

“It’s called a D and C. It’s finishing what nature started. At least she won’t have to deal with possibly a few weeks of bleeding after this.”

I press my lips together. The mystery of women and what they have to deal with has never felt more overwhelming to me. I know Elle is resilient, but everyone has their breaking point. I need to be ready in case this is hers.

Chapter Sixteen

TABLE FOR TWO

Grief is a shadow that clings to you especially in the quiet darkness. You can run but that fucker is attached to your heels looming behind you, ready to swallow you up.

Grief is also the language Elle and I speak now, it’s the language of no words just the hollow echo of her empty belly as we sit side-by-side on her couch, watching mindless comedies to fill the evening hours.

Once she’s back at work, I check on her every afternoon as she moves from one meeting to another. She seems busier than ever and she finally shares with me that she’s been pushing hard to pick up more clients so her schedule is always packed.

I get it, but it doesn’t keep me from worrying about her. The night I took her home from the clinic is now just a fuzzy collection of the fragmented actions—Elle leaning against me as she signed off on paperwork, carefully loading her in my car like she was a porcelain doll, and tucking her into her bed at home while making sure she took her pain meds. My care was all I had to offer so I did the best I could, even sleeping on her couch so I could check on her throughout the night.

She was asleep, when in a wave of rage and despair, I pulled a number of items out of her purse. With my phone I took a picture of the hospital paperwork with the miscarriage diagnosis, procedures and charges. Then I opened up her phone to recent calls, scrolling down until I found that motherfucking Viking’s name. I copied his phone number onto the text I’d written, attached the photo, and hit send.

Maybe it wasn’t the smartest thing to send a text threatening him if he ever contacts Elle again, but at least he has hard proof that the baby he was suddenly trying to claim, lost its chance at life that night. As much as I wanted to track him down and beat the shit out of him, far more than that was the determination to make sure Elle didn’t have to deal with him again in her sorrow.

That text and other emotional parts of that night I’ve filed away in my brain but they sneak up on me at unexpected times, temporarily stopping me in my tracks. I’m sure it happens with Elle, but she does her best to hide it from me. Knowing her, she thinks I’ve put up with too much already. Maybe she hasn’t realized yet that when it comes to her there’s no too much for me.

I know we need to push ourselves if we’re going to get past this. After a few weeks I start testing her.

Hey, you want to go to that new restaurant on LaBrea?

Did you hear about the latest DeNiro film? It’s playing at the ArcLight and it’s supposed to be great.

Did you know they’re doing tours of Frank Lloyd Wright’s Hollyhock House again? Wouldn’t that be cool?

All of my suggestions are met with an unenthusiastic shrug. “Maybe later,” she says.

I decide to give it more time, but one evening she points out a picture in a magazine spread. “What do you think of this?”

I look over her shoulder. “The Getty Center garden? It blew my mind first time I went. I love the bold choices. It’s amazing that they allowed Robert Irwin to realize his vision.”

She smiles. Damn I’ve missed that smile. “Will you take me to see it?” she asks.

I push back a grin. I don’t want to risk her changing her mind by thinking I’m expecting too much. “Sure. How about Saturday morning?”

“I’d like that.”

She’s wearing a sundress and sandals when I pick her up at ten thirty. It feels like her mood is the lightest it’s been since before losing the baby. Perhaps she’s pushing herself to try to find her new normal. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail and she has sunglasses pushed on top of her head.

“Hey, pretty girl,” I say when she steps up to me for a hug.

“Hey, handsome.”

She plays with the radio as I drive, and I let her. She finally settles on an Ed Sheeran song and leans back in her seat with a smile. “It feels good to get out.”

“Well, wait until you see the garden.”

After we get off the tram from the parking lot, I take her hand and pull her along, heading directly to the Central Garden, pointing out the ravine and stone waterfalls along the way. I have trouble containing my excitement. For some reason it never occurred to me to bring Elle here, and the fact that it was her idea makes it that much sweeter.

“Wow,” she exclaims when we finally reach the focal point of the gardens.

I start pointing to various plants and design elements and explain that everything was designed to reflect color and light.

“Those are interesting,” she says, pointing to the teepee structures that have fuchsia petals feathering out of their tops.

“I know. That design fascinates me. They’re custom designed bougainvillea arbors.”

“They look like abstract art.”

After circling the garden twice, I take her where they’ve carved a quote of Irwin’s in the plaza floor. “Always changing, never twice the same.”

She studies the words for a minute before looking up at me. “Boy that could be my motto this year, too. My life was one thing, then it changed direction completely, and then it flipped me over again.”

I squeeze her hand. “It’s been a lot.”

“Too much,” she says quietly. “What’s the saying? The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. I don’t think God or the universe thought I deserved a baby.”

I look over at her, alarmed. The entire time I walked through this journey with her, I never thought she’d take the miscarriage as punishment.

She’s staring at the vast view in the distance. It’s a sunny, warm day and everything felt kind of perfect until this moment.

I step in front of her so she looks at me. “You deserve a baby, Elle.” She shakes her head and casts her gaze down. I slip my fingers under her chin and lift it until we are eye to eye. “Yes, yes you do.”

“But we don’t always get what we want, do we, Paul?”

There’s a long weighted pause where I try to respond, but I can’t find the words and she doesn’t back down. I finally decide it’s time to change things up. I pull her back toward the museum buildings.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks with a wary expression.

“I made reservations in the nice restaurant.”

Her somber mood lightens a bit. “That sounds good.”

We order wine right away and have almost finished our glasses before our lunch order arrives. I order another round because I can tell the wine is doing its trick and helping us both relax. It feels good to let loose with Elle. I keep teasing her and she giggles so much that I have to remind her to eat.

I love seeing her eyes sparkle and her cheeks turn pink as she recounts that day she first found me in her yard.

“What did you think when you saw me down on my knees on your grass?”

She arches her brow at me and runs the tip of her index finger along the rim of her wine glass. “You know what I thought. If I didn’t make it clear that day, surely now that you know me, you know exactly what I was thinking.”

I take a sip of my cabernet. “What a handsome devil I am?”

“Ha!”

I feel wounded. “What? You didn’t think I was handsome?”

She sets down her glass indignantly. “Are you fishing for compliments or something?”

I shrug. What is wrong with me? The wine is making me act stupid, but I can’t help it . . . I need to hear that she wanted me.

“Oh for goodness’ sakes . . . it was because I thought you were unbelievably gorgeous that I had two thoughts in my head.”

I instantly feel better. “Okay, what were the two thoughts?”

“The first was trying to estimate how long it would take to get you in my bed. The second was wondering if I’d replenished the condom stash in my nightstand drawer.”

“So confident,” I tease, as my mind tries to process the idea of us fucking for hours.

“I was until you totally burst my bubble. I think I sat in stunned silence for about twenty minutes after you turned me down and left.”

“Wow, so I was an exception to the rule.”

“And you still are.”

She takes a sip of her wine and winks at me.

“Well don’t think I left easily that day. I almost caved and blew my two year record.”

“Really? I know the very instance! It was when I told you to take out your cock so I could lick it! I think I was on my third or fourth beer by then.” She grins widely and I take a second to glance around our table to see if anyone is listening to us. She’s getting a little loud.

“What?” she asks.

“You may want to quiet down a bit, I think everyone including the guy in the corner over there heard you.”

“Oh stop!” she says with a laugh.

“But you’re right . . . that was one of the times I almost caved.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “And for the record, I wouldn’t have just licked. Oh noooo . . . I would have sucked.”

And there she goes . . . my girl with the filthy mouth is back. I could howl with relief I’m so happy to see her again.

She gives me a flirty smile that is unabashedly seductive.

“You like that, don’t you? I can see it all over your face.”

“Forget my face.” I glance down between my legs.

“The anaconda,” she whispers as her eyes close with pleasure.

“Yeah, he really loves your filthy mouth.”

“Maybe one day you’ll let my filthy mouth love him. I still can’t believe we haven’t had wild sex, Paul.”

I swirl the wine in my glass. “I thought you liked us as friends.”

“I’d like it better if we were friends with benefits.”

“Hmm.”

The waiter brings over the check. I glance up to note that there are a lot of people waiting to be seated. They must want to turn our table. Maybe it’s just as well. If we continue on like this I could lose control and we may end up screwing in the parking lot.

As we wait for the tram to take us to my car, Elle throws me a curveball. “So Tuesday I’m flying up to Stockton to see my mom.”

I can’t hide my surprise. The only time she spoke of her mom was when recounting her less than idyllic childhood.

She shakes her head. “Believe me, I don’t want to go but she’s having heart surgery and needs someone to take care of her.”

“And you’re the only one who can?”

She nods. “The only one who’s reliable. I resent having to take care of her again, but if I don’t go and something happens, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Hopefully just a week. It depends on how it goes. She’s a mess.”

We’re quiet on the ride back to her house. When I walk her to the door she doesn’t invite me in since she has to get a proposal done for work.

Our hug feels different. It’s a little bit sweet like the old days and a little bit sad knowing I’m not going to see her for at least a week.

“I want daily reports,” I say as I push her sunglasses up on her head so I can see her blue eyes.

“Yes, sir. And don’t forget that the wedding is in three weeks. Have you gotten your tux yet?”

“No, I promise, I’ll do it this week. Take care of yourself, okay? Safe travels.”

She smooths down the front of my T-shirt. “I promise . . . and I’ll be home before you know it.”

That following Thursday, I finally return to the family dinner after missing a month of them while I looked after Elle. My parents didn’t give me any shit about it because they knew that Elle took comfort in my company and she needed quiet, peaceful time to heal, not the emotional chaos that our family dinners can be.

I’ve just let myself in the front door when Ma drags me to the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She puts her index finger up to her mouth. “Shhh.”

“Okay, what?” I whisper.

“Patrick is bringing a girl to dinner.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Did you set this up?”

Ma waves her arms dramatically. “I certainly did not. This girl is a hippy.”

She spits out the word like it’s dirty.

Now that’s unexpected. “He’s interested in a hippy?”

“He’s not just interested, they’re dating. They may have already had s-e-x.”

She whispers the letters and I have to suppress a laugh.

I hold out my hands. “Well, that’s what people who like each other do.”

“Not you and Elle,” she points out.

I close my eyes and count to three. There’s no point in arguing with my mother before the evening even begins. I respond the only way I know how.

“Yeah, but we’re weird.”

“Well, you might want to figure that out. I like Elle. I think she’s good for you.”

Is she teasing me, or is this my mother’s way of suggesting that I get together with Elle?

I let Ma get back to cooking and head to the living room where Trisha is arguing loudly with Dad about politics. The evening is showing great promise for being a hot mess.

I’m finally able to distract Trisha away from politics with an update about Elle, including the latest news that she’s in Stockton with her mother to help her after her surgery.

Dad looks uncomfortable hearing about the bypass surgery and he excuses himself to check on Ma.

“Is he okay?” I ask Trisha.

“His doctor just put him on cholesterol medicine. Between that and the knee surgery, he seems to have finally realized that he’s an old man and it’s all downhill from here.”

“Geez, Trisha. You didn’t tell him that, did you? You make it sound like his days are numbered.”

“Face facts, Paul. It’s just a matter of time for all of us.”

“Well aren’t you Suzy Sunshine.”

She shrugs. “I’m a realist. Life is hard and then you die.”

If she keeps going on like this, I’m going to need a stiff drink. It occurs to me that the night she spent helping Elle probably only supported her bleak outlook.

I’m about to change the subject when the front door opens and Patrick steps in with a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s followed by a woman in a long gauze skirt and Birkenstocks. He takes her hand and leads her into the living room.

I have to focus on not letting my mouth gape open. Apparently what we have here is the perfect example of the saying that opposites attract.

“Umm, Paul, Trisha, I’d like you to meet Skye,” Patrick says.

I glance at the girl and then back at Patrick. Who is this Patrick? How could he look so different in just a month? His hair is longer and messy like he just had wild sex and finally got out of bed. Holy hell! What if he did? Clearly the S-E-X agrees with him—he looks great. I decide not to chide him about the African print shirt he’s wearing . . . at least for now. Instead I focus on Skye.

“Hi, I’m Paul.” I reach out to shake her hand and notice she has that henna stuff painted from the top of her hand all the way up to her elbow.

“Hi, Paul.”

She doesn’t seem to have any make-up on and her wavy hair falls almost to her waist. What do you bet that she doesn’t shave her armpits? That’s just not okay in my book, but unless she starts wearing tank tops when she’s around us, it’s not my problem.

Trisha clears her throat. “I’m the sister, Trisha.”

As they shake hands, Skye nods. “Yes, I’ve heard all about you.”

Heard about Trisha? Been warned about Trisha is probably more like it.

Trisha gives Patrick a dubious look.

Skye addresses Trisha again. “Hey, your husband’s a floral designer, right? That’s so awesome. I work in a flower shop in Silver Lake.”

Trisha seems pleased that someone finally refers to Mikey with some regard. “Yes, his shop is in Burbank. He does a lot of work for the studios.”

“Cool,” Skye replies before leaning into Patrick. He wraps his arm around her waist.

“Let’s go meet Ma and Dad,” he says to her. She nods and gives us a little wave.

“So this is the first time you guys are meeting her? I ask Trisha, wondering how Ma knew she was a hippy.

“Yeah, a couple of weeks ago he showed us her Website that tells about her yearlong trip hitchhiking around Europe.”

“Well that explains why Ma is spooked by the idea of her. So how in the world did those two meet?”

“He was asking questions on some travel blog that she answered. They start having longer conversations and realized they live in the same area. Next thing we know he’s a vegan and won’t wear leather shoes or belts.”

“Vegan? Ma must love that. And how does he keep his pants up?”

“He’s wearing some kind of rope belt. I mean, what the hell is happening to him?”

The high point of dinner is when Dad gets his portion of the casserole Ma baked for our meal. He has a repertoire of about twelve dishes that he prefers for dinner and he immediately discerns that this isn’t one of them. He pokes the goopy pile with his fork. “What the hell is this?”

Ma narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “It’s vegetable casserole.”

Dad keeps pushing the lumps around. “Where’s the beef?”

“There isn’t any.”

“We aren’t poor, woman! This isn’t the potato famine. I need my meat.”

Patrick squares his shoulders. “Dad, Ma knows that you like your meat. But she made this especially for me and Skye. We’re vegans.”

“What’s a vegan?” Dad asks.

“We don’t eat any form of animal products,” Skye explains.

His brows knit together. “No meat? You eat milk and cheese though, right?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Nope. Milk and cheese are animal products, Dad. ”

Dad turns to Trisha, and whispers. Since I’m next to them I can hear their conversation. “Is this a cult? Do we need to be worried?”

“No. It’s not a cult, although it may as well be.”

“There are several vegans at my work,” I say trying to lighten the mood.

Trisha nods and turns to Patrick. “Between vegans and gluten-free people, you guys are trying to take over our food chain. It may just be an L.A. thing but half of the selections in my favorite bakery are now vegan or gluten free. What the hell?”

Patrick jumps in. “It’s healthy. And Dad, you’re trying to cut down on your cholesterol. Eating vegan is a great way to go.”

“I don’t think so,” he replies as he pushes his plate away.

Trisha rolls her eyes, Ma growls, and I try a bit of the grub. I may not like it but I’m relieved that I don’t gag.

Skye looks nonplussed.

I turn toward her. “Sorry, we’re not trying to be rude, but we’re kind of traditional with our food.”

She smiles. “That’s okay. I’m used to it. My parents don’t like it either, and Patrick warned me that you guys aren’t vegan.” She turns to Ma. “But I think it’s very sweet that you went to all this trouble for us.”

Ma smiles. Points for Skye . . . obviously she’s clever. I’m sure you can’t survive hitchhiking around Europe without street smarts and people skills.

“I reserved my tux,” I tell Elle the next day on our phone call.

“You got black right?” she asks.

“No, it’s white with an Elvis cape and rhinestones. What do you think? Of course it’s black.”

She laughs. “Thanks for doing that. I bet you cut a fine figure in a tux.”

“Yeah, I look all right. The saleslady that helped me was very enthusiastic. She took her time measuring my inseam.”

“I bet she did. I would’ve too if I were her.”

I imagine Elle on her knees measuring between my legs and I get flustered. My grip on my phone tightens as I try to focus on something else.

“So what are you wearing? I never asked if you were a bridesmaid.”

“No, I’m not because of the awkward situation with my ex being best man. She’s having her sister stand up for her.”

“That’s good. So that means you get to wear whatever you want. Wear something sexy.”