Текст книги "Wet"
Автор книги: Ruth Clampett
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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 18 страниц)
Chapter Ten
AGAINST THE WALL
The following Thursday as I drive to my parents it hits me that I should’ve planned out better how I’m going to break the news to them about Elle. I really have no idea how they’re going to handle it. I work on the breakdown of how I imagine their thoughts will run:
Strike one: she’s a divorcee
Plus one: she baked an apple pie and brought it to our house for dinner
Plus two: she went out with Patrick
Strike two: she rejected Patrick
Strike three: she got knocked up out of wedlock
Plus three: she’s having a baby and Ma says babies are gifts from God
As for the issue that I’m going to be Uncle Paul? I have no idea how they’ll rank that surprise.
My head is spinning. So instead of creating a strategy of how to tell them, I down a beer soon after arrival and have another before dessert is served. It’s loosened me up enough to bolster me with a false bravado.
During a rare quiet pause in the conversation I share my big news rather nonchalantly.
“Hey, guess what?”
Dad takes the bait. “What, son?”
“I’m going to be an uncle.”
My parents push their chairs back in unison with such force that the table pitches forward. They almost knock Trisha over trying to hug her and I instantly realize that being spontaneous was a sucky idea. I have given them the completely wrong idea and Trisha is giving me the “you will pay for this asshole” look in a profoundly convincing way.
“Paddy, Paddy . . . We’re going to be a grandparents!” Ma yells, even though we are all within feet of her.
I leap to my feet. “Wait! Wait a minute! It’s not Trisha!”
In unison their gazes move to Patrick and back to me.
“What are you talking about, Paul?” my father asks. He’s not amused with my shenanigans, and obviously he wants some answers.
“It’s Elle.”
Patrick gasps and Trisha snorts.
“Elle?” Ma says. “What does that have to do with you being an uncle?”
“The guy she was seeing wants no part of it so I told her I’d help.”
“Help how?” my sister asks.
“Yes, what exactly do you mean by help?” My dad asks with a scowl on his face.
“I bet he’s in charge of diapers because he’s so full of shit,” Trisha says.
“Shut it, Trisha,” I growl.
She points at me. “Don’t even . . .”
“Paul? Help how?” my mother says in a stern tone that I recognize. If I don’t start making sense soon I’m going to be in the doghouse for sure.
“You know . . . just being supportive. We’re good friends so I calmed her down after the guy was an ass about it.”
My father shakes his head. “Ass indeed. What kind of man can he be?”
My fingers instinctively curl into fists. “Don’t get me started. I want to beat the shit out of him.”
“Goodness. You are supportive,” Ma says as she studies me.
“I am. I did some research online and bought her pre-natal vitamins.”
Patrick jumps in. “Those are very important.”
“How do you know that?” Trisha asks with an arched brow.
He shrugs. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I glance over at Mom and her expression has softened. She looks at my dad, and then back at me. “You bought vitamins for her baby?”
I nod. “It wasn’t a big deal. I’m happy to help her. She’s a good woman, Ma.”
Patrick nods.
“She is,” Ma agrees. “Poor lass to be in such a situation. It’s a lot for one woman to manage—too much really.”
“And a baby needs a father,” Dad says.
His words sting because no matter how supportive I am, being an uncle is nothing compared to being a dad.
Ma turns to Patrick and Trisha. “You two, we need a word alone with Paul.”
“Why can’t we hear?” Trisha asks.
“Do you really need to ask that? You and your agitating comments . . .”
“It’s part of my charm,” Trisha remarks with a grin.
Patrick stands up. “Come on, Trisha, let’s go do the dishes.”
Ma waits until she hears the water running in the kitchen before she turns to me. “Paul, we want to know, is there something going on between you and Elle that you aren’t telling us?”
I can’t help but squirm in my seat. “No. Why do you ask?”
“I just can’t imagine why you would take this on if you aren’t involved. Saying you are going to be an uncle is a serious business. You can’t just flitter in and out of the wee one’s life.”
“I’m not the flittering type, Ma.”
Dad rests his hands on the table. “We know that, son, but you haven’t known Elle long. Do you really know what you are getting into? She’s embarking on the biggest job and responsibility of her life. And although I’m very sympathetic, how will you handle it if she asks too much from you?”
“That’s not her style. If anything she tries to do too much on her own, when she should ask for help.”
Ma twists her hands together.
“Do you think badly of her for this unplanned pregnancy?”
“No,” she scoffs. “That’s life—mistakes happen, but a baby is a gift regardless.
And Elle is a lovely woman who’s been married . . . she’s not a sixteen year old girl who was careless.”
“And we’ve always liked her,” Dad chimes in.
Ma nods. “She just needs to make the best of it, and it sounds like she’s trying.”
“She is,” I agree.
Ma gives me a stern look. “Okay, but how are you going to meet a girl and have your own family if you’re so busy being uncle to Elle’s baby?”
“And what if the father changes his mind and decides to be with Elle after all?”
“Believe me, he’s a whack-job . . . I really don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“But you can’t know that for sure,” Dad says.
I stand up and push my chair back. “Look, I appreciate your concern for me, really I do . . . but the bottom line is that I truly care about her and she really needs my support. I figure the rest will be worked out in time.”
“Please be careful, son,” Dad says.
I nod and then Ma steps up and hugs me tightly. I can’t read the hug: is it tinged with worry, protective urges, pride or disappointment? Perhaps it’s a mix of them all.
The following week we’re back at In-N-Out because Elle has a craving. She must be very brave to eat another Double-Double so soon after the last one’s untimely ending. With each bite she moans, closes her eyes, and smiles so it seems like things are going well. Honestly, watching her eat that burger is the closest thing to watching porn but everyone’s clothes are still on.
When she finishes it she elaborately licks each finger, and I keep having to look away.
“What?” she asks before pressing a napkin over her lips to blot the ketchup that remains.
“Oh nothing.”
“Then why do you look uncomfortable?”
“Do you always moan that much when you eat?”
Her cheeks immediately blush pink. “Was I that loud?”
“Uh huh. That would have made a great sex scene soundtrack.”
“Oh no! I’m horrified.”
“Don’t be. It was hot. I’m sure every man within hearing distance of our table has a hard-on right now.”
Her eyes grow wide. “Do you?”
“What do you think?”
She sits back in her seat. “Well, at least I’ve still got it. I thought men didn’t find pregnant woman sexy.”
“Oh, that’s so 1950. I’ve seen some very sexy pregnant women. ”
“Like who?”
“Well, you for one.”
“Really? Be honest now, you just lust after my big boobs. Besides, I don’t even look pregnant yet. Let’s see how you feel when my belly gets round.”
“Will you let me touch it?”
“My voluptuous chest?”
“No. Your round belly.”
“Sure. Anytime.” She pats her tummy gently and smiles.
“Paul?”
I glance over to see my sister’s friend, Holly, holding a tray and standing at the edge of our table.
Awkward. I wonder how much of that conversation she overheard.
“Hey, Holly. Long time no see.”
She glances at Elle. “Is this your girlfriend?”
While I’m thinking of an equally rude and invasive retort, Elle jumps in. “No, we’re just good friends. I’m Elle by the way.” She gives Holly a little wave.
“Hi there. I was just wondering because Paul never returned my call about coming with me to the reunion next month.”
“But you weren’t even in my class. Why would I go to that reunion?”
“Because you promised me when you wouldn’t go to the prom with me that you’d make it up to me one day.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so I don’t laugh out loud. “Surely you didn’t think I meant that?”
“So you were lying?”
“Absolutely. I really didn’t want to go to the prom.”
I leave out the ‘with you’ part.
I see Elle’s eyes twinkle as she takes a sip of her shake. She’s enjoying this way too much.
“I think you should go to the reunion with Holly,” Elle says.
Traitor!
How could she do this to me after I volunteer to be her baby’s uncle?
Holly lets out a little “Woo-hoo!” and with the way that the other patrons are staring at us, I’m feeling like our booth has become the center of the In-N-Out universe. Can we leave now? Don’t get me wrong, Holly is actually quite attractive, but the girl never shuts up and I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard her discuss a single thing that was of interest to me.
“Hollyeee,” we hear some chick screech from across the bright white expanse of booths and mini-tables.
Holly waves at her Neanderthal friend who yells across restaurants. “I’ve got to scooch. I’ll call you, Paul. And great to meet you, Elle!”
And a second later she’s gone.
I squint my eyes and shake my head. “Scooch?”
Elle shrugs. “Does that mean to go somewhere?”
“It sounds like that thing dogs do when they drag their butts along the ground. I actually could see her doing that.”
She nods. “It’s such an ugly word.”
“And can you tell me what I did to you to make you do something so hateful to me?”
Her expression falls instantly from amused to mournful. “Hateful?”
“Enlisting me in reunion hell.”
“Oh, listen to you! You make it sound like torture.”
“I promise you, it would be if I went. And I’m not going.”
“I know you aren’t going.” She has a sly grin that makes me smile.
“So you were lying to her.”
“Of course, what else would get her to shut up and leave us alone? You’re with me, and she has a lot of nerve coming over here and fawning all over you.”
She’s jealous. The idea of this makes me unbelievable happy.
“Oh man, I love you!” I say, and then grit my teeth. Did I really just use the big L word like some lovestruck pussy boy? “I mean, I love that you did that,” I correct quickly.
She takes a sip of her shake and nods. “She is pretty in a ‘trying way too hard’ kind of way, but she’s not for you.”
“Who is for me?”
You, you, you . . . my brain whispers on autopilot.
She gets a faraway look in her eyes. “We’ll see.”
We’re at Elle’s house curled up on the couch in our third attempt for her to stay awake long enough to watch Baby Boom with Dianne Keaton. My sister shocked me by loaning me the DVD two Thursdays ago after family dinner night. She shoved it at me while I was leaving.
“Here, watch this with Elle.”
I held up the DVD case and studied it. “What’s it about?” Although with the name Baby Boom, I was pretty sure it wasn’t a Star Wars kind of flick.
“She’s a career woman who suddenly has to take care of a baby. And you remind me a lot of the Sam Shepard character.”
“Is he an asshole, or something?” I ask since she always seems to have the lowest opinion of me.
“Nah. The opposite really. He’s calm and steady and just naturally looks out for her . . . like you’re trying to do for Elle. I really like his character.”
I stop and turn around, realizing this is a moment I need to pay attention to. They come so few and far between. “So are you saying I’m a good guy, Trisha?”
“Maybe,” she mutters, glancing down and twisting her watch around her wrist.
“And are you saying that you like me?”
She looks like she’s holding a hot plate in her hands and has nowhere to set it down. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far.”
I nod and open the front door.
She clears her throat. “Well, maybe just a little bit.”
I let out a low laugh and give her an awkward hug. “Well, whatever you’re saying . . . thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I’m a few steps into the walkway when Trisha calls out to me. “Hey Paul?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m really am proud of you for how you’re helping Elle.”
I gaze at her intently and the corners of my mouth edge up as I nod. “Thanks, Trisha.”
So Elle and I are watching the movie and are at the part where Sam Shepard meets Dianne in his veterinary practice in rural Connecticut. Elle suddenly turns to me.
“Tell me about your work.”
“Okay. What would you like to know?”
“Do you enjoy it?”
“Most of the time. I love the creative part where I’m envisioning the design, and the thrill of creating something people will see and appreciate. I’m still one of the mid-level men on the design team so far, but I plan to work my way up.”
“I’m sure you will.”
I appreciate her blind faith in my ability.
“You know, like any work, there’s stuff I can’t stand about it: difficult clients, boring status meetings, budget cuts mid-way through projects.”
“That sounds like my job.”
“So then, what do you like about your work?”
“I think it’s the challenge of pulling off events when there are so many ways things can go wrong. I like the strategy of figuring out a game-plan, and I have really good vendors I’ve developed relationships with. I love the adrenalin when the event starts and we’re all amped up . . . showtime!”
“It does sound a bit like live theater,” I say.
“It is in some ways. My busy season is going to start soon. Which reminds me . . . I think I’m going to have to shop for new business clothes already. All those Double-Doubles caught up with me. My pencil skirts are too tight.”
“Well you’ve been eating for two. Are there pregnant clothes for career women?”
She grins. “You mean maternity clothes? I’m not sure, but wearing those ugly slacks with the expanding waistline is a hard limit for me. I’m going to try to buy regular clothes, just bigger for now.”
“Promise me that you aren’t one of those women that goes out wearing a skin-tight knit dress in her last months where you can see the baby kicking—the thing is so revealing. I really don’t need to see that from total strangers.”
“No one does. I promise I won’t do that.”
“Thank you.”
She lets out a long yawn. “You sleepy?”
“Yeah, always these days. I’m lucky that it’s been my slow time at work since I’m so tired all the time.”
“So what’s your busy season like?” I feel a surge of worry that it’s going to sound like too much in her condition.
“Long hours, lots of stress. I have no idea how I’m going to get through it without my coffee.”
“So you really stopped drinking coffee? I’m impressed” She looked at me like I was nuts when I first told her she should wean herself off of it. Luckily her doctor re-confirmed what I said.
“Oh man. It was rough. Good thing you didn’t see me those first few mornings. I miss the coffee a lot more than the booze. Nine months is a long time.”
“It is, but you’re being strong for the baby. See, you’re already a good mom.”
She leans her head on my shoulder and smiles. “I guess you’re right. I want to be a good mom, Paul . . . more than anything.”
“And so you will be.”
Chapter Eleven
THE HOT SEAT
“Are you really sure about this Paul? Really? Oh my God, I’m freaking out.”
Parking in front of my parent’s house, I turn toward her. “Why are you freaking out?”
“Your parents are very traditional people. They must think very poorly of me for being in this situation.”
“Well, I’m not going to lie and say they think it’s great that you are having a baby without a husband, but they respect the fact that you are doing the best you can. We talked about it. They’ve always liked you, and they still do.”
“How do they feel about you . . . well, you know, helping me so much . . . and being ‘the uncle’?”
I grip the steering wheel as I try to think of what to say so that she isn’t uncomfortable. She could easily take what I say the wrong way and I don’t want to upset her. “They want to make sure I’m helping you for the right reasons.”
“Are you? I mean, I think you are, but only you can say for sure.”
I nod. “I am.”
“But they’re still worried, aren’t they?”
“Maybe a little.”
“That I’m taking advantage of you?”
I point to the house. “Hey, what do you say we shelve this deep-feely stuff for now and go chow down? I swear they’re going to be nice to you. They really like you.”
She folds her arms over her ample chest and side-eyes me. “Okay, I’ll agree because I’m famished. So you get a break now, but we’re discussing this later.”
When we get out of the car she retrieves the dessert she baked from the backseat.
“So is that your apple pie?” I ask, my mouth already watering.
“No, this time I made strawberry cheesecake.”
My eyebrows arch and let out a low whistle. “See there, we haven’t even finished the first quarter and you’re already ahead in the game.”
“Oh my goodness gracious!” Ma exclaims as she clasps her hands over her heart. Her cheeks are pink and she looks positively blissful. “You shouldn’t have, Elle! You should be resting, not baking.”
Ma really should’ve been an opera singer. She’s so theatrical with her booming voice and dramatic gestures.
“But baking is relaxing to me, Mrs. McNeill. Besides, Paul told me strawberries are your favorite.”
“They are indeed. Come in, come in, and call me Millie, lass.”
There’s a little bustle at first with all of the overly exaggerated greetings. Finally Dad gets Elle settled on the couch with a glass of water, and so far there’s no weird vibe. Even Patrick doesn’t seem totally awkward about seeing her again.
During dinner, Dad keeps passing the lamb chops to Elle and I’ve lost count how many she’s eaten. It’s starting to get a little obscene.
Meanwhile Patrick and Dad are talking about the stock market while I watch Elle eat. Suddenly Trisha pipes up.
“Hey, Paul, did you hear who Ma ran into at the bank?”
I look over at my mother, who’s busy buttering her bread. She gives Trisha a stern look and shakes her head, then glances at Elle. Ma’s reaction makes me curious as to what’s going on.
“Nope. Who was it?”
“Melanie Milstead,” Trisha replies with an edge of defiance in her voice.
Ma’s eyes grow wide with fury. My sister has a knack for stirring things up.
The intensity of the feelings that buzz through me is surprising, a mix of intrigue, frustration, and longing. Melanie Milstead . . . the girl that got away. Even after all these years hearing her name still gets to me.
Ma lifts up the big bowl to her right. “More mashed potatoes anyone?” she asks with an exasperated expression. Dad picks up the cue and grabs the bowl and offers more to Elle.
Patrick sets down his fork. “Hey, I remember that girl. You had a big crush on Melanie Milstead in high school. You talked about her all the time.”
“Um, yeah. That was a lifetime ago,” I respond.
He nods. “Wow. How’s she doing?”
Ma sighs with resignation. “She seems fine. She’s just moved back to L.A. after working in New York for a few years. I think she said in design.”
“Yes, she’s a graphic designer,” I say.
Elle looks over at me with a curious expression.
“So Ma says she asked all about you,” Trisha teases.
“Really?”
Ma shrugs. “I told her you were working for Sater and Gates and she was impressed.”
“That’s nice,” I say, my palms sweating. I can’t believe just the idea of that girl still makes me nervous.
“She gave Ma her information so you could contact her,” Trisha states.
“Contact her? Like a date? Are you going to do that?” Patrick asks like it’s a column of numbers that aren’t adding up.
“No! I’m not going to ask her on a date!” I answer emphatically.
“Why not?” inquires Elle, seeming genuinely intrigued.
My mouth twists as I try to think how to change the subject. “Well . . .”
“Ask her out,” Elle says.
I lean back. I sort of thought that Elle wouldn’t want me dating other women, while I’m helping her with her baby-centric life.
“Really?” I ask.
“Sure.”
I study her face and see no sign that she’d care if I go out with Melanie. It bugs me. I want her to care.
Elle gives me a smile. It looks a little forced, but I’m not sure.
“It might be fun to see her.”
“Lots of fun,” Trisha comments.
“Maybe I will,” I reply, testing the dark and murky waters. I don’t share that I could never get Melanie to go out with me before, so I’m not sure why she would now.
“Good.” Elle says as she finally pushes her dinner away. Her plate has enough bones to qualify as an archeology site.
“Maybe she’ll be a good design contact,” Ma suggests.
“You said she really has her life together. Didn’t you, Ma?” Trisha says.
Ma scowls at her.
From the way Elle’s eyes darken I can tell she’s taken offense. She smooths her napkin over her lap. “You should definitely be dating a woman who has her life together,” she says in a clipped tone.
“And you two aren’t a couple, right?” Trisha asks, gesturing toward Elle and me. My sister is ever the helpful one. Maybe this was her idea to test us to see if we could be a potential couple, and Elle and I have failed.
“Oh no! Not together in any way. We’re just friends,” Elle assures her.
I don’t like the tone of Elle’s voice . . . like being with me would be about as much fun as a root canal.
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” I say with a tone indicating that I’m done with them figuring out my life while I sit and chew on a lamb chop.
After dinner Dad and I do the dishes. I suspect he’s as relieved as I am to get away from all the female hormones for a while. We left Patrick in there, but I’m sure it’s a chance for him to learn fascinating new things about that perplexing species.
When we rejoin the clan Ma has pulled out the photo albums and is showing Elle our baby pictures.
“Oh, Paul. You were the cutest baby! I mean look at these chubby cheeks!” Elle exclaims.
I shake my head. “Yeah, I’ve seen those. I think I’ll pass.”
“Look at those thick thighs,” Ma coos. “He was insatiable, I could never feed him enough.”
“Do you even hear what you’re saying?” I ask, not hiding the frustration in my tone. “I’m going to hurl that album out the window if you go on any more about my insatiable feeding for fuck’s sake.”
“Paul!” Dad snaps.
“I love seeing these pictures of you,” Elle says. “You look like you were such a happy baby, and your mom told me all about your delivery.”
“You were already trying to get out before we got to the hospital, Paulie. You were always on the go.”
“Why is no one listening to me?” I say into the void.
“Is your baby’s daddy a big, strong man like our Paul?” Ma asks.
Elle studies me like she’s sizing me up.
“Well, he’s taller, but not built like Paul. He’s long and lean.”
Ma nods. “I prefer a big man, but as long as he isn’t fat. Because a fat man will only get fatter.”
“Word to the wise,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Well, you were right,” Elle says as she buckles her seatbelt.
“See, I told you they would be welcoming. I think Ma was in heaven talking about babies all night.”
“They really couldn’t have been nicer. I really like your family, Paul.”
“Well you can have them.”
“Don’t be that way. I mean I know the breastfeeding thing must have been awkward for you, but I think it’s kind of cute.”
“Cute? What in the world is cute about breastfeeding?”
“I’m going to breastfeed the baby.”
Alarmed, I look over at her. “Why would you do that when bottles make so much sense?”
“Make sense? Don’t you know how much healthier it is for the baby? Look how good you turned out.”
“Just promise me you won’t keep doing it to where it becomes a freak show. When the kid can come up and tell you he wants it, and then lifts your shirt and yanks at your bra, it’s time to stop.”
It’s her turn to look alarmed. “Ewww.”
I shake my head. “Exactly.”
The next mile or so we’re both silent. I’m deep in thought and assume she is too. I finally glance over at Elle for a second to make sure she’s all right. As it happens she’s squeezing her boobs and I almost lose control of the car.
“What are you doing?” I ask, my throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara.
“Checking.”
“Care to elaborate?” I ask with a smirk.
“I’m checking to see if my boobs got bigger.”
“Since when?”
“Since this morning.”
“They grow that fast?”
She shrugs. “It seems like it.” She thrusts her chest out. “Here, you want to see for yourself?”
Her words make me die a little inside. I want to feel her up so badly, but I can’t. She doesn’t understand my issues with self-control. One minute I’d be sizing up her breasts as I fondle them, the next I’d have her pinned down across the front seat with her panties pulled off.
“No thank you,” I say, my steely gaze focused on the cars in front of me.
“It’s because of this Melanie person being back in town that you won’t touch my breasts, am I right? I could tell that she wasn’t just any ‘ol girl when Trisha brought her up. Was she one of your sex girls?”
“Sex girls?” I ask, perplexed.
“Like number three of your foursome?”
“Ah no, she was not, nor would ever be one of my sex girls.”
Elle’s eyes narrow. “So she was more?”
“More or less, depending on how you look at it.”
“What does that mean?”
I clear the gruffness out of my throat. “I was crazy for her, but she always refused to go out with me.”
“You’re joking, right?”
My stoic expression falls. “No joke, I swear.”
“How in the world could she refuse you? Is she gay?”
I have to smile at her apparent high regard for my desirability.
“Nope, not gay. Just very picky.”
“But you’re the entire package. And with the anaconda, you’re the entire package plus!”
“Is there ever a time where you aren’t thinking about sex, Elle?”
Her cheeks blush pink. “No, not really.”
“Well, she turned me down more times than I can count. I found out later that she preferred older men. She was particularly drawn to the prestigious designers.”
“Ah, so she’s ambitious.”
“Very. How did you know?”
“It’s the only way any of it makes sense. She turns you down for some older guy who can help her move ahead. Only now that you’re getting somewhere with your career can she be bothered.” She huffs and looks out the window.
“Kind of judgmental, aren’t you?”
“Maybe. But if she can’t appreciate all of your amazing qualities then she doesn’t deserve you.”
“Is that so?” I ask, trying not to make my tone sound too playful.
“I could find you a much better woman than Ms. Melanie.”
“So what? You’ll be my pimp?”
The irony that the one woman I’ve made up my mind I want, is the same woman determined to get me someone else, is not lost on me. If our situation wasn’t so crazy, I’d really be gutted.
She grins. “I’ll be your pimp, and you’re my baby uncle. We’re so damn modern.”
“So what kind of girl will you pick for me?”
She looks up to the side and purses her lips. “Let me see. First of all, I’m thinking a big, curvy girl.”
That wasn’t what I was expecting. “Why?”
“So she can handle you. You know . . . all of you.”
She is obsessed with the anaconda. I guess it works because it’s obsessed with her.
“Well, I dig big, curvy girls so I’m okay with that. Will she have big tits?” I ask this crude question to throw her off, but she doesn’t even blink.
“Most likely, those two things tend to go hand in hand.”
“What does she like to do in her free time?” I ask.
“Exotic dancing,” she answers, without missing a beat.
I nod. “Good.”
“Yes, she’ll have the moves.”
“Is this someone I can bring home to meet the family?”
Her lips pucker into a little pout as she taps her chin with her finger.
“Maybe on second thought she’s not an exotic dancer.”
I nod, fighting back a grin.
“And she can’t be a ballerina, they’re too stiff.”
“Yeah, I like my women bendy.”
“I know! Your parents are Irish . . . she could be an Irish dancer!”
I let out a guffaw. “Ha! Have you ever watched Irish dancing?”
“Sort of.”
“It’s all jumping up and down.”
“So . . .”
“Didn’t you say she had big tits?”
She bends over laughing. “Oh my God! Jumping up and down is not good for the girls!”
“Not that I’d mind watching that, just saying . . . but it could be really uncomfortable for her.”
“Good point. Okay, I’ll keep thinking.”
I’m almost to her house when Elle turns toward me. “So what does this Melanie look like?”
“Mmm. Back in the day she was long and lean, gorgeous smooth skin, a mysterious smile, and the biggest blue eyes. But it was the way she carried herself that set her apart—she seemed aristocratic.”
“A mysterious smile?” she says with her lips pursed. “What does that mean?”
“Like she knew something you didn’t.”
“What’s my smile like?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”
She folds her arms over her chest. “Oh I see. She’s mysterious and I’m forgettable.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“You may as well have said that.”
“Is this a hormone thing? Because you’re acting unusually nutty.”
“Unusually nutty? So I’m always nutty, but right now even more so.”
My brows knit together and I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So do I amuse you with my nuttiness?”
“Usually you do, but not so much right now. But don’t worry about it. I was reading about pregnancy and I’m sure this is your hormones going haywire again.”
She doesn’t respond, and when I glance over I see a dark red flush running across her face. That can’t be good.
She points out her window. “Pull over!”
I swerve to the side and skid to a stop. If she’s going to upchuck dinner I sure as hell don’t want it in my car. As soon as I hit the unlock button, she swings the door open wide.
But instead of leaning into the curb she pops out of the car, turns and slams the door shut.
Luckily the window is partially rolled down so she can hear me yell out, “Hey! What are you doing?”
“This nutjob is getting away from you, Mr. Critical.”
My mouth falls open. “What did I do?”
“Oh, you didn’t do a thing. It’s all me. And I’m sure it will be an incredible relief to get away from nutty me and take out the exquisite Miss Melanie with the perfect skin and ‘together life’.”
She does quote marks in the air to emphasize her point before continuing.
“I’m sure Melanie won’t be hormonal and demand massive In-N-Out meals because she accidently got knocked up. No! She’ll probably suggest the hippest new restaurants where they serve little aristocratic portions. And I can bet that Ms. Perfect won’t be feeling up her own boobs at inappropriate times, since unlike me, she has hot guys lined up that want to feel them for her.”
Oh man, she’s gone off the ledge. I better try to reason with her. It isn’t good for her to be this upset.
“What are you talking about? Those Tinder guys wanted to feel you up. I bet if you called them they’d be happy to do it again.”
She juts her hands on her hips and gives me a look so harsh that it makes me wither inside.
