by Kristi Rose
What she’s saying takes the sting out of her words, somewhat. It still hurts and was embarrassing, but perhaps there was a method to her parental madness.
“I spent the last ten years grieving for your father, and I probably always will. It took your Nana to get me to see my life isn’t over. I don’t want you to get stuck in the same rut I did. I’m sorry. I’ll try to choose better words next time.”
It’s all I can ask.
When I smile Nana hoots and refills everyone’s glasses, then raises hers for a toast.
“Here’s to two lovely women who deserve true love and happiness. Slainte.” She hiccups and drains her glass. My mother and I follow suit.
We spend the rest of the morning talking about my mother’s date, eating crepes, and sipping mimosas. It’s wonderful and the guy my mother went out with sounds pretty nice, too. She promises to introduce me if they make it to date number five. It’s heartening to know even fifty-five-year-old widows have dating criteria.
With my day perking up, I do a quick change and head out to Gigi’s house. We plan to ride together to her father’s party.
Chapter 16
I arrive at Gigi’s to find kids running around the front yard. The neighbor parent is standing around chatting with a different neighbor. There’s no sign of Gigi. I know John’s home because his government car is parked in the driveway, crooked.
“Hey, Pete,” I call out. “Where’s your mom?”
“Inside, wrestling with Pop,” he yells, without breaking stride as he chases his neighbor, Eddie, around the yard. I watch him take aim, throw the ball, and bounce it squarely off the back of Eddie’s head.
I walk through the garage and bang on the door. Does Pete mean fighting? Could John be roughing Gigi up? The thought stops me in my tracks, but I shake it off. If John was manhandling Gigi in any sort of fashion, Hank would pound him onto the dirt. I figure Pete must mean they’re arguing. If I’m right and they are, as I think they often do, I don’t want any part of it. I had my rumble for the day.
No one comes to the door. I knock harder, waiting a few beats before I pull it open.
“Yoo-hoo,” I say.
Gigi comes running around the corner looking flushed and unkempt. How do these people fight? Is it really a wrestling match in the Matthewses’ household? I’m not about to ask.
“Sorry, Paisley.” She’s out of breath. “I’ll be ready in a minute. You’ll have to move your car ’cause John has to go to work. We’ll take mine.”
She leans out the kitchen door and hollers, “Pete, get your backpack. We’re leaving in five minutes.”
She bustles off toward her room, and John comes around the corner with a cigarette dangling from his mouth. A holster wraps around his shoulder and tucks under his arm. It’s weighed down with a gun. I see what Gigi likes about him. Physically, I mean. Back in the day when they were dating, he was pretty fun for the quiet sort. Of course, they dated for only six months before they married. Everyone’s fun the first six months. But how can a girl like the guy who obviously makes her best friend miserable?
I move my SUV onto the side of the road, load Pete into Gigi’s SUV, and honk the horn. She comes running out, loaded down with bags and presents. Looking at her now makes me wonder how she manages a household. She’s always been the organized and methodical one, but today she’s disheveled and appears weary, or simply beat down, not giving off good vibes about the whole marriage-and-kid thing. I suppose it’s harder when a single parent runs the house. John’s an FBI agent with the Tampa office and stays busy. Before they had a child, it didn’t seem to be such a big deal if he was gone for few weeks at a time or the occasional overnight. Now Gigi voices her concerns about Pete being without his dad for extended periods and her role as both parents. I want to point out perhaps drinking while doing housework isn’t necessarily the best example either, but I figure my life is jacked up enough and I should stop while I’m ahead.
“You OK?” I take a juice box from the loaded soft cooler Gigi keeps in her car and hand it to Pete. She looks a bit...frazzled. Her blond hair is pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, only half of it was pulled through the band, and she has a noticeable makeup line under her chin.
“I’m fine. Just...preoccupied.” She shrugs and turns onto her parents’ street. I resist the urge to lean in and sniff for booze. I don’t think it will go over well, her being my ride home. Plus, I don’t think she would drink and drive with her kid in the car.
We pull onto the driveway. Even though I know Hank isn’t expected, my whole body sags with relief when I find his truck isn’t among those in the driveway.
“You might want to fix your hair and you have a....” I rub some of her makeup line in, trying to blend it before I jump out, moving to the back to free Pete from his car seat. I laugh at her expression when she realizes how disheveled her appearance is.
Like a herd of noisy kindergartners, we head into the house and are greeted by the gathering. Gigi’s younger sister, Joanna, is inside with her current boyfriend. She doesn’t have much regard for me. Guess she thinks I suck up her sister time with Gigi and leave her nothing. The party is a festive family event with fond jesting, good food, and unconditional love. I’m in complete heaven and am enjoying myself, talking with some of their cousins, when Ms. Becky calls out.
“Hank.”
I’m midadjustment on a stool when she says his name, causing my foot to slip out from under me. I grip the counter but my seat still misses the stool, which elicits a “whoops” and “oops” from me as I slide down, bang my chin on the countertop, and reseat myself. Thankfully, not many people see my fall, except the two cousins I was talking to and the one person I’m avoiding. Hank.
I try hard not to make a big deal out of it but my face burns. I pick up my glass of iced tea, take a drink, and turn my back on him. Wrapped in the fold of his family, Hank is busy giving his gift to his father and getting caught up with relatives.
After what I hope is a normal amount of time, I make my escape to the bathroom, forced to use the one by the bedrooms because the guest bath is occupied. I pass the room of sin and desire on my way, keeping my eyes focused on the bathroom door for fear of making any inadvertent suggestions to Hank.
Inside, I try to figure out a way to escape and get back to my car and spend a few minutes of wasted time kicking myself for not driving. I’m sporting a nice red area on my chin, which will bruise.
I could call my mom, but I imagine her picking me up in the golf cart, seeing Hank and beginning her matchmaking machinations again so I nix the idea. Besides, she’s probably still tipsy from imbibing too many mimosas. I could run over to Sarah Grace’s house but she’s likely still in her snit. It comes down to picking the least of the two tortures, leave or stay, and clearly staying here is it. My bruised chin and I are doomed, destined to stay until Gigi wants to leave.
With my bruised chin up and nerves steeled, I exit the room and seek comfort in knowing he’ll never make a move with his parents nearby. I pass the guest room, thinking I’m in the clear, when a hand snakes out and grabs my arm.
It’s Hank. He drags me into the room, closes the door, and backs me up against it.
“Hi, Paisley.” He brushes his lips against the red area on my chin.
In one breath, I’m gone, lost in the headiness of Hank’s touch. My knees buckle, and I sway against him. Hank moves the kiss to my lips and deepens it. Logical thoughts evaporate. The merest touch from him spreads delicious warmth through my body and I pull him closer.
“Mmm,” he purrs. “But no.” He pushes back. “I hoped I would see you. I also hoped you weren’t mad anymore.” He kisses his way down my neck.
“Mad about what? Oh, the night we talked about my friend’s husband. That’s long forgotten. I’m not mad.”
I’m distracted and ravenous for him. It feels as if a lifetime has passed since we last touched.
I try to pull his shirt from his pant
s, but he grabs my hands and pulls them to his chest, clasping them between his.
“What’s the problem?” I grin.
“I don’t think we should do this.” He groans. “Lord knows I want to.”
“So I ask again, what’s the problem?” I sneak a finger in between the buttons on his shirt and stroke a tiny patch on his chest.
“I want to stop.” He laughs and wiggles away, though he doesn’t drop my hands.
I don’t want him to stop. I don’t want to stop. I don’t care if everyone walks in on us. OK, I do because picturing his mom walking in sends a flash of common sense through me. His lower half is still pressed against me, and it takes every stupid ounce of discipline I have to not wrap my legs around him but to focus and hear what he’s saying.
“OK, I’ll stop, only because your family is on the other side of this door,” I say. “You’re still holding my hands.”
He rolls his eyes. “I know. I’ve got something I want to say and I want you to listen.” His face gets serious.
“OK. But if you want me to really hear it you should take a step back because...well.” My cheeks tingle as they flush.
Hank chuckles, lets go of my hands, and takes a step back.
“We should go on a date,” he tells me.
“A date?” I’m baffled.
“Yeah, a date. You know. One of those things you’ve been doing with other guys.”
“Oh, ha-ha.” Now I’m annoyed. “Why a date?”
“Why not? We’ve totally skipped a step by going to bed together. I think we need to back it up and start over with a date.”
“I don’t know, Hank. What would our families say?”
“Argghhh, Paisley. Who gives a... Why are you so worried about what people will say? It’s not as if I’m married or anything.” He stops, I assume, to compose himself. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “Why is a date with me such a foreign concept to you?”
I shrug. I guess I never thought of it before. It’s kind of weird imagining an actual date with Hank, weird and kind of exciting. My giddiness comes out as a snicker.
His brow furrows.
“Because sometimes I remember things. Things you might not want your date to know,” I say.
“Like what? I’m an open book.” He crosses his arms.
“Remember when you were in fifth grade and were totally crazy for Star Wars?”
He closes his eyes, and nods. He knows where I’m going with this but he hides it with impatience. “What’s this have to do with us going on a date?”
“Well, you used to make Gigi and me dress up as Princess Leia and Luke Skywalker. By the way, I did not enjoy being bumped to Chewbacca to save Joanna’s feelings when she wanted to play.” I giggle and snort when I try to compose myself.
“Maybe I’ll be thinking of those things or like when you crashed your bike into the side of Poppy’s car or like the time I caught you looking in my bedroom window or I’ll think about the bowl cut your momma gave you....”
“Why you.” He laughs, swoops in and picks me up, then tosses me on the bed and sits on top of me.
“I get the picture,” he says. “You think of those things when we’re making love?”
I laugh and push my skirt down in the open spaces between his legs. “Yes, sometimes I want to do a Wookie cry just for you.”
“If you’re thinking about Chewbacca, I’m doing something wrong.” He shrugs sheepishly.
“You know I’m teasing. Being with you is like being with a Jedi master,” I tell him. It comes out without me thinking about it. It’s true, so I let it go.
“Wow, high praise indeed.”
“OK.” I smile up at him. “I think you can get off me now. I know you say your family won’t care if we date but they might not want to walk in on us.”
He gives me a bright grin and it takes my breath away. Why I never noticed how downright stunning Hank looks is beyond me.
He’s always been a fixture in my life, it’s not like I never had the opportunity. Perhaps having a crummy marriage made me appreciate more of the finer things. He’s all ease and fluid movements, which is hard to imagine on a guy who stands six foot two. There is something very manly about the heavy silver watch on his wrist and ink of a tattoo peeking out from under the sleeve of his T-shirt.
“You haven’t said yes, yet.” He rolls away to sit on the bed’s edge.
“You know I might be more inclined to answer your question if you actually asked me,” I tell him.
“All right. I reckon I can do that. Wanna get together later, sometimes it’s called a date, and do something safe and harmless in the presence of others to guarantee it?” His lopsided smile opens up.
“You mean today?” I assumed we would do this out of Lakeland.
“Yes, today.” He looks me in the eye and holds my hand. “Trust me.”
It’s a leap of faith for me. “OK, what time are you thinking?”
“How about four? You’re staying at your momma’s, right?”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
He stands, helps me off the bed, and I smooth my skirt. When I look at him, the expression on his face makes my knees wobble. He takes a step toward me, and I run out of the room as fast as humanly possible. His laughter follows me down the hallway.
This will be fun, I reason. A date. With Hank. And since it’s “technically” our first official date, we probably won’t end up in the sack.
“Right,” I mumble, forgetting I’m once again in the bosom of my surrogate family. Gigi gives me a quizzical look, but before I can explain, Pete throws up all over my lower extremities.
It’s a quick ride back to Gigi’s with Pete puking all the way. I use the excuse of needing a shower and a change as my reason to not return to the party and make my way to my mother’s. Excitement for my impending date makes me giggle.
Chapter 17
I walk into my mother’s house to find her and Nana lying in the living room, watching old movies.
They’re drunk. Or as my dad would say, pissed.
The blinds are drawn and the lights off. Nana has one hand over her eyes, moaning, and my mother is holding a cold pack to her temple.
“Jeez, what kind of role models are you two anyway?” I start laughing.
“Shh,” Nana whispers. “I’ve the queen’s marching band harpin’ on in me head and it’s killin’ me.”
“What’s that smell?” My mother eases up into a sit.
“Ye mean it’s not ye, Helen? I thought ye’d tossed your haggis.”
“It’s me,” I tell them. “Pete threw up on me.” I do smell a bit putrid. Even with a quick rinse off, the smell lingers and permeates.
“Go get cleaned up. You’re making your grandmother and me sick.” My mother lies back with a groan.
“Or maybe the mimosas are what’s making you sick.” I beat feet to the shower anyway.
When I finish they are still lying about, moaning. I flip on a light and start the Keuring. I make two cups of coffee, taking one to each of the lushes. My mother asks about the party and the Lancaster clan. I give her a brief rundown of what went on and who was there. They purr when I mention Hank’s name.
“Ye ken, Paisley, I’ve been thinking. Since ye’ve had a man and now dinna have one, you’re free to run amok.”
I look at my mother for translation.
“What are you saying, Annie?” she asks.
“I’m sayin’ Paisley needs to do some shagging.” She raises her coffee cup and does a silent toast to me.
“Nana.” My mother and I call in unison.
Where did she hear the term shag? What does she know?
The doorbell rings, and I bolt to get it.
Speaking of shags. “Hanks’s here,” I call as I let him in. “Let’s continue this conversation never again.”
My mother and Nana laugh. I don’t have to explain why the lights are low and they’re drinking coff
ee. The empty champagne bottles on the kitchen counter tell the tale.
“Ceud mile failte,” Nana calls out to him. Not one welcome but one hundred thousand. Only Hank can get such love from my family.
“Tapadh leat.”
I’m surprised he remembers the simple phrases of politeness my father taught us years ago.
Nana beams at him and I narrow my eyes in suspicion. What a brownnoser.
“How about we walk the lake and stop for ice cream?” He gives my mother and Nana a kiss on the cheek and gives my bare feet a pointed look.
Lake Hollingsworth is the lake of choice for the exercise enthusiast. It boasts a paved, oversize sidewalk and markers so people can clock their distance. It’s one of my favorite places to go for exercise and right around the corner is my favorite ice-cream shop. In high school, the lake was always a popular place to go since opposite of the country club is Florida Southern College, known for its baseball team. In particular, the fine college boys who play on said team.
I dash off to get my shoes and put them on in the living room, afraid to leave him alone with Nana for fear she might bring up the shagging business again. Hopefully, I’ve been able to hide our recent...indiscretion. Could Hank? And from my all-knowing, all-seeing granny?
Hank drives and for a moment I’m lost in time. As if I’m sixteen again and, like I’ve done a million times before, I’m going to the lake with Hank. Except this time it’s a date. I try not to fidget or chew my thumbnail. I want him to find me interesting but can’t find any intriguing topics, everything suddenly sounds stupid or frivolous. So I let him make the small talk and listen as he compares what it was like living in Japan.
We start out with a comfortable stroll. The afternoon is still sweltering but hints at relief with the fading sun. Late June isn’t known for its breezy evenings, it’s known for its daily rain, which came earlier today and helped cool the earth a degree or two.
“I haven’t been here in years.” Hank drops a casual arm around my shoulders.