by Leigh Tudor
Loren’s eye shot to Mercy. “You called her a geriatric fem-bot last night.”
“Yeah, but this morning she told me I had vast potential and gave me a bottle of fancy French perfume.” Mercy paused. “And then she handed me a pair of rubber gloves and told me to start illustrating that potential with elbow grease.”
“Did you tell her to kiss your ass?”
Mercy side-eyed her sister. “Geez, calm down, you little maniac. I put the rubber gloves on and cleaned out the refrigerator. She told me my work was quite impressive.”
What the hell? When had Mercy become so tolerant? Loren could remember a time when she had to restrain her from clocking a passerby on the streets of Copenhagen for gawking at her red corset, denim shorts, and fishnets.
Loren fished for remnants of dishware in the tepid water and found another plate with caked on remnants of loaded nachos from a few days ago. “How convenient that she goes to the grocery and Cara leaves for school while we’re left here to clean the entire house.”
Mercy turned sheepish. “Before they left, she asked me what I wanted to eat for dinner and I told her that sometimes I dreamed of Mom’s chicken and broccoli casserole.”
“What?” The indignation in Loren’s voice trumped all other emotion. “I would’ve made it for you.”
Mercy gave her a look that read, “Like that would ever happen.”
“I’m serious. I could’ve figured it out. I would have at least tried had I known it was that important to you.” Loren pursed her lips and scrubbed like her life depended upon the eradication of all cheese from every plate in the house.
She should be making mom’s casserole, not some pretentious, overbearing, well-dressed stranger. Well, practically a stranger to her and Mercy. Her shoulders fell as she wondered why she’d never thought to ask Mercy or Cara what foods they missed, or liked, or wanted to fling across the table in a food fight for fuck-sake?
And why did Mercy suddenly take to Madame whatever-her-name-was after a single backhanded compliment? Was she that starved for validation and a home-cooked meal?
Despite all her efforts, Mercy and Cara continued to reach out to others for their emotional needs rather than her. What was she lacking? Would she ever be enough? She worked so hard to get them to Wilder, yet outside forces kept creeping their way in, disrupting what she was trying to build with their fledgling family.
“Hey, Kujo with a scrub brush,” Mercy said, stopping Loren’s hand from scrubbing furiously, “you’re going to scratch the laminated design off the plastic plate.”
Loren dropped the plate in the soapy water and turned to Mercy. “From now on, you come to me if you want Mom’s casserole.” She stabbed a soapy finger toward her own chest. “Come to me if you need perfume recommendations, or . . . or . . . dating advice.”
“Hey, hey,” Mercy said, giving her sister a light punch to the shoulder, “take a chill pill, sis. No one is replacing you. No one is betraying you.”
Loren sniffed while leaning her elbows on the counter, refusing to look at her sister.
Mercy’s voice softened as she bumped her with her shoulder. “You’ve got to come to terms with the fact that other people are going to come in and out of our lives. Some are going to be good influences and others are going to be mistakes. You can’t control every aspect of our lives and frankly, you shouldn’t want to. You have to let us live our own lives on our terms. Even allow us to make a mistake or two . . . hundred.”
Struggling to hide the tears pooling in her eyes Loren leaned on her elbows, stared at her feet, and nodded. She swiped at a tear with her bicep before it dropped.
“But don’t doubt the bond between us,” Mercy added. “You are my big sister, my best friend, and not to mention a critically important pain in my ass.”
Loren nodded. But then the tears kept springing up and . . . yup, there was snot. Crap, it was running down her face. She pulled her sleeve across her eyes and under her nose. Madame Douche-Canoe would grab her pearls and suffer an apoplectic fit had she witnessed such a poor display of restraint.
Loren’s voice was raspy as she stood straight and pulled her shoulders back. “When did you get so smart?”
Mercy grinned wide. “Since I turned twenty-one. One more thing, so get ready to stem the water-works.”
“Okay.”
“You ready?”
Loren grimaced with a half-smile. “Girding my loins here.”
Mercy cleared her throat. “You have proven on many occasions that you would die for us. I know for a fact that you came close a time or two . . . hundred. I also think that you’ve kept some really bad shit from us. I can’t speak for the other pain in my ass, but I can make an educated guess that both she and I would die for you, too.”
Loren shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever do that.”
Mercy smiled wryly. “Ah, just one more thing you have no control over, sista.” Loren yelped as Mercy smacked her on the ass with her damp dish towel. “Now, help me finish cleaning the house so you can get out there on your first date and become the sexual submissive we all know you can be.”
Loren rubbed her backside with a frown. “That was unnecessary.”
“Better get used to the rough stuff. By the way, what are you going to wear? How are you going to do your makeup?”
Hmm, she hadn’t thought too much about all that.
“I dunno. I guess I’m going to wear a sweater and a pair of jeans.” She pulled out the drain to let out the dishwater. “And the only makeup tips I have are for changing identities in the middle of an operation. Makeup for non-mission purposes is supposed to enhance your facial strengths and hide your imperfections. I have no idea how to do that.”
“No problem. I’ll do it. There’re all these YouTube channels on how to apply makeup. I’m an artist, how hard can it be?”
Loren started wiping down the rest of the counter. “Okay, but let’s not get crazy. I don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.”
“You mean thirsty.” Mercy said, picking up a carton of milk and a Twinkie wrapper so Loren could finish with the countertops.
“I’ll be sure to drink plenty of water before Alec picks me up.”
“Not what I mean. ‘Thirsty’ is slang for trying too hard. You know, like, being ‘thirsty’ for attention.”
Loren rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t make me look ‘thirsty.’ Make me look fully hydrated and ready for a bland, non-threatening first date.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“Life is a math equation. In order to gain the most, you have to know how to convert negatives into positives.”
—Anonymous
* * *
Alec looked up from his new company laptop as Ally came through the front door with her book bag hanging off one shoulder and a duffel over the other. Both items took turns sliding to the floor as she twisted her body from side to side.
Her small frame fell onto the couch in a teenage slump.
“Hey,” Alec said as his screen lit up, “glad it’s Friday?”
“Omigod, yes.”
“Big plans this weekend?” he asked, typing in his new passcode.
“Not really,” she said and then shot out of her slump to sit upright with a cheesy smile. “Apparently not as big as yours.”
He glanced up and raised a single eyebrow. “Oh, yeah?”
Chin resting in hand with a cheeky smile, she said, “Cara told me you asked Loren on a date tonight.”
He sighed. That’s just what he needed, estrogen-rich assumptions about what tonight was and was not. To be honest, he wasn’t even sure what it was about. “Just dinner. No big deal.”
“No big deal, huh? Where are you gonna take her?”
“Lucky’s.”
“Lucky’s? You’re taking Loren to the local bar on your first date?”
God, he didn’t need this. He didn’t need Ally and Cara making this more complicated than it was because of some adolescent wishful thinking.
>
Second thought, maybe this was a mistake. Loren Ingalls was a thorn in his side. A gorgeous, enigmatic, irreverent, unavoidable vision that he was having enormous difficulties not jacking off to every night. Taking her to dinner and having one-on-one time might only exacerbate the masturbating problem.
And frankly, he was pretty fucking chafed.
“Look,” he said, his typing becoming more like stabs than pecking, “. . . don’t start making tonight into something it’s not.”
“Like what? A date?”
“No, like something . . . romantic leading to . . . other things . . . romantic.”
“Okay, so you’re taking Loren on a romance-free date at the local bar.”
“That’s exactly right.”
“That’s not a date, Alec. That’s shooting the shit with friends.”
“Watch your language. But yes, that’s it. That’s exactly what we’re doing. Just two friends meeting at the local bar to discuss current events in their community.”
“So, it’s not a date. It’s a city council meeting consisting of two attendees.”
“With food and alcohol,” he added.
“Uh-huh, just so you know, you’re really bad at dating.”
“Well, just so you know, the ladies aren’t complaining.”
She reared back, staring at him with a furrowed brow. He needed to defuse the situation. He wasn’t going to get strong-armed into making tonight a romantic interlude by his fourteen-year-old sister who would love nothing more than for him and her best friend’s sister to become a couple.
He closed his laptop without properly shutting it down and turned toward his tenacious sibling, who continued to stare daggers at him.
“Look, I don’t want you to get your hopes up. This is more of a truce than the beginnings of a relationship. It’s important that you understand that.”
“You like her.”
“I do.” He nodded. “I also like fried okra but I’m not having a relationship with it.”
“You like her, like her.”
“Are you not listening to me?”
The smug teenager was overriding sexually deprived brother, and it irked him that she knew it.
“You know that all the single guys in Wilder and the neighboring counties would give anything to be in your shoes tonight?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m well aware of her vast and growing fan club.”
“Yeah, but do you know she never goes out on dates?”
“Just because a woman doesn’t date doesn’t mean she’s not . . . socially active.”
“I’m not a baby, I know what you’re implying and you’re wrong about Ms. Loren.”
He smirked. Such naïveté.
“Ask me how I know,” she insisted.
Alec dropped his head. “Do we have to do this?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, Ally, how do you know that Ms. Loren isn’t promiscuous?”
She moved to the edge of the sofa. “Because she’s always lecturing me, Cara, and Amarilla on being selective when it comes to boys. She also says that the greatest thing you’ll ever learn is just to love, and to be loved in return.”
“You do realize that’s a direct quote from Moulin Rouge?”
Ignoring him, she continued. “Loren says you’ll know it’s love when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, and you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.”
Pinching his eyes with frustration, he said, “When Harry Met Sally.”
“She tells us not to settle but to be patient and wait. And we’ll know it’s right because, at that moment, it’s as if the whole universe exists just to bring the two of us together.”
“Serendipity. Okay, that’s enough.” Alec raised his hand as she took a breath. “Do you not see that she knows nothing on this subject? Good Lord, she has to draw on some of the sappiest movie quotes known to mankind to give you advice.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Movies, by the way, that you forced me to watch and are now indelibly etched in my brain because of their saccharine aftertaste.” His rant continued. “The woman spouts movie quotes because she has no frame of reference when it comes to the subject matter.”
“That’s my point, Alec.” Ally reached out to hold his hand. He was instantly silenced by her earnest expression. “She honestly and truly knows nothing about the subject matter. But she pulls from the only references she has in a heartfelt attempt to set us on the right path.” Her smile turned impish. “Think about it. She’s just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her.”
“Okay, we’re done here.”
Ally sat back against the sofa, chuckling, now in full-on irritating smart-ass teenager mode.
“Get this through that adorable thick skull of yours. This is a truce-dinner. Nothing more. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a city council meeting to get ready for.”
As he stomped up the stairs, she yelled, “Be sure to tell her she had you at hello!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“The important thing to remember about mathematics is not to be frightened.”
—Richard Dawkins
British ethologist, evolutionary biologist, and author
* * *
Loren slumped over the kitchen table, her head in her hand, strumming her fingers on the cracked Formica tabletop.
Mercy had texted Cara while she was still at school and told her to pull a dating guide from the local library, one preferably written within the last decade.
Everyone seemed to think it was their place to insert their opinions regarding her date, when all she wanted to do was find a bunker and wait it out until Alec gave up knocking on the front door and went back home.
Cara walked into the kitchen with a book in one hand and a triumphant smile on her face. She claimed it was written last year and received rave reviews.
Loren scooted over and gave Cara room to sit in between herself and Vlad.
“Okay, let’s get started,” Cara said as she turned the page to her book with a wide grin. Loren noticed Cara had dressed more Amish than usual and had to credit the elderly woman cooking a dish she called Coq au Vin in their kitchen for the knee-length skirt and white blouse with a Peter Pan collar rather than the usual jeans and graphic t-shirt her little sister wore. Didn’t take long for her influence over Cara to set in.
Loren wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
Cara cleared her throat. “The author says that men are attracted to women who have what is called Jay_nay_sez_koi.”
“That’s Je ne sais quois,” Madame Garmond corrected her.
“What’s that mean?” Cara asked her mentor.
“Ma petite, did you not say that you were attending French class?” Madame countered with an uplifted brow.
“Well, yeah.”
“Then perhaps you should tell me the proper translation.”
Loren rolled her eyes and let her little sister off the evil woman’s virtual meat hook. “It translates to: ‘I don’t know what,’ which in this context means that men are attracted to women with an appealing quality that cannot be adequately described or expressed.”
Cara nodded her head as Madame Garmond poked at what smelled like chicken browning in bacon.
“Oh, listen to this,” Cara added, squirming in her seat, “she goes on to say that it isn’t about looks. She says, ‘Gorgeous women get dumped every day. It’s about mystery and learning how to create intrigue.’”
“I’ve definitely nailed that intrigue thing.”
All the trash talk didn’t help, either. Giving him the impression that she was worldly and sexually active and then doing a one-eighty by telling him she had never been on a date before. As it stood, he either thought she was sexually repressed, or that she was only interested in sleazy one-night stands.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Why, oh why, did she do that?
Because that had been her job for the last several years. Lying to people about who she
was so she and Mercy could take something from them. They were like military-trained grifters.
Women who knew a lot about how to effectively use a tactical knife but had no idea which fork to use at the dinner table. They could steal your multimillion-dollar David Hockney painting while you took a private phone call but didn’t have the first clue on how to set up a profile on a dating site.
“But that explains why he finally asked you on a date,” Cara insisted. “The intrigue must have won him over.”
“And here I thought it was because I was gorgeous.”
Vlad pulled out nail clippers from his pants pocket and stretched out his thumb. Madame Garmond cleared her throat in reproach, stopping him in his tracks and looking at him as if he was about to spit a loogie on her shiny patent leather purse.
He hunched his shoulders and slipped the clippers in his pocket. “For what it is worth,” Vlad commented, “I think you pretty woman, Miss Loren.”
“Thank you, Vlad,” she said with a genuine smile.
A sudden cascade of tubes, bottles, and other makeup-related paraphernalia was dumped in front of Loren as Mercy sat down and scooted her chair closer to her, setting up a standing mirror.
“She’s going to be drop-dead gorgeous after I’m through with her,” she said with what Loren thought to be a high degree of confidence since her sister didn’t even wear makeup. At least not since moving to Wilder and all things fun and frivolous censored by Cara.
Loren riffled through the various contents and picked up a tube of lipstick the color of the truck parked in the town’s fire station. “How do you even know how to apply this stuff?”
“Please,” Mercy replied with a wave of her hand. “I’m an artist. How hard can it be? But just in case, I watched a few makeup tutorials on YouTube. I got this.”
Cara continued to read from her book. “She also goes on to say that you have to maintain your independence.” She leaned the book down as if scrutinizing Loren and found her acceptable. “You’ve definitely got that covered.”