Then I opened them and told her, “You don’t have to keep this secret. I did for too long. I didn’t do anything to be ashamed of so there’s no reason it shouldn’t be in the open.”
“Still, girl, I’ll let you do the talkin’.”
Okay, maybe she was nosy, meddling and a little scary. But she was also very sweet.
“All right,” I replied.
“Over cosmos at Gwen’s.”
“Sounds good.”
“Another night.”
“Yeah.”
Silence then, softly, “He threw a chair?”
I smiled at the dash but my smile was for me. Then, softly back, I replied, “Yeah, he threw a chair.”
“I’m thinkin’ Hawk don’t know that,” she remarked.
“Well, maybe you should tell him.”
“Bet yo’ boots I will. I got one on Hawk. I never got one on Hawk.”
I laughed softly.
Through this, Elvira said, “Have fun with your hot guy.”
I smiled again, that one was for her even though she couldn’t see. Then I said, “I will.”
“Later, girlfriend.”
“Later, Elvira.”
I took the phone from my ear and hit end call. Then I dropped it in my purse, gathered up my stuff, was sure to bleep the locks on my car and I braved the rickety steps.
Then I stood in front of door number sixteen and knocked.
Two seconds later it was thrown open by a tall, gorgeous, rounded, dark-haired, silver-eyed woman with a flushed face and a visible desire to kill.
I took a step back.
Then she whirled to face the apartment and shrieked, “Dylan! You do that to your brother one more time and it won’t be the naughty step when we get home! I don’t know what it’ll be I just know you… won’t… LIKE IT! ”
I checked the impulse to grab my phone and inspect the text Brock sent me to make certain I got the apartment number right (and, while I was at it, the address) when she turned back to me, smiled sweetly and said, “Hey, you must be Tess.”
I blinked.
She went on. “I’m Laura, Slim’s sister.”
My entire body seized and I feared an acute onset of epilepsy when I heard Brock’s rumble coming from deep in the apartment, “Jesus, Laura, what the f**k?”
To which Laura (apparently Brock’s sister!) turned back to face the apartment and snapped, “Slim, we try not to drop the f-bomb in front of the kids.”
“Great, you’re in your house or at little league or wherever-the-fuck, try not to do it, your hooligans are systematically tearing up my place, anything goes.”
Then he appeared in the door by his sister, grinned at me, leaned out, extending a long arm, his fingers closed on my wrist and he pulled me into the apartment whereupon his arms locked around me and he shuffled me in deeper and, before I knew it, his mouth was on mine and he laid a hot, sweet, deep, but short wet one on me.
“Gross Uncle Slim!” a child’s voice shouted.
“Yeah! Gross!” another one chimed in.
“I like her shoes,” another one, this one clearly female and clearly having good taste, observed.
Brock’s head lifted and I had three thoughts. One, even with an audience of family members, some of them being children, he could really kiss. Two, I was obviously meeting members of Brock’s family and I was in no way prepared. And three, I was glad I gave the flip-flops a rest and was wearing a pair of sexy, strappy sandals, really good jeans and a complicated designer blouse.
Then, before I could utter a noise or, perhaps, gather my thoughts, Brock divested me of the purse and overnight bag on my shoulder (both he dumped on the floor), the white bag filled with my famous, bakery fresh snickerdoodles (this he tossed on the coffee table), turned me to the apartment, one arm sliding around my shoulders and holding my front close to his side, he made introductions.
“Babe, this is my sister, Laura, her hooligans Grady and Dylan, my princess, Ellie, and my Mom, Fern. Everyone, this is Tess.”
His Mom, Fern?
He kissed me with tongues in front of his Mom, Fern?
I scanned the room and a lot forced itself into my brain, too much to process, so much, my mind started to shut down and it took every bit of effort I had not to lapse into catatonia.
Firstly, the door had been closed and Laura, Brock’s gorgeous sister, was standing by it grinning like a madwoman.
Secondly, there were two dark-haired boys on the floor, both of them in little boy football uniforms ( sans shoulder pads), both of them appearing at some point in the not too distant past to have rolled around in the dirt for a good length of time and my guess was that was at least five hours, both of them appeared to be arrested in mid-wrestling match and both of them had green Kool-Aid mustaches.
Third, there was an adorable, little, dark-haired girl wearing a princess dress costume, complete with fake satin top and masses of tulle skirt, this ensemble complimented by clickety-clack, little girl, plastic, high-heeled shoes, sitting on the couch with her legs straight in front of her, feet bouncing while she gamely licked a melting popsicle but was struggling in this endeavor as evidenced by it dripping purple on the fake satin of the top of her dress.
Fourth, an older woman with thick, silver hair and blue eyes and an overall look that screamed, “Grandma!” was standing in a doorway grinning at me like a madwoman.
And last, Brock’s furnishings were, at a glance, approximately two point seven five steps up from the overall feel of his apartment complex. But at least the place appeared clean if not tidy and when I say “not tidy” I say this in the sense that it also reflected that Brock was a single man with a Harley Fat Boy and a beat up pickup truck that Martha was right about, it needed to be traded up and that trade up should have happened around a decade ago.
“Uh… hey,” I greeted.
“We’re a surprise, we know. We were on our way back from junior football league practice and we thought we’d stop by,” Fern said, coming further into the room and I saw she was holding a dishtowel. “We brought KFC because the kids had to eat. We didn’t know Slim was expecting company.”
“Um… okay,” I told her then added stupidly. “Cool.”
She made it to me and held out her hand. I took it and her fingers closed around mine then her other hand came up and closed around our clasped hands. As she did this, she looked into my eyes and did a Mom Scan which left me feeling mildly ill-at-ease considering the fact that I was pretty sure her blue eyes read all the words written on my soul and she knew I’d lied to my mother when I was ten and told her I didn’t try to shave my legs (when the nicks on them proved this to be false) and that I let Jimmy Moriarty get to second base at the homecoming dance my sophomore year in high school.