Wet (20 page)

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.”