Wet (29 page)

After we get off the tram from the parking lot, I take her hand and pull her along, heading directly to the Central Garden, pointing out the ravine and stone waterfalls along the way. I have trouble containing my excitement. For some reason it never occurred to me to bring Elle here, and the fact that it was her idea makes it that much sweeter.

“Wow,” she exclaims when we finally reach the focal point of the gardens.

I start pointing to various plants and design elements and explain that everything was designed to reflect color and light.

“Those are interesting,” she says, pointing to the teepee structures that have fuchsia petals feathering out of their tops.

“I know. That design fascinates me. They’re custom designed bougainvillea arbors.”

“They look like abstract art.”

After circling the garden twice, I take her where they’ve carved a quote of Irwin’s in the plaza floor.
“Always changing, never twice the same.”

She studies the words for a minute before looking up at me. “Boy that could be my motto this year, too. My life was one thing, then it changed direction completely, and then it flipped me over again.”

I squeeze her hand. “It’s been a lot.”

“Too much,” she says quietly. “What’s the saying?
The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away.
I don’t think God or the universe thought I deserved a baby.”

I look over at her, alarmed. The entire time I walked through this journey with her, I never thought she’d take the miscarriage as punishment.

She’s staring at the vast view in the distance. It’s a sunny, warm day and everything felt kind of perfect until this moment.

I step in front of her so she looks at me. “You deserve a baby, Elle.” She shakes her head and casts her gaze down. I slip my fingers under her chin and lift it until we are eye to eye. “Yes, yes you do.”

“But we don’t always get what we want, do we, Paul?”

There’s a long weighted pause where I try to respond, but I can’t find the words and she doesn’t back down. I finally decide it’s time to change things up. I pull her back toward the museum buildings.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks with a wary expression.

“I made reservations in the nice restaurant.”

Her somber mood lightens a bit. “That sounds good.”

We order wine right away and have almost finished our glasses before our lunch order arrives. I order another round because I can tell the wine is doing its trick and helping us both relax. It feels good to let loose with Elle. I keep teasing her and she giggles so much that I have to remind her to eat.

I love seeing her eyes sparkle and her cheeks turn pink as she recounts that day she first found me in her yard.

“What did you think when you saw me down on my knees on your grass?”

She arches her brow at me and runs the tip of her index finger along the rim of her wine glass. “You know what I thought. If I didn’t make it clear that day, surely now that you know me, you know exactly what I was thinking.”

I take a sip of my cabernet. “What a handsome devil I am?”

“Ha!”

I feel wounded. “What? You didn’t think I was handsome?”

She sets down her glass indignantly. “Are you fishing for compliments or something?”

I shrug.
What is wrong with me?
The wine is making me act stupid, but I can’t help it . . . I need to hear that she wanted me.

“Oh for goodness’ sakes . . . it was
because
I thought you were unbelievably gorgeous that I had two thoughts in my head.”

I instantly feel better. “Okay, what were the two thoughts?”

“The first was trying to estimate how long it would take to get you in my bed. The second was wondering if I’d replenished the condom stash in my nightstand drawer.”

“So confident,” I tease, as my mind tries to process the idea of us fucking for hours.

“I was until you totally burst my bubble. I think I sat in stunned silence for about twenty minutes after you turned me down and left.”

“Wow, so I was an exception to the rule.”

“And you still are.”

She takes a sip of her wine and winks at me.

“Well don’t think I left easily that day. I almost caved and blew my two year record.”

“Really? I know the very instance! It was when I told you to take out your cock so I could lick it! I think I was on my third or fourth beer by then.” She grins widely and I take a second to glance around our table to see if anyone is listening to us. She’s getting a little loud.

“What?” she asks.

“You may want to quiet down a bit, I think everyone including the guy in the corner over there heard you.”

“Oh stop!” she says with a laugh.

“But you’re right . . . that was one of the times I almost caved.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “And for the record, I wouldn’t have just licked. Oh noooo . . . I would have sucked.”

And there she goes . . . my girl with the filthy mouth is back. I could howl with relief I’m so happy to see her again.

She gives me a flirty smile that is unabashedly seductive.

“You like that, don’t you? I can see it all over your face.”

“Forget my face.” I glance down between my legs.

“The anaconda,” she whispers as her eyes close with pleasure.

“Yeah, he really loves your filthy mouth.”

“Maybe one day you’ll let my filthy mouth love him. I still can’t believe we haven’t had wild sex, Paul.”

I swirl the wine in my glass. “I thought you liked us as friends.”

“I’d like it better if we were friends with benefits.”

“Hmm.”

The waiter brings over the check. I glance up to note that there are a lot of people waiting to be seated. They must want to turn our table. Maybe it’s just as well. If we continue on like this I could lose control and we may end up screwing in the parking lot.

As we wait for the tram to take us to my car, Elle throws me a curveball. “So Tuesday I’m flying up to Stockton to see my mom.”

I can’t hide my surprise. The only time she spoke of her mom was when recounting her less than idyllic childhood.

She shakes her head. “Believe me, I don’t want to go but she’s having heart surgery and needs someone to take care of her.”

“And you’re the only one who can?”

She nods. “The only one who’s reliable. I resent having to take care of her again, but if I don’t go and something happens, I’ll never forgive myself.”

“How long will you be gone?”

“Hopefully just a week. It depends on how it goes. She’s a mess.”

We’re quiet on the ride back to her house. When I walk her to the door she doesn’t invite me in since she has to get a proposal done for work.

Our hug feels different. It’s a little bit sweet like the old days and a little bit sad knowing I’m not going to see her for at least a week.

“I want daily reports,” I say as I push her sunglasses up on her head so I can see her blue eyes.

“Yes, sir. And don’t forget that the wedding is in three weeks. Have you gotten your tux yet?”

“No, I promise, I’ll do it this week. Take care of yourself, okay? Safe travels.”

She smooths down the front of my T-shirt. “I promise . . . and I’ll be home before you know it.”

That following Thursday, I finally return to the family dinner after missing a month of them while I looked after Elle. My parents didn’t give me any shit about it because they knew that Elle took comfort in my company and she needed quiet, peaceful time to heal, not the emotional chaos that our family dinners can be.

I’ve just let myself in the front door when Ma drags me to the kitchen.

“What’s up?” I ask.

She puts her index finger up to her mouth. “Shhh.”

“Okay, what?” I whisper.

“Patrick is bringing a girl to dinner.”

I fold my arms over my chest. “Did you set this up?”

Ma waves her arms dramatically. “I certainly did not. This girl is a
hippy
.”

She spits out the word like it’s dirty.

Now that’s unexpected.
“He’s interested in a hippy?”

“He’s not just interested, they’re dating. They may have already had s-e-x.”

She whispers the letters and I have to suppress a laugh.

I hold out my hands. “Well, that’s what people who like each other do.”

“Not you and Elle,” she points out.

I close my eyes and count to three. There’s no point in arguing with my mother before the evening even begins. I respond the only way I know how.

“Yeah, but we’re weird.”

“Well, you might want to figure that out. I like Elle. I think she’s good for you.”

Is she teasing me, or is this my mother’s way of suggesting that I get together with
Elle?

I let Ma get back to cooking and head to the living room where Trisha is arguing loudly with Dad about politics. The evening is showing great promise for being a hot mess.

I’m finally able to distract Trisha away from politics with an update about Elle, including the latest news that she’s in Stockton with her mother to help her after her surgery.

Dad looks uncomfortable hearing about the bypass surgery and he excuses himself to check on Ma.

“Is he okay?” I ask Trisha.

“His doctor just put him on cholesterol medicine. Between that and the knee surgery, he seems to have finally realized that he’s an old man and it’s all downhill from here.”

“Geez, Trisha. You didn’t tell him that, did you? You make it sound like his days are numbered.”

“Face facts, Paul. It’s just a matter of time for all of us.”

“Well aren’t you Suzy Sunshine.”

She shrugs. “I’m a realist. Life is hard and then you die.”

If she keeps going on like this, I’m going to need a stiff drink. It occurs to me that the night she spent helping Elle probably only supported her bleak outlook.

I’m about to change the subject when the front door opens and Patrick steps in with a shit-eating grin on his face. He’s followed by a woman in a long gauze skirt and Birkenstocks. He takes her hand and leads her into the living room.

I have to focus on not letting my mouth gape open. Apparently what we have here is the perfect example of the saying that opposites attract.

“Umm, Paul, Trisha, I’d like you to meet Skye,” Patrick says.

I glance at the girl and then back at Patrick. Who is this Patrick? How could he look so different in just a month? His hair is longer and messy like he just had wild sex and finally got out of bed.
Holy hell! What if he did?
Clearly the S-E-X agrees with him—he looks great. I decide not to chide him about the African print shirt he’s wearing . . . at least for now. Instead I focus on Skye.

“Hi, I’m Paul.” I reach out to shake her hand and notice she has that henna stuff painted from the top of her hand all the way up to her elbow.

“Hi, Paul.”

She doesn’t seem to have any make-up on and her wavy hair falls almost to her waist. What do you bet that she doesn’t shave her armpits? That’s just not okay in my book, but unless she starts wearing tank tops when she’s around us, it’s not my problem.

Trisha clears her throat. “I’m the sister, Trisha.”

As they shake hands, Skye nods. “Yes, I’ve heard all about you.”

Heard about Trisha? Been warned about Trisha is probably more like it.

Trisha gives Patrick a dubious look.

Skye addresses Trisha again. “Hey, your husband’s a floral designer, right? That’s so awesome. I work in a flower shop in Silver Lake.”

Trisha seems pleased that someone finally refers to Mikey with some regard. “Yes, his shop is in Burbank. He does a lot of work for the studios.”

“Cool,” Skye replies before leaning into Patrick. He wraps his arm around her waist.

“Let’s go meet Ma and Dad,” he says to her. She nods and gives us a little wave.

“So this is the first time you guys are meeting her? I ask Trisha, wondering how Ma knew she was a hippy.

“Yeah, a couple of weeks ago he showed us her Website that tells about her yearlong trip hitchhiking around Europe.”

“Well that explains why Ma is spooked by the idea of her. So how in the world did those two meet?”

“He was asking questions on some travel blog that she answered. They start having longer conversations and realized they live in the same area. Next thing we know he’s a vegan and won’t wear leather shoes or belts.”

“Vegan? Ma must love that. And how does he keep his pants up?”

“He’s wearing some kind of rope belt. I mean, what the hell is happening to him?”

The high point of dinner is when Dad gets his portion of the casserole Ma baked for our meal. He has a repertoire of about twelve dishes that he prefers for dinner and he immediately discerns that this isn’t one of them. He pokes the goopy pile with his fork. “What the hell is this?”

Ma narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “It’s vegetable casserole.”

Dad keeps pushing the lumps around. “Where’s the beef?”

“There isn’t any.”

“We aren’t poor, woman! This isn’t the potato famine. I need my meat.”

Patrick squares his shoulders. “Dad, Ma knows that you like your meat. But she made this especially for me and Skye. We’re vegans.”

“What’s a vegan?” Dad asks.

“We don’t eat any form of animal products,” Skye explains.

His brows knit together. “No meat? You eat milk and cheese though, right?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Nope. Milk and cheese are animal products, Dad. ”

Dad turns to Trisha, and whispers. Since I’m next to them I can hear their conversation. “Is this a cult? Do we need to be worried?”

“No. It’s not a cult, although it may as well be.”

“There are several vegans at my work,” I say trying to lighten the mood.

Trisha nods and turns to Patrick. “Between vegans and gluten-free people, you guys are trying to take over our food chain. It may just be an L.A. thing but half of the selections in my favorite bakery are now vegan or gluten free. What the hell?”

Patrick jumps in. “It’s healthy. And Dad, you’re trying to cut down on your cholesterol. Eating vegan is a great way to go.”

“I don’t think so,” he replies as he pushes his plate away.