“Sometimes, I feel sad for your mom,” I say, thinking of how hard it must be to live in Barbie’s messed-up head. “She’s got the crazy brain and a bitchy sister.”
“But she also has me, and Bronco babies her a lot,” Conor says immediately. “When he wouldn’t let her visit his house or spend time around Lana and the baby, he still came to our place and brought her treats. My mom’s life started out shitty, and she’s often paranoid, but don’t let her guilt-trip you. That woman’s won more fights against Bambi than she’s lost. Now, she has a new partner in crime with Pixie’s mom. Barbie’s life is fucking great in a lot of ways. Yet, when she’s on edge, she’ll play the pity card.”
“Calm down, lover. I’m not blinded by my sympathy for the woman who gave you life. I can feel protective of her without bowing to her bad attitude. And if she messes with my mom, I’m willing to punch someone drawing Medicare.”
Conor smiles softly. “I always worried my mom would scare off any woman I fell for. On the day you walked into my life, my first thought was you gave me the biggest boner. My second thought was that Barbie would make you cry. But the universe knew.”
Conor’s normally cool expression shatters long enough to reveal how much this man needs me. Not only wants my hot body or enjoys my company. Conor Jessup, honest to goodness, needs me. We kid around about how he’d stalk me if I ended things or I’d live in his attic if he dumped me. But neither of us can walk away. We’re only home when we’re together.
That’s why I’m willing to move into his mom’s house despite her clearly hating this idea with her every fiber. And Conor does what he can to keep his mom and me apart. She has her shit to do, and we hang out in the basement a lot when she’s home. That doesn’t mean I don’t occasionally find myself running into Barbie. Like today, when Conor is off doing sexy biker stuff while I wait for Dunning to get home to shoot hoops.
“Where’s your whore mom?” Barbie asks when she finds me in the kitchen.
“Swimming with Amity. Later, she’s coming to dinner at my dad’s. Thanks for asking, Susan B. Anthony Barbie.”
Narrowing her blue eyes, she growls, “I don’t like you.”
“Are you sure about that? More than once, you’ve come off like a ‘single white female’ stalker. I’m surprised you haven’t changed your hair color to look more like me.”
“You talk too much.”
“And you’re a meek mute. What’s your point, Malibu Barbie?”
Barbie moves closer, looking ready to punch me. “You’re a terrible person, and my son deserves the best.”
Refusing to give in to her intimidation tactics, I shrug. “Well, I’ve got an idea. Let’s have a catfight. If I win, you’ll leave Elko and never return. If I lose, I will stop referring to you as ‘Malibu Barbie.’ Doesn’t that sound fair?”
“Fucking shit is how that sounds.”
“Or maybe we could focus on what matters, which is backing up Conor. As you know, people always secretly want the big man to fall. My uncle said a man on top has few real allies but many sycophants. Conor will feel the same way when he’s on top.”
“How do you figure, bitch?”
Ignoring the attempt by Limited Edition Barbie Stormtrooper to rile me up, I explain, “Your brother will worry Conor is a better president. Bambi’s family will think Whiner Wyatt got screwed out of the top spot. The men getting old will resent Conor for being where they were decades ago. Everyone will compare him to someone else, whether it be Bronco or Wheels or Whiner. He won’t have his own VP yet. The men in top spots rolled with his dad, not him. He’ll feel like a kid trying to stand up to his uncles.”
“Fuck all those people,” Barbie says, and I spot a flicker of worry in her blue eyes.
“That’s easy for you to say. You can freak out or walk away when people piss you off. Conor hides his feelings. He isn’t cold inside like everyone thinks. He’s just guarded. But with you and me, he can be himself. We can be his safe space. Two is better than one, right?”
Barbie flips me off. “You’re sneaky and only want him for his money.”
“I could have married a guy with money back in North Dakota. But that guy was dull and had an average body. Conor is fun and hotter than sin. Of course, he got that from his dad, so I can see why you’d feel overly sensitive.”
“Twat,” she growls.
“Well, aren’t you a regular Pink Jubilee Barbie?”
“Watch it, cunt.”
I start bouncing with my fists up. “Now, remember, Classic Black Dress Barbie, if you lose, you have to leave Elko forever.”
“I didn’t agree to that,” she says, throwing a towel at me.
“That’s not how I remember it, Barbie Busy Gal.”
“You can have your fun,” she says, flipping me off as she walks away. “Enjoy my boy’s dick, but you’ll never win his heart.”
I wait until Barbie disappears into her side of the house before I stop bouncing. She’s a sourpuss, but I’m not afraid of her. Plus, I memorized the names of a whole lot of Barbie dolls.
Besides, Conor’s mom isn’t so bad. Lots of people suck worse. Like how Aunt Immee never smiled out of fear of getting wrinkles. Or Grandmother McNamee always corrected people, even when they did a good job. And, of course, Clive could wake up in moods where he walked around, ready to hit people for the smallest infractions.
Barbie’s more annoying than scary. I’ve also caught how sweet she can be with Conor when she doesn’t know I’m lurking. One day, she’ll look at her grandson with the same love. No matter how much she claims otherwise, Barbie owns a big gooey center. I might never swim around in it—which is probably best for my sanity—but I’d be cruel to refuse Conor and our future kids a chance to get all up in that sticky sweet area of Barbie’s heart.
Leaving the house, I walk next door to where Lowell stands with Bronco. I admire how strong my father looks even in his early fifties. I can imagine him busting up plenty of assholes back in the day. Now, he talks about his obnoxious teenage son and how his daughter is a bit of a stalker.
“Bronco, do you hug your daughters?” I ask as I shuffle closer.
“Of course.”
“Even seventeen-year-old Summer?”
“Yeah,” he mutters, frowning as if I’m a moron.
“Is there ever an age when your daughters can no longer grab on to you and unleash all their crazy love?”
“Oh, I get it now,” Bronco says and lifts his beer. “Incoming, Lowell.”
My father takes a bit longer to catch up to how my shuffling feet aren’t stopping. He’s probably slow on the draw because Dunning isn’t a big hugger.
“Papa?” I whisper hopefully, and he rolls his eyes.
I wrap my arms around his waist and squeeze. Lowell finally gives in to my charms and hugs me.
“Barbie called me a twat,” I say, smiling. “And maybe a bitch. I can’t remember. I was too busy coming up with insulting Barbie product names to call her.”
“Should I talk to her?”
Laughing is probably bad, but I do it anyway. Bronco chuckles at his friend.