“I still don’t get it.”
I sigh, hating that I have to be blunt. “Abbott, I googled you—I know who you are and where you come from, and I know you don’t just hop on a dating app to find a date. You probably date trust fund babies and hedge fund managers, not someone you’ve swiped right on.”
Her pretty face contorts. “First of all, stop judging me. I hate when people do that—you know nothing about me. Second of all, those are the furthest thing from my type. Gross.”
“So what is your type?”
“I don’t really have one. All I can say is I usually meet people the old-fashioned way, at a coffee shop or whatever.”
“When’s the last time someone took you out for dinner and not just for drinks?”
She studies her fingernails. Tonight, they’re a metallic gold. Flashy and so unlike her. One delicate shoulder lifts and falls. “Three months ago?”
“Say that louder. I thought you just said three months ago.”
“I did.” Her eyes are glittery daggers. “So what if it’s been a while? I’ve been busy.” She graces me with a quick once-over. “What makes you the damn expert on dating? You’re not even seeing anyone.”
“Let’s just say I haven’t had any complaints, even if I’ve only had one- or two-night stands in the past few months.” To take the edge off. Meaningless sex with women who meant nothing to me. Women I slept with hoping I’d feel something.
“Um…”
“I know what women want,” I pronounce arrogantly, because let’s face it—I know what women want.
Abbott laughs, falling back against my couch, the loud cackling sound coming from her throat an insult to my ego. God she’s being such an asshole.
“What’s so damn funny?”
“You. Did you just say I know what women want?” Her voice lowers as she mimics my masculine voice. “Like, did those words actually come out of your mouth?”
“Stop making fun of me. I have a proven track record.”
“Oh, you have a proven track record!” She finds this so amusing she has not stopped laughing at my expense. “Is that a fact? How so?”
“The last two women I had drinks with wanted to marry me, so…yeahhh.”
Abbott reaches behind her and lobs a pillow in my direction. It misses my head, but only by a fraction of an inch.
“They did not want to marry you.” Her disbelief wounds me.
I pretend I didn’t hear her, hand shooting up as if I’m
swearing an oath in front of Congress. “Scout’s honor.”
“You can’t say Scout’s honor unless you were an actual Scout.” She studies me, head tilted. “Were you?”
“No.” My parents couldn’t afford the small fee it cost to join.
“Well then, it can’t be true. You were never a Scout, so…”
God, I just want to wipe that smug look off her damn face.
“For your information, smartass, I have the Nan stamp of approval.” I throw down, no longer fucking around. For whatever reason, talking about relationships with Abbott and the kinds of dudes she does and doesn’t date has me feeling some kind of way—and I’m not loving how my stomach is churning at the moment.
That has her attention. “Say again?”
“I have the Nan stamp of approval.”
“What the heck does that mean?”
“It means, I met your nan, and your nan loves me.” I deliver this news as casually as possible, but deep down inside, I’m doing a celebratory dance, jumping and leaping on the couch and bouncing on the cushions, because the look on her face is priceless.
Disbelief and annoyance and bewilderment.
Translation: Abbott is not a happy camper.
“When? How?” I can see clear up her pert little nose, her nostrils are that wide from flaring. “Is that where the flowers in my apartment came from? Was Nan there today?”
“A magical elf sure as shit didn’t bring them.” And it sure as hell wasn’t me.
Oh shit. She didn’t actually think I brought flowers when I went to check on the cat, did she? She had to know that ridiculous arrangement, which must have cost a bundle, did not come from me. Right?
Oh shit. Maybe she did think they were from me.
Abbott’s beautiful face blanches. “Oh.”
Yeah, oh.
Fuck. Now I feel doubly terrible, though I did nothing wrong—except break Nan’s confidence by telling Abbott her grandmother let herself into the apartment.
“Did you know your nan has a key?”
“Yes, of course. Everyone has a key.” She rolls those blue eyes. “Though Nan is the only one who lets herself in unannounced. She thinks I don’t know—as if I wouldn’t notice a stocked refrigerator, or new decorative pillows on my bed.” A delicate snort escapes her nose. “She tries so hard to be sneaky, and I pretend not to notice.”
“Why is she always stopping by? You’re a grown-ass woman.”
“True. I think she just wants to feel relevant. Needed? Her children are all grown and she has all these big, empty houses. I don’t think her friendships are… They’re the society type. Fake. Botoxed.” My neighbor leans forward to retrieve her cottage cheese and spoons a mouthful. Chews.
Swallows.
“It’s not just me. Nan’s best friend has a granddaughter, who’s also in the city, and Nan breaks into her pad, too.” Her back presses against the couch cushions and she props her feet up, barely sparing me a glance. “Basically she steals keys, gets copies made, and breaks into our places. My brother has a house in the burbs and she does the same shit to him, too. We all just look the other way. It’s cute. I’ve never had her bust in on anyone, though. What did she do?”
“She was going to crack my skull open with your vase.”
“Tiny Nan?”
“Tiny Nan would have clocked me good—I could see it in her beady eyes.” I put my feet up too, the charade of being clean and tidy and proper long gone out the window. “But she was holding the cat under her arm, so if I had seriously been robbing your place, she wouldn’t have stood a chance with the one-armed vase toss.”
“She was holding the cat?”
“Yeah—protecting it or whatever.”
Abbott covers her mouth with a hand. “Holy Hannah, that is so cute.”
“That cat is not cute.”
“I’m not talking about the cat—I’m talking about the fact that my grandma was protecting the cat from a robber. If that were me, I would be all, ‘Every man for himself! Deuces, Fluffy.’” Her hand rises and makes a peace sign.
“Seriously? You’d abandon your beloved cat?”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
Pampered Desi McTerrorPuss, left to fend for herself?
“My cat would have been fine. I’ve seen her fly into defense mode. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced Desi would hide in a closet. Either way, she would have been safe.”
She talks about that cat like it’s a human being, but what I really want to nag her about is her grandmother. “Enough about the cat. Don’t you think someone in your family oughta have a talk with her about safety?”