“We’re getting ice cream,” she said finally, not even looking up, which only seemed to make her kid’s face redder. Now he looked like an overripe tomato. Tears and snot covered his cheeks, nose and chin.
I shot her my meanest look. Lady, rein in your out-of-control kid!
She looked up from her phone as though she’d sensed my evil laser glare. “What are you looking at?” she demanded, moving toward me.
“I’m looking at what I’m being forced to listen to,” I said, then snapped up every tub of Bouncy Bare Monkey. Partly to spite her and partly because who knew when the store would get more?
All six tubs sat in my cart. I’d give one or two to Killian tomorrow morning. That seemed fair, since he was paying for the eggs and cheese for my portion of the breakfast.
“Wait, are those Bouncy Bare Monkeys?” Molly said, coming rapidly toward me in her heels. She hadn’t looked at her kid, not even once.
He was still throwing a fit, although he’d somehow rolled around in the aisle to follow her. It looked like he had a lot of experience sticking close to his mom and pitching a fit at the same time.
“Give me that!” she said, reaching into my cart with both hands, each on one tub. “George, stop hollering and come help me!”
Rude, much? “Don’t even think about it.” I shoved my cart away, while her son completely ignored her.
Red mottled her face. “Don’t be a selfish bitch!”
“Selfish? At least I’m not imposing my kid on everyone in the store. Buy your son the damn cookies.”
She nodded, somehow making the movement sarcastic. “Oh, I see. A lot of experience with kids?”
“None at all. But I’m certainly not going to have one and let him roll all over a grocery store while screaming.”
She tried to stick her hands into my cart again, and I quickly turned it so she couldn’t grab the ice cream.
“I’m buying these for a neighbor,” I said. Only a couple were for Killian, but she didn’t need to know such an inconsequential detail. “Now cut it out or I’m calling the manager.”
Before she could stop me or try to steal my ice cream again, I went over to the checkout. A cashier who I’d seen a couple of times sighed and shook his head at the antics of Molly’s kid.
“Does he do that often?” I asked, despite my firm resolution not to gossip with the townsfolk.
“Yeah. We have special cookies for seriously lactose-intolerant people, so that’s what he gets when he gets an A on a test. But every time he doesn’t get an A, she buys ice cream, knowing he can’t have any.” He frowned.
“That is shameful,” I said, hating Molly even more. What she was doing to her kid reminded me of my dad. He’d used his affection as a weapon when I was growing up. When I did well in school or made choices that he wanted me to make, he’d praise me and shower me with attention and love. Otherwise, he’d be a complete bastard. I’d wasted so much of my life trying to please that son of a bitch.
Shaking off the memory, I went home and made myself an extra-healthy TV dinner. Extra-healthy because I added a small salad with extra ranch dressing to it. Afterward, to reward my adulting effort, I had two scoops of Bouncy Bare Monkeys. Then I told myself I was happy I’d seen the light and was living a life of my choice, not anybody else’s.
Chapter Fourteen
Killian
–Jenny: New deliveries of Bouncy Bare Monkeys and Hop Hop Hooray just got here. Just letting you know.
Shit. The text had hit my non-family-and-friends phone yesterday at five. I’d been engrossed in Emily’s book and missed it.
I checked the time. A quarter to seven, and the sun was barely coming up. There should be still some left. It hadn’t been twenty-four hours.
I rushed over to Sunny’s and into the store to the ice cream freezer. And shoved my fingers into my hair in dismay and outrage.
What the hell? Not a single tub of Bouncy Bare Monkeys. I went over to the beer aisle. No Hop Hop Hooray, either.
Argh!
I spotted Sunny and went over. “Hey, Killian. Find everything you need?” she asked with a friendly smile.
“That’s the problem. I thought you had some Bouncing Cows in, but…” Then a thought struck me. “Maybe in the back?”
She shook her head. “Sorry. Benny put out everything before he left last night.”
“You gotta be shi—uh, kidding me.” Sunny was old enough to be my mother, and she’d taken soap to my mouth once when she heard me cuss as a kid. I hadn’t said a bad word in front of her since.
Sunny gave me a sharp look, then shook her head with a small laugh. “You’re too old for that these days. And before you ask, no, I don’t know when we’ll get more.”
My shoulders slumped. Damn it. If I told my band mates I was this hung up on ice cream, they’d give me a huge ration of shit. But it really was the best. If Bouncing Cows could mass-produce its Bouncy Bare Monkeys, nobody would be doing drugs. It was that amazing.
Since I was there anyway, I did a quick grocery run, buying some eggs, cheese, spring veggies and meat. I got extra because Emily seemed to enjoy my eggs, and the woman needed some protein in her diet. Then, on sheer impulse, I also paid for a bottle of tequila and a bag of limes. Why not?
I was still morose when I went over to Emily’s for a shower, breakfast and the next book to read. Maybe I should’ve hired a teenager to watch the freezer for Bouncy Bare Monkeys…
I was so preoccupied that I almost didn’t see the pink sticky note on her door:
Killian,
Don’t knock. Just come in quietly without disturbing me. I’m too inspired.
–E
Good for her. That meant more stories for me to read, since, at the rate I was going, I’d be done with her whole backlist before the year was over. But at the same time, a pang of despair lanced my heart, because my own creative well was drier than Mir’s so-called home-baked cookies.
If I could just drum again… But then, maybe not. I’d held the drumsticks, run my hands over their smooth length…but felt nothing. No excitement. No flash of insight. It was like I’d lost something inside. Whatever fire had been burning had gotten doused somehow.
And I had no clue how to get it going again.
Emily had been right to call my drumming noise. Because that was the only thing uninspired music could be.
Feeling doubly morose, I opened the door quietly and walked into her home. The area around the coffee table had grown even messier. More empty bottles. More wrappers. A few wadded-up sheets of paper.
She didn’t glance up, her eyes on the monitor. Light reflected off her glasses, and she looked serious as she typed away, key clicks the only sound inside the room. She tucked a wayward tendril behind an ear with an impatient gesture, then immediately placed the hand back on the keyboard.
I stood for a moment, taking her in. Although she wasn’t dressed any better—and her hair was a freakin’ mess—she was beautiful in her creative process. She seemed to shine, as though something was lit within her—likely the fire I didn’t have anymore. I wondered if I’d be able to rekindle the flame if I watched her long enough.
Doubtful, I decided. It wasn’t that easy.