My phone buzzed on the passenger seat. Eric: Why haven’t you been online today?
Ugh. Me: Leave me alone. I was almost assaulted tonight.
A minute later. Eric: Are you okay?
Me: Don’t insult my intelligence by acting like you care.
Eric: Fine. You can upload the video tomorrow.
I rolled my eyes and resisted the urge to toss my phone out the window and run over it a few times. I went inside, threw my keys on the kitchen counter, and followed the porch light out to the Hamptons. Gram and Peg sat on the beach recliners, howling like the alley cats behind the Video and Repair. An earthy scent wafted on the breeze. They passed a crumpled Pepsi can back and forth, with smoke curling around them.
It had been a while since they’d gotten into Peg’s medicinal marijuana. She’d gotten the prescription for her rheumatoid arthritis years ago, and every once in a while, usually after a really bad day, they’d get higher than kites. They never invited Donna. Probably because she had her own stash, and not of the medical variety.
I stopped in front of them and put my hands on my hips. “Aren’t you two up late?”
“Macy!” Gram’s red-rimmed eyes were half closed, but she sounded nearly as chipper as Mom. She had her raptor foot in the kiddie pool. Mom would have to bleach the entire thing tomorrow. “Look, Peg. Macy’s home.”
Peg slowly turned her head to me. “You look like a cupcake.”
“I want a cupcake,” Gram said.
Amusement quirked my lips. “You two stoners can go to bed now. I’m home and safe.”
“Come sit down.” Gram motioned to me with her hand, then paused to watch the motion. “We’re too buzzed to sleep yet.”
Sighing, I grabbed a lawn chair from behind the shed and sat between them. “If you want to know how things went with Jared, Lance’s brother is bringing him in.”
“What we really want to know is: Pat Sajak, Bob Barker, or Alex Trebek?” Peg’s glazed eyes had tears of laughter in them.
“Fuck, marry, kill,” Gram said with absolute seriousness.
“Jesus.” I looked between them. “How high are you two?”
“Marry Alex Trebek,” Peg said. “I like ’em smart. Though he’d probably make us say our vows in the form of a question. Fuck Bob Barker, and kill Pat Sajak because he’s utterly useless.” I had a feeling she only added Pat Sajak to the kill list to get a rise out of Gram.
“You would pick those.” Gram frowned. “Marry Pat Sajak, only because I’d get to spend time with the Queen. Kill Bob Barker. He looks like a sex maniac.”
“Why do you think I wanted to fuck him?” Peg laughed.
“Fuck Alex Trebek, because that’s my only option left,” Gram said.
“I’ll take: Macy is horrified and grossed out by this whole conversation for two hundred.” I rose to my feet and stretched my arms above my head. It had been a long day, and this was just the cherry on top of a bizarre series of events.
“You never did tell me about your big date with the baseball boy. Did you have a nice time?” Gram asked.
“No.” I hadn’t. Eric was a complete tool, and while entering into an alliance with him benefited me, it also made me feel like whatever fungus had grown beneath Gram’s rotten toenail. “He’s not a nice or honest boy, Gram.”
“Did he hurt you?” She gripped my arm through the smoky haze.
“No.” I patted her hand, which was dry and wrinkled and spotted with age, but steady. She’d always been the steady one in our family. “I just don’t like him all that much.”
“Then don’t see him again,” Peg said. “There are plenty of nice and honest boys right here in Honeyfield. Some of them live up the hill on the other side of the woods.”
I did not want to talk about Paxton with Peg and Gram. Not under normal circumstances, and definitely not while they were high. “Good night.”
I left them to their Pepsi can, and as I shut the screen door, they started debating which daytime TV hosts they’d fuck, marry, or kill. My bedroom was warm, even with the window open and the soft summer air drifting in. I pulled off the dress, hung it in my closet, and grabbed a wrinkled T-shirt and cotton shorts from the laundry basket of clean clothes.
I kicked off the quilt, but kept the sheet over my legs. Ever since I was a little girl, I had this notion that if my legs were uncovered in bed, the Vanna dolls would eat them in my sleep. It remained enough of a fear to become a habit.
As I drifted off, I decided I’d talk to Paxton tomorrow. I didn’t care if he was mad at me, or I was mad at him. I didn’t want to throw away what we could possibly be for a bunch of subscribers who might not even stay loyal after the Baseball Babe hype died down.
Then I’d have to figure out what to do about Eric.
I woke up to my phone buzzing at seven. The first time in days where nightmares hadn’t woken me up in the middle of the night, and I had to get texts when I’d barely gotten five hours of sleep. Someone had better be on fire or dead.
I yanked my phone out of the charger and scowled at it.
Eric: Are you asleep?
Eric: Why haven’t you uploaded the video yet?
Eric: Everyone on Twitter is asking where it is
How could he be awake already when he’d been texting me at one last night? Vampire. That was the only explanation for his ridiculous schedule and even more ridiculous good looks.
Me: Go away. I’ll upload it when I’m awake
Eric: But if you’re not awake, how could you be texting me right now?
Asshole. I uploaded the video so he’d leave me alone, and I tried to go back to sleep, but it was too late. I rolled out of bed and shuffled into the dining room. Gram and Peg both had enormous mugs of coffee on their side tables, looking as if they’d been out all night partying like teenagers. Even if their voices were lively, their bodies hadn’t gotten the message. Donna kept eyeing them like she knew they’d gotten high without her, but she kept her full lips pressed together as she concentrated on her quilt square.
“What are you doing up so early?” Gram asked.
“I could ask you the same thing, considering—”
“Macy, be a dear and put on another pot of coffee,” Peg cut in.
Fine. What happens in the Hamptons stays in the Hamptons. I got the second pot going and leaned against the counter, turning a toaster pastry over in my hands as I debated if my stomach could handle breakfast. Mom came into the kitchen a moment later, her hair tied up and apron already on. She had the seven-thirty-to-four shift today.
She immediately pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. “I’m going to murder Jared and that other idiot. They’re going to learn what happens when they mess with my daughter.”
“No need.” I patted her back. “Midnight’s brother supposedly took care of it.”
She pulled back, her mouth set in a grim line. “Good.”
Our fight yesterday hung heavy between us. The words had been bottled up for so long, they’d just spewed out in the worst way possible. I’d already apologized, but I wasn’t sorry for what I’d said; I was just sorry for the way I’d said it. Still, she hadn’t backed down on her misguided “no coworkers” mantra. Not that it mattered. Paxton and I weren’t even talking.