There’s a pounding behind my right eye, a throbbing that makes it hard to think.
It was all those drinks, too many drinks, leading to laughing, so much laughing, and loose tongues and…
Can you keep a secret?
Oh.
Oh, yes.
And just like that, I’m awake. Awake and alert, my entire body tingling with energy.
As quietly as I can, I slip out of bed, peel off my halter top and jeans, and throw on one of Ford’s black tees. Already I can smell something sweet coming from the kitchen – coffee and something else, something mouthwatering – and hugging my arms to my chest, I pad out to investigate.
And what I see pushes my ovaries into overdrive.
Ford and the kid are sitting at the table, plates of pancakes spread out between them. A carton of milk is cooling in a wine bucket, and several wine glasses are arranged by its side. Ford and the kid each have one in their hands, colored dark from chocolate syrup, and at my approach, they look up, grinning. Per usual, the kid is decked out in princess attire. And…so is Ford.
“Well, this is unexpected.”
Ford lifts his glass, and as he does, the plastic tiara on his head wobbles. “Ah, my queen, my love! Please, come, come. Sit, and join us for a spot of brunch.”
I do as he says, though I give him a look. “A spot of brunch? Is that a thing?”
He shrugs, the feather boa around his neck fluttering. “I have no idea. It sounded royal.”
Something wet nudges my leg, and I look down to see Gus, sporting a hot pink hair bow around his collar. “Well aren’t you dashing?”
His already wagging tail quickens to a blur.
I turn back to Ford. “The dog too, huh?”
“But of course.” Giving me an impish grin, he starts to pile an empty plate full of pancakes. When he’s done, the stack sits several inches high and leans precariously to the left. Setting it in front of me with a flourish, he reaches for the wine bucket. “And will you be having chocolate with your milk today, m’lady?”
“Uh, no. I’m good.” Peering over my towering stack, I note the kid’s drink, which is so loaded with syrup it’s practically black. As I watch, she wraps both hands around the glass and chugs.
Her pancakes are also smeared with chocolate.
“Well, surely my queen would like some whipped cream with her royal cakes?” His voice is filled with suggestion. Brandishing a canister, he lifts a brow.
I match his flirtatious tone. “I’d prefer it on something else. Something big and…hard.”
Ford closes his eyes and clears his throat, no doubt falling into the same memory I’m neck deep in. I watch him swallow and think about dragging my tongue along his throat, his cut jaw. In fact, screw breakfast; I want to drag my tongue all over him, hop right onto his lap and devour his moans.
Tiara and fluffy pink boa be damned.
But the kid is here, right here, so I can’t.
Instead, I just nod at the gluttonous display before us. “Dude, do you realize how much sugar this is?” Lowering my voice, I tilt my head toward the kid. “She’s gonna be flying high all day.”
Have fun, Marla.
Before Ford can even answer, a groan sounds from the bedroom.
“Momma!” The kid perks up at the noise, hops down from her seat, and flies out of the kitchen. Seconds later, we hear the screech of bed springs, followed immediately by a loud Oomph.
Ford’s brows dip in concern, but I just cut into my pancakes.
“You know, on second thought, some chocolate in my milk sounds absolutely divine.”
Andrew “Andy” Kershaw. Ex-husband of Marla Thatcher. Owner of a mechanic shop in a Minneapolis suburb and, according to his Facebook page, enjoys brewing his own beer and volunteering at the local animal shelter.
And, he’s single.
I push my faux glasses up the bridge of my nose and try not to think about the itch on the top of my head, the one that feels like a scampering beetle scurrying across my scalp. Unfortunately, the black wig and panama hat I’m wearing prevents me from scratching, so I crack my neck and train my attention over my laptop, hoping the view will distract me from the annoying tickle.
It does.
Hollis is back from New York, back where he belongs, back here in this tiny café…with me.
The last few weeks have been…weird. With all the time I’ve been spending with Marla and Ford, Hollis hasn’t gotten the attention he deserves. He is, after all, the reason for all of it. The reason I got involved with Ford in the first place, as indirectly as that may seem. And he’s the reason I finally have a friend, a real honest-to-goodness friend, one who I’m determined to see finds happiness outside of her sham of a marriage.
Because, yeah. I guess you could say that Marla and I are friends. In a really fucked up way, sure. But after our girls’ night out, after laughing and dancing and holding her hair back while she puked, I feel bonded to her in a way I’ve never felt toward another woman. The few meaningful relationships I’ve had have all been with men. But this gal pal fling with Marla? It’s cracked open a whole new dimension, flung me into an entirely new reality. My heart feels weird, like it’s too big for my chest now, and my loyalties feel like they’re being tested. It’s damn near impossible to fantasize about Hollis without feeling an itchy twitchy sort of guilt deep in my stomach.
I’m no longer completely comfortable with just, you know, snatching her husband away and not giving a shit about how (or even if) she picks up the shattered pieces of her life. I mean, what has to be done, has to be done. That’s a given. And I still plan to do whatever it takes to reclaim what’s mine. But if I can lead Marla back into the arms of someone she loves in the process, perhaps making this whole transition easier for her, then I’m going to do it.
What can I say? I’m a softie.
And I have to admit that, even though this is my first real female friendship, I’m totally knocking it out of the park. Because I just found out that Andy Kershaw is going to be in Duluth this weekend. After digging through a few of his friends’ Facebook accounts, I discovered his name on a list of attendees for a live show at a dive bar on the outskirts of town. I’ve already texted Marla, inviting her to go, claiming that this band – Saving Mercury – is, like, my favorite band from The Cities and we totally have to go. I also threw in a bit of a guilt trip, saying that if she doesn’t go, then I can’t go, because Ford’s busy and I’ll have, like, no one to go with. Then, to seal the deal, I added another text, saying that I could probably just go alone, even though the bar is kind of seedy and way out in the boonies.
Okay. So I might have laid on the girly drama-tude a little too thick, but I had to. It’s imperative that we go. For her sake, if not mine.
Because like I said, gal pal or not, nothing’s changed. I’m still going to do what I’m going to do.
So really, this is an entirely selfless act. Hollis is pretty much mine already; the electronic photo album of our past that he keeps hidden away on his computer practically confirms it. Reconnecting Marla and Andy is like kismet. And, honestly, how wonderfully strange is it that Marla’s future lies in her past, just like mine?
Maybe, after the dust has settled, we can all be friends. The kind that go on double dates and frequent the same bar where everyone knows our names. We could split holidays between our houses and even plan vacations together. You know, sort of like those television couples that aren’t related but who are just as close, if not closer, than family.