Ex and the Single Girl (7 page)

I felt him plop back down on his pillow. “
Bollocks.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “
What
’
s that supposed to mean?”

“
It means that out of a barmy lot, you
’
re the barmiest.”

“
You keep saying that word.
Barmy.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

He rolled back to face me, leveraging one elbow under him to elevate his upper body. “
It means you
’
re all crazy.”

“
We
’
ve already covered that,”
I said. “
Now answer the question.”

“
You know damn well I can
’
t answer that question.”

“
Why not?”

“
If I answer yes, you
’
ll think I
’
m lying. If I answer no, the whole barmy lot of you will beat me sen
seless.”
He fell back on his pillow. “
Either way, I lose.”

I could hear the subdued sounds of partygoers saying their good-byes outside. We were both still and silent for a minute, staring at the ceiling, until I spoke again.

“
It
’
s okay,”
I said. “
It
’
s oka
y if you lie to me. I just...I need to hear the words.”

A heavy sigh escaped, whistling through his lips. “
If you don
’
t know you
’
re beautiful, then there
’
s nothing I can say to convince you.”

The tears started on “
beautiful.”
I kept them a secret for a min
ute, but one quiet sob caught in my throat, and I felt Ian
’
s head turn toward me. A moment later, the back of a rough finger brushed against my wet cheek. I tightened my eyes shut and swabbed at my face, rolling onto my side with my back to him, too morti
f
ied to chance seeing his expression. Worse than the Crazy Cat Lady, worse than the Girly Giggler, I had now sunk to being a Bed Weeper.

I don
’
t know how long we stayed like that, me on my side, him on his back, but it was long enough that I was almost asle
ep when I felt him spoon himself behind me, one hand resting lightly on my hip.

“
Whoever neglected to tell you you
’
re beautiful is a complete sod,”
he whispered in my ear. “
And if you see him again, you can tell him I said so.”

He reached over and smoothed
some hair away from my face, then relaxed next to me. I heard his breathing grow ragged, and a few moments later I felt a small lurch where his crotch was snuggled against my backside. He pulled away from me, flopping on his back again with a rough exhal
e
. I feigned sleep as a small smile spread across my face.

Chapter Three

Thump-thump-thump.

I opened one eye. 8:17.
Good God.

“
Go away,”
I whined into the pillow. Must have sounded like “
Come on in,”
because a half second later, Mags was poking her head t
hrough the door.

“
Are you alone?”

I flipped over and looked at the empty space next to me, then back at her.

“
Unless he
’
s under the bed, I
’
d say so, yes.”
I had a vague memory of the alarm going off, of Ian
’
s soft lips bussing my cheek, of the sound of the
bedroom door clicking shut behind him.

Mags bounded in and bounced on the edge of the bed.

“
Well?”
she said, her eyes dancing. “
How was it?”

I sat up, rubbing my eyes. “
How was what?”

She grabbed a pillow and threw it at me. “
Oh, you are the most impossible child that ever did walk the planet. Don
’
t make me tell you again about giving birth to you, which was so painful that Vera had to take morphine. Is it too much to ask to be rewarded with the occasional bit of girl talk?”

I
groaned. “
Is it that you don
’
t know it
’
s wrong for a mother to want to know about her daughter
’
s sex life, or is it that you just don
’
t care?”

She grinned and leaned forward. “
Is he a gentleman in bed? He seems the type who
’
d be concerned about your pleasu
re.”

“
Ah!”
I said, cringing and waving my hands at her, trying to shake off the whole conversation. “
Stop! I can
’
t afford enough therapy to cover this.”

Mags sighed dramatically. “
How did a daughter of mine grow up to be such a prude? I
’
m sure I don
’
t know
.”

“
I
’
m not a prude. I just don
’
t want to discuss my sex life with my mother. That
’
s not prudish. It
’
s normal.”

“
I don
’
t understand what your problem is. Vera and Bev and I talk about sex all the time. How can you live your life without girl talk? What fun
is it?”
She looked at me and grinned. “
At least tell me if you got a good orgasm out of it. You know that
’
s all I wanted for you, baby.”

I sighed and spoke loudly upon her apparently deaf ears. “
I am not discussing this with you. Is there coffee downstair
s?”
She gave my leg a playful pat and stood up. “
Yes, that
’
s what I came to tell you. And you
’
d better get a move on. You
’
re helping Vera run the bookstore today.”

“
Me?”
I said. “
Why? Your back
’
s fine.”

“
Because it
’
s the family business and you
’
re family.”
She looked in the mirror and poked at her hair, smoothed out her lipstick. “
And I have plans today.”

“
Plans?”
I got up and nudged her away from my dresser as I pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. “
Since when did you start making plans outside of run
ning the store and torturing me?”
She turned away from the mirror and leaned against my dresser, crossing her arms over her midsection. “
Well, I must say I
’
m disappointed. For such a promising Flyer, I see no change in your demeanor whatsoever. Maybe we s
h
ould try for Greg Feeney. Didn
’
t he used to do gymnastics?”

“
Enough!”
I forced on a smile. “
I
’
m great. I
’
m fine. Happier than I
’
ve ever been. Best sex of my life. And you
’
re avoiding the question.”

“
Oh? And what
’
s the question?”

“
What
’
s so important today
that you can
’
t go to the Page?”
She gave me a wry smile. “
Is it that you don
’
t know it
’
s wrong to interrogate your mother, or that you just don
’
t care?”
I smiled. “
Don
’
t be a wiseass, darlin
’,”
I said in my best honey drawl. “
It
’
s not attractive.”

“
Now the
re
’
s my smart-mouthed girl.”
She gave me a sharp pat on my behind. “
It
’
s good to have you home, baby.”

Then the woman who hadn
’
t missed a day at the bookstore since she was sixteen flitted out of my bedroom, leaving a wisp of perfume hanging in the air beh
ind her like a big lilac question mark.

At 8:45, Vera and I were out the door and on our way to the Page. Jimmy the mailman waved as we passed him, the same way he did when I was fifteen.

And sixteen.

And seventeen.

I looked down at my feet and mindlessly
stepped over the cracks, a habit I picked up at the age of seven when I felt a certain responsibility for the health of my mother
’
s back. Even the cracks hadn
’
t changed.

“
Brigadoon,”
I muttered with a laugh.

“
What, baby?”
Vera waved across Pine Mountain Ro
ad to Bella Thomas, who sat knitting in her rocker the way she had since the beginning of time.

“
Nothing,”
I said quickly, hopping over some cracks to catch up with her. My mind was on Mags
’
s weirdness, but I thought I
’
d edge in with a softball first. “
So,
tell me, Vera. What
’
s up with Bev?”

“
Bev? Nothing. Why? Did she say something to you?”

I shook my head. “
No. That
’
s just the thing. She
’
s been weird. Distant. Pissy.”

Vera smirked. “
That
’
s not weird, baby. That
’
s Bev. You
’
ve just been away from home too long. But you know she doesn
’
t mean anything by it. She
’
s just got a little vinegar in her, that
’
s all.”

I shrugged. “
Maybe.”
We turned the corner on Main just as Marge Whitfield was pushing up the awnings over the pharmacy.
Pearl McGee waved to us as she unlocked the front door of the salon, pointing a mock-accusatory finger at me. I waved, then put an instinctively protective hand to my ponytail as Vera stepped up on the stoop to the Page.

“
So, what about Mags?”

I caught a
momentary stiffness in Vera
’
s shoulders. I was right. Something
was
going on with Mags.

“
What about her?”

“
Oh, please. It
’
s been you and Mags every day at the Page since I can remember. And today she
’
s not coming in. Why?”
Vera rummaged around in her humon
gous
macramé
purse. “
Well, it
’
s hardly something to make a federal case over,”
she said. “
Sometimes people take days off.”

“
Not Mags.”

She gave me a tight smile. “
Well, today she did. Now tell me about your Flyer. You haven
’
t given us any details and I thi
nk that
’
s just rude.”

I shrugged. “
I don
’
t kiss and tell.”

“
Oh, honey, everybody tells.”
She pulled out the keys and stuck them in the front door. “
Some take more time than others, but eventually, everybody tells.”
She pushed the door open, and we stepped
inside.

I inhaled deeply and smiled. As a little girl, I spent every day after school roaming through the shelves, touching the books, flipping through them, living in the scent of fresh pulp and ink. Whenever I needed to lighten a black mood, a trip to a
bookstore or library would almost always work, but the Page was still something special. I turned and gave Vera a wry smile. “
Okay. I
’
ll give you one detail.”