Just One of the Guys

Trevor smiles and takes a seat at the table, taking care to be quiet. “I’m crashing here tonight,” he tells me.

“So I see.” He’s wearing jeans and a T-shirt, and his feet are bare. I’m sure he wasn’t sleeping in jeans—I end the thought right there. “Want some cereal?”

“No, thanks,” he says with a grin. “How was your date? After the wee beastie chased you down, that is.”

I take a deep breath. My purpose in having a little late-night snack was to analyze said date. “It was great,” I say. “We had a great time. Ryan’s a great guy.”

“Great.”

I look at him sharply. “We did. He is.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t, Chas, or that he’s not.” He folds his arms across his chest and continues looking at me, muscles bulging, hair rumpled, utterly luscious. I take a hearty bite of Choco-Puffs and chew. Go away, Trevor, I say silently. Because sitting in the near dark at three in the morning is far too intimate. “How’s Angela, speaking of dating?”

“She’s fine,” he says. “Nice girl.”

“So are you guys serious?” I blurt, shoveling in another mouthful of cereal.

“We’ve been on two dates, Chastity.”

“So? Ryan and I have also been on two dates.”

“And are you guys serious?” he asks.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, we are. We are in a committed, monogamous relationship.” My spoon clatters with unnecessary roughness against the bowl.

“Two dates is a little quick for a serious, committed, monogamous relationship, wouldn’t you say?”

“Well, we’ve just begun the committed, serious, monogamous relationship, Trevor. Gotta start somewhere.” My voice is not quite as casual as I’d like.

“Sure,” Trevor agrees. “And I’m sure he has a lot of nice qualities.”

Why does he defend Ryan? my little voice squawks. Why doesn’t he say, How about a committed, serious, monogamous relationship with me, Chas?

Because he doesn’t want that, Elaina’s voice answers firmly. He’s had his chance, okay? He’s had plenty.

“So?” Trevor asks. “What do you like about this guy, Chas?”

“What are you, my big sister now?” I ask, and he grins, and my insides lurch.

“Close enough. Answer the question.”

I get up from the table, put my bowl in the sink and stare out the window at the dark backyard. “He’s really smart, obviously.” Well-educated. “And he’s got a nice sense of humor…you know, kind of quiet.” Excellent manners. “He’s hardworking. Treats me really well.” Good driver. “Didn’t mind chasing Buttercup.”

“Sounds like there’s some potential here, Chas.”

My throat tightens. “Oh, yeah. Definitely potential. Listen, buddy, I’m going to bed. Do you need anything? Pillow, blanket, anything?”

“I’m all set, thanks. Night, Chastity.”

“Goodnight, Trev.”

Upstairs in my room, Buttercup has taken her usual position, occupying three-quarters of my queen-size bed. I undress, then realize with an impatient sigh that I forgot to brush my bleeping teeth. And since I don’t even have a sink in my stupid bathroom, I’d have to go back downstairs and risk seeing Trevor once more.

Well. I get into my tiny sliver of a bed, shove Buttercup over with my feet and sigh.

Surely I’ve wasted enough time thinking about Trevor over the past couple of decades. Instead of thinking about Trev, I order myself to think of attainable, relationship-minded Ryan Darling.

I think I could probably love Ryan. Like I said to Trevor, he seems like a very nice, serious, hardworking guy. He’s not really funny in the way that I’m used to, the lizards in the bed kind of funny, but he’s not un-funny, either. And there’s some chemistry between us, sure. If my toes didn’t exactly curl, well, they twitched, and this was just our first time. He is certainly good-looking. We’d make beautiful, strong, tall children, hopefully. Smart, too. Ivy League Teamsters.

So yes, we’d done it. Moved the relationship forward, and if it was a little fast, as Trevor so irritatingly pointed out, so what? Ryan and I are consenting adults in our thirties. No big deal. I wince as the words echo in my head. No big deal.

It’s not that sex with Ryan wasn’t nice. It was. Very nice. We took our time, he was considerate, assured me of his good health, took care of the needed protection and all that. It was very nice. If I had to grade it, I’d give it a B+. Good, solid, well-supported sex. Like a hearty meat loaf dinner. And if nice isn’t exactly what a woman dreams of, if instead of meat loaf, she’s wishing for filet mignon, if she’s wanting earth-shaking instead of solid, a little more wild, a little less smooth, well, she should probably get over it.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

“HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY, MOM,” I say, handing over the tulips, truffles and card.

“Oh, honey! How sweet you are!” Mom cries, tearing open the truffles. “Oooh, very nice, darling! Want one?”

“No, no, they’re all for you,” I say.

Mom reads the card, tears up, hugs me. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” she says. “Don’t tell the boys, but you’re my favorite.”

“Don’t tell the boys, my ass,” Jack says. “She tells us every chance she gets.”

I kiss my oldest brother’s cheek. “You poor neglected baby,” I say. “Doesn’t your mommy wuv you anymore?”

“I’ll always be her firstborn,” he says, swatting me. “You were just an accident.”

“What?” I gasp, feigning shock. “You didn’t want two babies in eleven months, Mom?”

“Oh, you two,” she says fondly. “All children are a blessing, yadda yadda yadda.”

Jack and I laugh. “Who sent you those, Mom?” I ask, pointing to a huge arrangement of roses and lilies on the dining room table.

“Oh, those are from Harry,” she coos. Jack shoots me a look. “Jack, I think Graham is stuck in that tree,” Mom adds, and the two of them go outside to rescue various and sundry children and intervene in a spat over who has to retrieve the soccer ball from the mud.

I go into the dining room and check out the bouquet. Very expensive. All the thorns have been taken off the roses, and the lilies are as pink and sexual as Georgia O’Keefe believed. I glance at the card: To an amazing woman who deserves to be celebrated on this special day. XOX Harry

“Bleechh,” I say, wondering what Dad would think. I make a face, then go into the living room where my sisters-in-law sit like empresses. Lucky is serving them Bloody Marys, as he should.

“Hi, Tara,” I say, handing my sister-in-law a card. “You’re a fabulous mother.”

“Oh, Chastity! This is so sweet of you!” Tara opens her card as I hand Sarah hers.

“Happy Mother’s Day, Sarah. You’re a wonderful mom,” I tell her with dutiful honesty.

“Thanks, Chas!” Sarah cries. I move on.

“I hope you brought me more than a card,” Elaina says, accepting her envelope.

“Vodka. In the car. Didn’t want to make the others jealous,” I stage-whisper. “And you’re a wonderful mom, too, blah blah bleeping blah.”

Elaina smacks me affectionately. “Don’t worry, chiquita,” she says as I flop on the couch next to her. “You’ll have your turn, okay? And then you’ll long for these days when you have no little asses to wipe, no spit-up permanently glued to your neck. Am I right, girls?”

The Starahs nod wisely.

“I made Tara breakfast in bed today,” Lucky says. “She has the whole day off. No housework, no kid care.”

“So what are you doing here? Time’s a’ wastin’,” I comment.

Tara laughs and leans her head against Lucky’s shoulder. “Where else would I want to be?” she asks.

“Oh, gack,” I answer, pretending to vomit. “What about you, Sarah? Did Jack honor you in some way, preferably by spending lots of money?”

“Yes, he did,” she answers. “Like the well-trained husband he is. See my new earrings?” She pushes her hair behind her ears.

“Beautiful,” I say. I turn to Elaina. “And Mark? Anything from him?”

“Well, actually, you know, the bastard did come through,” Elaina admits, toying with her hair. “Dylan had a card and some nice bath stuff for me this morning, and he said Daddy told him to give it to me.” Her dark eyes soften. “So that was nice, you know?”

I really am surrounded by women who are wonderful, caring, selfless mothers. Smart, wise, funny, loving, patient. And my uterus is begging for the chance to join the crowd.

As if reading my mind, Elaina turns to me. “I’m thinking a girl, first, you know? With blond hair like her daddy, okay? And then a boy. Dr. Darling Junior.”

“Why can’t the girl be Dr. Darling Junior?” I ask, trying to picture Ryan next to me in the delivery room.

“Oh, that’s right!” Sarah squeals. “We heard you had a new boyfriend! Tell all, Chastity!”

At that moment, Trevor sticks his head in the living room. “Hi, girls,” he grins. “Happy Mother’s Day, you gorgeous creatures.” And then he looks at me. “Hey, Chas.”

“Bite me, Trev,” I answer agreeably. “I note that I’m not lumped in with the gorgeous creatures.”

“You know I think you’re beautiful. Striking.” He winks and my insides give an unwilling twist. Then he comes in, several bouquets in his arms, and goes first to Sarah. “Thank you for sharing your kids with me,” he says, kissing her on the cheek. He repeats the gesture and the words with Tara, then Elaina. Each of my sisters-in-law hugs him, exclaims over his thoughtfulness, wipes away a tear.

“Kiss-ass,” I murmur as he approaches me. I’m hoping he won’t notice that my eyes are wet, too.

“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘prince among men,’” he answers. He holds out the last bouquet to me. “For you, Chas. Just so you don’t have a tantrum.”

My heart aches with, um, let’s see…affection. Yes. “Consolation prize, huh?”

“Not exactly,” he murmurs.

The image of him and Perfect Hayden leaps unbidden to my mind, and just in the nick of time. I wonder if he did something sweet for Hayden. Or Angela. Or any of the other women he may or may not be seeing.

“Trev, thank you, sweetie,” Elaina says. “Your ass looks great in those jeans, by the way. Carhartt, mm-mm!” The Starahs murmur in agreement. Lucky rolls his eyes. “But we were talking about Chastity’s love life,” Elaina continues, giving me a sharp glance. “So, Chas? Have you done it yet?”

“We’ve been on just two dates,” I say demurely.

“Answer the question,” Tara instructs.

“I’ll just bow out here,” Trevor murmurs.

“You do that,” Elaina says, making a shooing gesture with her hand. “We want to talk sex, okay? You too, Lucky. Out.”

I shoot her a look that could cut metal, but she’s undeterred. Trevor and Lucky obey, as do most men when Elaina gives an order.

“Yes to the sex,” I answer. My sisters-in-law shriek and I grin, pleased to be the center of all this feminine attention for once.

LATER THAT DAY, IN ORDER TO counter the effects of too many cheese danishes at Mom’s, I pull on my running shoes and clip the leash to Buttercup’s collar. “We’re going for a run, you harlot,” I tell her.

“Aaaahhroooorooorooo!” she answers.

“No sex with anything under fifty pounds, you hear?” She wags agreeably. “Let’s go, then.”

Then I see the light blinking on the answering machine. “Hello, Chastity, it’s Ryan Darling,” comes Ryan Darling’s voice. “Just wanted to let you know that I’ll be on Long Island to visit my mother today, but I hope to get together soon. I had a really nice time the other night. Tell Buttercup I said hello. Speak to you soon.”

Well! That’s pretty damn sweet, isn’t it? I smile. There was also an attempt at humor at the end. Good job, Ryan. Granted, he didn’t need to use his last name—we were ha**g s*x two nights ago, so yes, I do remember him. I wince a little. Very enjoyable sex. Pleasant. Reliably satisfying. Meat loaf.

“I’ll shut up now,” I tell my dog, who is snuffling at the door. “Let’s go for that run.”

Buttercup lopes at my side, surprising me with her energy level. Next week, we have an appointment to get her spayed, so she may well return to her prepubescent level of malaise. But for now, her ears flop and her jowls undulate. We head for the cemetery. My ulterior motive is firmly in place, and my timing is perfect.

Trevor’s pickup truck is there. He’s kneeling in the dirt next to his sister’s grave and looks up in surprise when he hears Buttercup’s tags jingling.

“Hi,” he says, rising. His jeans are muddy at the knees. “What are you doing here?”

My dog and I slow to a walk, then stop. “Well, now that I know Buttercup is capable of forward movement, I thought I’d take her with me when I run. She could use some exercise. I saw your truck and here we are.”

If he doesn’t buy my story, he also doesn’t let on. Blushing, I unclip Buttercup and let her go snuffling amid the gravestones, her tail slicing audibly through the air, nose glued to the ground like her bloodhound ancestors. She woofs softly and continues, happy as the proverbial clam. Trevor watches her go.