I was mortified.
“I’m mortified!” I yelled at Shannon who only smirked back as we closed up the flower shop. “How could you do that to me?”
She laughed. “Jesus, Rori. All I did was tell the guy to ask you out, not outbid you for that old Julia Child cookbook you’ve been obsessinlg over. Although I could give him the bidding number…”
“I’m glowering at you,” I informed her as I flipped the sign on the door to Closed.
Not looking at me while she put money into a deposit bag, she drawled, “Yeah, I see it. It’s pretty scary too.”
“I’m telling your mom what you did. Get ready to be grounded,” I warned, toward the bakery.
She snorted. “You know Mom won’t ground me. Actually, she’ll probably back me up and say you should go out with him!”
She was right.
“Your whole family’s on my shit list,” I mumbled before shooting her the evil eye—at which she mock gasped then rolled her eyes—and pulling the top half of the Dutch door closed and locking it.
Putting on my coat and leaving the bakery, I didn’t know what I was more pissed off about, the fact that Shannon had offered my pathetic, going-on-eighteen-months-of-still-lamenting-the-loss-of-my-fiancé-who-had-chosen-someone-else-over-me-how-could-he-do-that-and-why-the-fuck-can’t-I-move-past-this self up to the football player, or that I felt so strongly drawn to said football player that it scared the ever-living shit outta me.
I decided it was a tie.
“He’s definitely not my type,” I garbled around my third piece of Mrs. L’s fabulous fried chicken, and totally lying.
“Bullshit!” Shannon said with a snigger.
“Shannon!” Mrs. Lewis scolded, glancing at her husband for help.
Mr. Lewis, who’d given up long ago on his girls ever being sweet and ladylike, gave Shannon a bored look which made her bite her lips to keep from laughing.
“This is so not fair,” Mara grumbled, sipping on the milkshake she was having for dinner, not able to eat with us because of her tooth.
“I could puree some chicken for you,” Mrs. L offered.
“Gross,” Mara complained. Then she turned to me. “That list I helped you make? Trash the fucker.”
“Mara!” Mrs. L chided.
“What, Mom? Rori hasn’t dated in over a year! It’s time!” Mara declared.
“Well, I agree, but that language isn’t necessary!”
Ahhh. Another fabulous family dinner at the Lewises’ where Mara and Shannon competed to see who could offend their parents the most. I rolled my eyes as I scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy into my mouth.
Mrs. L looked at me. “Rori, honey, Shannon said this quarterback is very good-looking and also sweet. Is that true?”
I put a hand over my mouth to keep from spitting spuds all over the table. Then removing my hand and speaking with my mouth still full…
Timeout.
You need some background info here. Bear with me. There’s a lot. So, growing up with four brothers, I wasn’t given much room to display stellar table manners. Not that I was a slob or anything. I knew how to do it right, but being the youngest at the Flannigan table, I’d figured out early on that when it came to filling your plate, it was “you snooze, you lose,” which became words to live by. The hundreds—I’m not even exaggerating—of late-night peanut butter and jelly sandwiches I’d had to make for myself over the years to stave off my hunger proved it. Seriously, if any of us kids stopped eating to turn our head to talk to someone, the next thing we knew, when looking back at our plate, we’d see that what was left of the hamburger or pizza or steak we’d currently been supping on had been snatched. Of course, it wasn’t Mom and Dad stealing our food. It was them. They were the perpetrators. I’m speaking of Ramsey, Reese, Rhett and Roark the pigs, aka growing boys, who were always starving, and they practically ate us out of house and home. Thankfully, Mom, a bigwig event planner in D.C, and Dad, a pediatrician, made enough to pay for all the dietary debauchery that went on. I hadn’t been an innocent bystander by any means. I did my fair share of food snatching. Consequently, I’d learned to protect what was mine and also to stealthily talk with food in my mouth, which led to the subtle art of chipmunk cheeks, where I pocketed my food to the sides before speaking. I know it sounds gross, I’m no Sandor Clegane, but old habits die hard. Anyway, Mara says it’s cute when I unknowingly do it and says she gets a kick out of how she can never see any food, so it’s all good. And I think I deserve mad props for having dropped the habit of circling one arm around my plate while hunching over it like some starving orphan.
Back to the story.
Mouth full, I retorted, “Sweet?” cutting my eyes at Shannon. “Yeah, he’s so sweet that he sent two bouquets of flowers to two different women!”
“That’s not so bad,” Mrs. L murmured, cutting—cutting—her chicken with a knife and taking a bite. From a fork. A fork!
Holding my chicken breast in my hands and ripping pieces from it with my teeth while emitting appreciative moans as I chewed, otherwise known as eating my food the right way, I further explained, “He sent cards!” At Mrs. L’s nonplussed look, I went on, chipmunk cheeks at maximum capacity. “On one he told the chick he wanted to see her cute birthmark on the back of her thigh, and on the other he wrote he couldn’t wait to run his fingers through her hair again!” I raised my eyebrows at her. “Still think he’s sweet?”
She dabbed politely at her mouth with her napkin before daintily picking up her wine glass and taking a sip. Glancing at Mara and Shannon to see if they were following suit, I saw they were chowing down as usual, not paying her any attention. Well, Mara was busy pushing her straw quickly up and down through the plastic lid of her shake making a noise that sounded like a buck in heat and a metal scraper were having sex. Other than that, all was normal.
Then Mrs. L turned to look shrewdly at me and I braced, because although mostly nice as can be, she could also hit you with some zingers.
“Rori,” she began, and I swallowed because I knew this was gonna be a doozy. “It’s time.”
Looking around the table, I saw the rest of the family nodded in agreement.
Traitors.
“It’s time you started dating again, sweetheart,” she continued. “You’ve had long enough to grieve. You need to get out there.”
Needing a topic change, I blurted, “Can we talk about how Shannon and Olly have some weird Marque de Sade relationship going on?”
At Shannon’s look on indignation, I smirked. How do you like being the monkey in the cage, little sister?
Mrs. L gasped, glancing at her youngest. “Are you into,” she leaned over the table lowering her voice to a whisper, “whips and chains?”
Shooting me a, You’re so gonna pay, look before turning back to her mom, Shannon snorted. “Yes, Mother. Olly and I are Fifty Shading the shit out of it.”
Mr. L excused himself with a heavy sigh as Mara and I exchanged a look and giggled.
“Oh, my God,” Mrs. L went on. “If tampons are involved, I’m going to disown you.”
We girls burst out laughing, and while Shannon regaled her mother with scenes from the book, making her think she and her coworker were participating in the deeds, I breathed easier knowing my lack of a love life was no longer the focus.
Sunday mornings were the best.
No alarm. No getting up to go to work. Just blissful peace and quiet as I drank my coffee on my balcony. No matter the weather, every Sunday morning I was there, either wrapped in a blanket and watching the snow, sleet or rain fall, or in yoga pants and a t-shirt basking in the glorious sun.
Except for this particular Sunday morning.
Before I could even get snuggled into my cushy deckchair to watch the snow falling, at 8 a.m. my phone rang. Melissa Taggart, the promotion director from one of the local rock radio stations, called wanting me to be a guest on their show the next morning to promote the KIDS Klub.
“I’m sorry this is such late notice, but Ron Baker, owner of Mayfield’s Sports Bar, called this morning saying they couldn’t make it tomorrow. They had some pipes burst overnight so they’ll be busy with that for a few days. I know you agreed to be on next month, but we’re wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming early?” she asked.
“Not a problem,” I answered. I loved the charity and would do whatever I could to help. Ramsey’s and Reese’s kids were all members, which made it even more important.
“Thank you so much!” Melissa squealed. “We’ll see you at seven-thirty and you’ll go on at eight, if that works.”
“It does!” Despite the quietude of my day disrupted, I couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
Getting back to finding my Zen, I spent the next hour cuddling with my coffee cup and watching it snow before going inside to start laundry. At noon, I called to check on Mara who was back on solid foods and also at her condo having had enough of her mom and of Shannon talking all things kink.
“So, between promising Mom I’d get you a date to explaining to her what a fucking spreader bar was, I couldn’t wait to come home,” she complained.
I snorted. “You did not tell Edna what a spreader bar is.”
“I told her that you use them at the bakery, that they’re spatulas to ice the cinnamon rolls. I’m gonna kill Shannon for bringing all that bdsm shit up.”
“Oh, my God,” I mumbled.
“Yeah, so when Mom asks if you’ve used one lately, good luck keeping a straight face.”
“Perfect. Just hearing that come out of her mouth will be torture not to crack up.” The dryer buzzed so as I removed the clothes, I stated, “Oh, hey. I’ve gotta be at the radio station at seven-thirty in the morning for the KIDS Klub thing. I’ll go in to help Michelle get things started, but can you cover?”
“Yep. I’ll even be there by seven to help her out. You know how she loves that I don’t know shit about baking. I thought she was gonna report me to the authorities for not knowing the difference between baking soda and baking powder.” She chuckled.
“Blasphemy!” I said with a laugh. “Anyway, thanks for covering and make sure to have the radio on at eight to listen!”
“Wouldn’t miss it. And you make sure to pimp our stores hard!”
The remainder of the day I used for catching up on the books for the bakery then after calling my parents and all four brothers, I binged the rest of the night away on Netflix before getting into bed at nine.
Life was good.