The Other F-Word (9 page)

“Margaritas?” I suggested.

“Music,” they both yelled.

Stevie took out her iPod and flipped through the tracks. “We need a song to celebrate,” she said. I had no idea if we were celebrating me going out on my first date in over a decade, or that I’d passed their inspection. Maybe both.

I sighed when Fergie’s scandalous
London Bridge
came on.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“You need to loosen up. You’re stiff as a…rod,” Marley said, laughing.

Marley and Stevie danced with each other. They were shaking their hips, singing along, snapping their fingers and flinging their hair. It was enough to make any mother shake her head. I did.

“Girls, stop!” I chided, clapping my hands to get their attention.

“Sorry,” they both said, halting instantly and looking ashamed like they used to when they were tiny little things.

“You should be.”

They both stared at the ground, shuffling their feet. Ironically, they were still moving to the beat of the music.

“This is how you dance to Fergie,” I said, pushing them aside and moving between them.

We laughed and spun each other around, singing to the lusty lyrics. There was something freeing in music—it made inhibitions disappear, leaving only the raw emotion. This song was definitely an inhibitor blocker.

“We’re gonna have to make a major deposit to the swear jar,” Marley said.

“This is a freebie. Assume the position, ladies,” Stevie said. She took her place in the centre.

I cringed, knowing what was coming. The routine Stevie had choreographed years ago still haunted us. She’d made all of us do it with her, including me, until we’d learned the steps perfectly…well almost.

“Billie’s not here, so don’t bump into me,” I warned Marley, who had a tendency to not follow her marks.

“Here we go girls, lasso time,” Stevie instructed.

We each rotated an arm in the air, shaking our hips, pretending to have a fake rope in our hands.

“Grab your cowboys,” Stevie instructed.

We threw our fake lassos, pulling on them.

“Limbo without a stick.”

We fell back as low as we could go, assuming limbo position.

“Hip bump followed by the butt bump.”

I should have been self-conscious, but this was too much fun. We did a booty pop, adding the arms, trying to stay in sync.

“Show off what your mama gave you.”

We shifted our weight, rolling our shoulders.

“Sasha Fierce time, girls.”

We did Beyoncé’s
Single Ladies
stance from her video, giving each other the hand while doing the sideways head nod that was liable to cause whiplash. Our hair lashed around us, in similar rhythm.

“Guess those dance lessons paid off,” I panted, putting an arm around each of them.

“They sure did,” Adam said.

I jerked my head towards the door. There stood Rick, Dillon and Adam with Bobby in his arms.
Shit.
Sometimes I forgot I was a supposed to be a role model.

“Don’t stop on our account,” Rick said, adjusting his collar.

“How long have you been there?” I asked.

“Right about the time your London Bridges were collapsing,” Dillon said. “I tried to join in, but these guys held me back. They said you’d stop if you knew we were here.”

“And we would have,” I replied.

I did a double check of my hair and marched past them.

“I didn’t know you could dance like that, Marley,” Rick said, following her.

“Have to keep you surprised.”

“Why would you spend our whole reception on my feet leaning against me?”

“Because I belong there,” she said.

“Can’t argue with that,” he replied.

Smart man.

“I think I’d like a little dirty dancing with my dirty talking tonight,” he said in a low voice, but he chose just the moment the music turned off so I heard him.

“We’ll see,” she said, giggling, covering her face.

“We weren’t leering or anything. We came to tell you Rod’s here,” Adam said.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since the song started,” Dillon replied.

I made my way downstairs. He was by the door, talking to Kate. At least someone in this house was being hospitable.

I hoped my painted lips made my smile seem more real. Rod was a nice looking man.
Rod is a nice looking man.
I kept repeating it, thinking the words would be true. I wasn’t attracted to him. He was short, with a steep widow’s peak that pointed down to his shiny forehead. I was mean.

“Hi, it’s so nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

Adam made the introductions. It took a while, considering my whole family, except for Billie, had gathered around to send me off. I was waiting for the corsage and pictures because it sure as hell looked like I was attending prom. Jesus, this guy probably thought we were a bunch of lunatics.
Who am I kidding? We are.

“You all live together? I thought we paid you better than that, Adam,” Rod said. Then he bellowed with laughter at his own joke.

I did a weak chuckle so he wouldn’t be alone in his humour. Then everyone else followed my lead about three seconds too late.

Awkward.

He cleared his throat, signalling the end of our fake laughter then gave me a large, toothy grin.

“We’re just here for moral support,” Adam explained.

“Don’t tell me you need support to be moral.”

We all did the forced chuckle in response, like we were playing a game of Simon Says.

“I hope you’re hungry, Emmie. I’m taking you to the best steak place in town.”

Fuck.

“Sorry, Rod, I thought I told you, my mother-in-law’s a vegan,” Adam said.

“Oh, that’s right, you did,” he said, shaking his head.

“It’s no problem. I’m sure there’s something I can eat there.”

“I’d offer to take you somewhere else, but I made a reservation.”

“No, don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.” I waved goodbye and kissed Bobby’s head before leaving. “Lock up when you leave.”

“We won’t wait up for you. Have a good time,” Adam said.

They all waved to me from the window like I was a kid leaving for camp. Was this what my life had become?

Chapter Seven

He listened to news radio. There was nothing wrong with that—it was good to be informed. Hey, who was I to judge? It was just that he left it on the whole time. Then he said something about how much he hated to drive and complained about overpopulation. I did my best to respond suitably, although I started feeling like a cashier in the compliant department.

The restaurant was interesting. The eight foot stuffed black bear right next to the entrance made me shriek when I accidently bumped into it. In fact, any kind of animal inhabiting the Midwest occupied every square inch of the place, mocking me.

“So, you work with Adam. Do you like it?” I asked when we were seated.

“It’s a job. Too much bureaucracy. Adam will go far. He likes the math of it. He knows how to play nice.”

Adam wasn’t playing…he was nice, but it didn’t seem appropriate to make that comment so I just kept my mouth shut.

“So, you’re a librarian huh?”

“Yes, I love it, especially working with children and seeing them check out their first books. What do you like to read?”

He shrugged. “I’m more of a movie guy myself. If it’s a good enough book, they’ll make a movie out of it eventually, so why bother?”

The waitress came to take our order, and I was happy for the interruption. “I’m going to apologise ahead of time, but can you tell me if your vegetables are cooked in butter?”

The girl looked confused. “I don’t know. They’re vegetables.”

“Yes, but do you know what you cook them in?”

“No.”

Oh boy. This wasn’t going well.

“While she’s deciding, I’ll have the primo steak rare. Just run it through a hot room, sweetheart.”

“Sure thing. Have you decided yet?” she asked me again. It was evident she had no intention of checking how the vegetables were cooked, and I didn’t trust her to make sure my vegetables were sautéed in oil. Rod stared at me, waiting for me to order.

“I’ll have the chicken Caesar salad with no chicken, no dressing, no croutons, no cheese, and lemon wedges on the side.” It was the first item I could find on short notice that appeared safe. She gave me a puzzled look before jotting down my order.

“You know, Adam didn’t tell me his mother-in-law was a MILF.”

“MILF?”

I heard familiar laughter in the booth behind me. I tried to keep the tight, composed smile on my lips despite my growing irritation.

“Yeah, you’ve never heard of it?” he seemed surprised. “Mother I’d like to f…f…fish with.”

I figured out the acronym and his embarrassment. “I’m a grandma, so I guess that makes me a GILF,” I said, hoping I could alleviate his guilt with humour, but he looked confused.

“You look too young to have such old children.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but they’re mine. I guarantee it.”

“Have you been married?”

“Once. A long time ago.”

“Must have been a real ass to you.”

I wanted to respond that Peter was not an ass, but he’d meant it as some sort of backhanded compliment so I let it go.

“I was married too. I’m divorced now.”

“Do you have any children?”

“One, he’s close to Adam’s age.”

“That’s nice.”

“You look just like Adam’s wife. You could be sisters. Adam’s a lucky man to land such a pretty girl. In fact, both your girls are gorgeous, just like their mom.”

The way he said it was a little skeevy for my taste.

“Thank you.”

“I have to use the bathroom.”

“Thank you.” Shit, I hadn’t meant to say that one loud.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

He nodded, getting up from the table.

“Dillon, is that you?” I said against my seat after Rod left.

“I thought I could lend you some real moral support, like you did on my first date,” he said. “I followed you.”

Dillon had been so nervous on his first date with a boy, I’d tagged along and done this very thing for him. Returning the favour was a sweet gesture, although it wasn’t alleviating my nerves.

“Um, that’s very nice, but I really don’t need you here.”

“Because your conversation is so riveting? You realise you just ordered a plate of lettuce, right?”

“Yeah, well I didn’t want to seem too high maintenance.”

“So you settled for looking easy?”

“Dillon!”

“Are you sure you want me to go? The guy’s a total dick.”

I half laughed, half choked on my drink. The boy was right. “I appreciate your concern, but I got this.”

“Fine, just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Keep your London Bridge on lockdown.”

“Dillon!”

“Leaving.”

Rod came back, sliding into the booth. I could do this. I just had to find some common ground.

“I love this song,” I said, gesturing to the overhead speakers.

“I’ve never heard it.”

“You’ve never heard
Hey Jude
by The Beatles?”

“Oh, I guess I have. I’m not a huge music buff.”

I wondered if Paul McCartney was trying to send me a message. This was not some obscure song…this was The Beatles for God’s sake. How could he not know it?

“So what does your son do?” I asked in a lame attempt to mask my shock with a harmless question.

“Last I checked, he was an accountant.”

“You mean you don’t know?”

Our food came then, and he dug into his steak like a man on a mission, cutting large chunks. I picked around my lettuce.

“My ex-wife caused a rift between us. She bad-mouths me.”

“That’s unfortunate, but I’m sure you can repair the damage, especially since he’s an adult now.”

“It’s too late. I mean, first the woman broke our contract then she turned my son against me.”

“Contract?”

“She changed. She wasn’t the girl I married.”

I was about to ask what he meant, but the waitress came by then with a plate of colourful peppers stuffed with mushrooms. “I think there’s a mistake. We didn’t order these,” I said to her.

“The man at the bar sent them.”

Had Dillon done this? I wasn’t sure if I was mad he hadn’t left or if I should hug him because I was starving.

Rod took his fork—the same one he used to eat his steak with, and started moving the mushrooms around on the plate, like he was an archaeologist on an expedition. “I thought your mushrooms came stuffed with sausage.”

“They are, but he requested them this way. He also said no butter, or the lady wouldn’t like them.”

I glanced over at the bar and gulped at the sight of Damien Wolfe. He wore faded jeans and a grey crewneck shirt with the top two buttons undone. His dark hair was a little messy—no…more like windswept. He did a one-finger salute off his forehead, smiling that devilish grin of his.

“I wonder why he would send these?” Rod mused more to himself than anyone else.

“He said the lady looked hungry,” the waitress answered. He was right.

“Tell him thank you,” I said to her, hoping she’d leave. I was getting irritated with her making statements like I wasn’t there.

“It’s kind of weird. How do you know him?”

“We’re working together on a fundraiser for the library. I don’t know him. Not really.”

“He must know you’re a vegan to have ordered this.”

“Yes, but that’s hardly a secret. Anyone who’s ever eaten with me knows that.”
What was with the fifty questions?

Rod looked over at Damien again and shrugged. “He looks real young. I’m surprised he can afford a place like this.”

A giggle escaped me at his ludicrous statement. Thankfully, Rod didn’t notice. Then again, Damien did look young, especially with the small tear at the knees of his jeans, boyish smile and mussed hair. The fact that Rod didn’t recognise him didn’t surprise me. Damien’s name came up in the finance and social pages, although he didn’t splash the front pages like most men with his status. I realised Damien and I were still staring at each other. I looked at Rod quickly, but he was too busy with his steak to notice my rudeness.