She’s provided a great home for Holly, her daughter.
“I’m sorry about the whole phone number thing,” she says, nibbling her lip.
We’re folding clothes on the back porch, drinking iced teas, spiked with a little rum. In a nutshell, we’re starting to get honest with each other.
“Don’t be,” I say. “You’ll be happy to hear that it worked out great. We’re going out tonight.”
She drops the clothes she’s folding and gasps. “You what? You can’t go out with that guy!”
“And why is that?” I ask her, turning red.
What does she know that I don’t?
“Because! He’s one of the richest men in the country, and he’s a total asshole!” she exclaims.
Despite her shock, her smile can’t help but creep back onto her face. She loves this. After all, she was the one who set us up.
Regardless of what she’s heard, she wants the details, and she sure as hell wants me to see him.
“I’ve got to say, he’s been nice to me so far.” I shrug. “And he’s taking me out tonight. He’ll probably pay, too. I guess I don’t need it, but it’s nice to have someone doting on me.”
“Well, he definitely has money,” she says. “He’ll use it to take your dad’s company down.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I warn her. “It was a fluke we met. I doubt he has an evil agenda.”
“I’m just saying.” Her mouth curls to the side. “Watch out. Remember, he was staring you down the whole night. You don’t think he knew who you were?”
“I don’t,” I say. “Besides, I don’t give a crap. It’s not my company. It’s Byron’s, remember?”
She sighs and goes back to folding clothes. “That’s true, I guess.”
Her daughter, Holly, comes running out onto the porch, holding two of her dolls.
She smiles and kisses my cheek. “Hi, Aunt Madison!”
“Hey, girlie. What do you got there?” I ask.
She holds the two plastic dolls and makes them kiss. “This is Jeffry and Jocelyn,” she says. “They’re in love.”
“Ew, gross!” I lean over and tickle her. She squeals and runs off into the backyard to play in the yard.
Dasha sips her “tea” and folds, humming a soft tune. After some time of near silence, I feel drunk enough to admit to her what we did.
“He’s got my panties.”
At first, she just holds the pair of jeans in her hands like she forgot how to fold. Then she turns to me and drops the pair.
“What the heck did you just say to me?” she asks.
“Um, he has my panties,” I repeat, choking on my tea with laughter.
“How did he get your panties, lady?” she asks, mortified for me. “Did you guys you-know-what at the party?”
“Um, not really? Sort of?” I say. “Oh, I don’t know. What is sex, anyway?”
I should have kept my mouth shut. This story is just too weird to tell.
“Well, little one,” she begins in a sarcastic tone. I’ve already tuned her out. “Let me tell you the story about the birds and the bees.”