Chapter Seven
Nick
I didn’t realize I had doubts she would show up until the relief at seeing her in the driveway made me weak at the knees. I clasp her hand in mine and drag her into the house. I wonder how mad she’d be if I locked her in? Pretty mad, I’d guess.
“Gran. Look who I found in the driveway.”
Gran peers up from her position on the sofa where she’s reading the latest Nora Roberts book. “Pretty, but kind of scrawny.”
“She said I looked like Ted Bundy,” I say in mock distress.
Gran cocks her head and studies me for a second. “He was a handsome man but your hair is too short.”
“It’s true. I don’t like long hair.” I scrub a hand over my close cropped hair. Once it gets past a certain point on my neck, I get the willies.
“I only called him Ted because he wouldn’t tell me his name,” Birdie interjects. She tugs her hand out of mine. I let her go because she’s in my house. For now, just having her in the same space is enough.
“He wouldn’t, huh?” Gran’s eyes twinkle. She’s enjoying this game. “Why don’t you fetch this girl a glass of Red Bull and grenadine.”
Birdie waves her hand. “No. I don’t need that.”
“It’ll grow hair on your chest,” Gran advises.
Birdie’s brows come together because she’s not sure she wants hair on her chest. I’d prefer her tits be smooth, too. “Maybe she’s not ready for the full dose of caffeine,” I say and head for the kitchen to make Gran’s pre-dinner cocktail.
“I, ah, have all the hair I need on my chest,” Birdie says.
I pop the Red Bull open and pour it into the martini shaker. I add the grenadine and a little bit of club soda, but not too much or Gran will be on my ass. After mixing the cocktails and grabbing myself a beer, I head back out to the living room to see what damage has taken place while I was gone. Predictably the two are seated close together, laughing over something in my gran’s hand.
“Those better not be my baby pictures,” I warn. “I don’t want Birdie to start thinking about how cute our babies are going to be when I don’t even have a ring on my finger yet.”
Birdie rolls her green eyes and gives me the middle finger when she thinks my gran can’t see. “We’re watching cat videos on Tik Tok.”
“We should get one of these,” Gran says, waving the phone at me.
“A phone? A Tik Tok account? A cat?” I hand the drinks out. Birdie eyes hers suspiciously while Gran takes a healthy sip.
“Delicious as always,” Gran coos. “My boy knows how to cook and everything. He’s a real prize. Plus, he’s got a big–”
“Gran,” I cut in.
“–heart,” she finishes. “What did you think I was going to say?” she adds with a disgusted look.
“Men always have their heads in the gutter,” Birdie says.
“They do,” Gran agrees. “My Howard, bless him, was always trying to lift my skirts. It didn’t matter where we were, he’d want under it. We went to the Empire State building and even though there were tourists around, he was feeling me up.”
I’m halfway through my beer because this is normal conversation for Gran, but the shocked expression on Birdie’s face makes me realize that I’d better change the topic. “Want something else to drink?” I ask Birdie.
She whips her head around. “No. This is good.” She finally tastes the concoction and discovers that it’s not as bad as she had feared. “How come you’re not drinking it? I thought it put hair on your chest.”
“My chest is fine. You’re free to check it out for yourself.” I pat myself in invitation. Her eyes follow my hand, and then she gives herself a little shake as if to remind herself that she’s not supposed to like me. I cover my grin by draining the rest of my bottle. “I’m glad you came even though you thought I was a serial killer.”
“I mean the jury is still out on that. I just wanted my tampons.”
“Nah, you could’ve bought a new box. They’re cheap.”
“They’re cheap?” she yelps. “They’re five dollars. That’s not cheap.” She starts looking around the small house. “You must be rich.”
“Rich?” Good thing I was done with my beer. My eyes fly to Gran’s, who looks as confused as me. We haven’t given ourselves away, have we? “Does it look like we’re rich?”
The living room is ordinary. Hell, the whole house is. The walls are beige, the carpet is beige. The place came furnished and the sofa is an uninteresting color of oatmeal paired with a walnut coffee table. We added a few plants but for the most part, this place is the same as when we moved in. There aren’t any pictures of our family because, well, this place isn’t home. Home for me is back in Chicago in the house I grew up in–a big sprawling estate up on the North Shore or the penthouse overlooking Lake Shore Drive. Gran’s home is a pretty condo on the edge of a golf course. She doesn’t play golf, but she likes the community. She can go for walks, eat at the clubhouse, and gossip about all the shenanigans that go on inside the gated community. Oh, and talk dirty about all the fun she and Howard got into.