Hate You Not

“No, Leah.”

“Your britches are burning. It’s not my fault I think he’s a catch. Guy’s worth more than the bank.”

“I don’t really think that’s how banks work, L.”

She shrugs. “You want me to give him the frosty shoulder?” I can tell from her tone that it’s an actual offer.

I sigh. “No. It’s okay.”

“He seems like he’s being nice to you.”

“He is.”

“So what’s the trouble?”

I rub my forehead.

“I’m gonna read my crystal ball, how about that?” She waves her hands around in a vaguely circular motion and peers down at them. “You’re fussy that you got stuck with him last night. Felt too intimate and personal for your introverted self. Then your dumbass brother decided to do a neighborhood cookout. For you, but we know how Shawn is. More of his crew will be over in a little bit. Someone’s gonna end up passed out in the bushes.” I widen my eyes at that tidbit, and Leah nods. “Heard them talking.”

I sigh again.

“You know Shawn thinks he’s doing it for you.”

“Oh, he is doing it for me. I just don’t want it.”

“Mary Helen cooked enough to fill your kitchen. Did you go in there yet?”

“No.” I roll my eyes.

“Fishing for the compliments,” Leah says of Mary Helen, smirking.

“No doubt.”

“What can I get for you, darlin’?”

The kids streak by us again—and again, they’re trailed by the puppies. I wrap my arms around myself. “Maybe some water?”

“Sure thing.”

Leah knows me well enough to know it’s time to stop discussing Mr. Ritchy Ritch. I spend a few minutes alone in my thoughts, and then, like a ghost, there he is. I look over, and he’s standing by the screen porch bookshelf, hands stuffed in his pockets, looking at me like a dog that’s looking at a bumble bee, all puzzled.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Masterson?” My voice sounds much more casual than I feel.

He smiles, lips pressed lightly together. “What can I do for you, Ms. Lawler?”

“I’m just fine.”

Some truck rolls up into the yard, and I’m pretty sure it’s that ridiculous, gas-guzzling F-350 that belongs to Slim, another of Shawn’s bros. Shawn calls for Burke—probably to drunkenly introduce him—and I shoo Burke toward the lawn. “Go on, Sly.”

In the next half hour, two more of Shawn’s friends pop up, followed by Latrice, a high school friend of mine who helps me run the farm as sort of a chief operating officer. Our families have worked together for two generations, so it’s really pretty cool. She comes bearing a plate of my favorite fried chicken and a tub of okra, plus a hug I guess I kind of need, because when her arms go around my shoulders, tears burn at the corners of my eyelids.

“Aww. Poor Buggie. Are you worried about your partner in crime?” She means Hottie.

I nod, wiping my eyes. “Sorry. I think I’m just over-tired.”

She nods, but she sees through me. Overtired means overwhelmed.

“Kids still look real good. How’s that been going?”

“I don’t know. Maybe okay? They had to stay with Mary Helen last night.” I glance over at the lawn, where Shawn has set up three card tables and a variety of chairs, complete with checkered plastic tablecloths. Actually, I bet that bit was MH.

“It’s okay for them to stay with her,” she says. “They’re loving those puppies, aren’t they?”

“Yes.”

“I’m surprised you got them, though. They from the Danson’s place?”

“I didn’t get them.”

So begins a fifteen minute conversation about Burke—a conversation during which I try to keep my feelings hidden, but Latrice knows me too well for that.

“So he’s sort of a bastard, but he’s tall and…what is it? Tall, dark, and handsome?” She smirks, and I shrug. “Handsome to someone.”

“I’m not really into white boys, but I know a fine ass when I see one.”

“Oh, go eat a drumstick.”

She grins. “I think I will.”

In the end, Oliver, Margot, Latrice, Leah, and I eat dinner on the porch, while all the others—including Burke, who apparently is now a member of my family—eat out on the lawn, under the glow of tiki torches. The kids entertain us with handstands against the screen porch’s plywood scaffolding, and Shawn’s nine million friends tromp up the steps to refill at the keg and ask how I’m feeling.

Leah brings me Tylenol and Advil as the night wears on, and later, right around the time I start thinking the kids should go to bed, Shawn appears on the porch stairs and says, “We’re gonna do a truck ride!”

“Right now?”

“Huntin’ for dem snipes,” he says in an exaggerated twang.

Margot and Oliver start to giggle, and Shawn pulls the porch door open. “Come on down, little lady and gent. It’s time to hop up in the truck bed and go see some stars and see if you can catch some snipes.”

Leah stands up, looking wide-eyed. “I’ll drive!”