Fools (Licking Thicket 3)

I looked down at myself. He… he did realize I was seated, right?

“S-she, who?” I demanded, as Sandy-Hair threw himself into the opposite side of the booth.

“My mother.” He set his phone on speaker in the center of the table. “She negotiated the terms of this meeting with a… what was his name again, Mother?”

“Dunn Johnson,” said a tinny voice from the phone. “We met at the feed store. Good Lord, that man is a tall drink of water on a hot day.”

I blinked at the phone, then at the man. I clenched my fingers around my straw. “You must be Gordon.”

He snorted. “Obviously.” He gave me a look like he doubted my intelligence. “Thought they said you were a doctor.”

I inhaled sharply. “Could you just… excuse me one quick li’l second?”

I grabbed my phone off the table, turned it on, and began texting rapidly while Gordon snapped his fingers—snapped his fingers!—to get Alana’s attention so he could order two orders of jalapeño poppers with a side of mayonnaise for “his side of the table” and made sure to ask for separate checks.

Mayonnaise? Ew.

Tucker: The. Flippity. Flipping. Feed. Store?

Tucker: You set me up on a DATE…

Tucker: Through his MOTHER…

Tucker: At the SEED AND FEED?

Tucker: I cannot describe on how many levels this is WRONG. And he ordered MAYO, Dunn!

Dunn: Ingrid and I had a lovely discussion about the merits of alfalfa versus corn for young pigs.

Dunn: You know, she breeds potbellies?

Dunn: Not that I’d ever personally have a pet pig, but she showed me pics of her baby Moxie and they’re adorbs.

Tucker: THEN YOU DATE HER.

I clicked my screen off and set the phone on the table so hard I nearly cracked the screen.

“Pardon me, Gordon. I think there’s been a misunderstand—”

“Gordon? Gordon, what’s happening?” came a fractious voice from the phone. “I can’t see what’s happening!”

“The man was playing on his phone, Mother. And now he’s looking at me… peevishly. Sort of like Moxie when she’s constipated.”

I sucked in a breath. In a lifetime of insults, comparison to a constipated potbellied pig was a new low.

“Now he’s trying to ignore me,” Gordon narrated. “And he’s looking… irked. Decidedly irked. He’s chugging his wine. He’s… what’s a stronger word than irked?”

“Ahh, angry?” Ingrid suggested. “Enraged. Murderous?”

“Testy,” Gordon said as Alana delivered his poppers. “Very definitely— Wait, hang on, Mother. Excuse me, miss. Miss?” He snapped his fingers again until Alana turned around. “Did I or did I not ask for mayonnaise?”

Alana looked at Gordon, then at his two plates, each of which had a fair-sized ramekin of mayonnaise. “Yes, sir. But it’s right there on the side of your plate.”

“This?” he scoffed, tapping a mayonnaise container with his fork. “No. Oh, no no no. When I ask for mayonnaise, I mean I need an appropriate quantity of mayonnaise. You cannot eat poppers with… with… this. It’s a slap in the face.”

“Ah, Gordon,” his mother said happily. “You do love your condiments.”

Alana looked to me like I might know what the hell was happening, but all I could do was shrug helplessly. I had been unaware that poppers required any quantity of mayonnaise.

Medical school had not prepared me for this.

Life had not prepared me for this.

Alana hurried away, and I wet my suddenly dry lips. “As I was saying, Gordon, I think there’s been a misunderstanding. My friend Dunn—”

“Your best best friend,” Ingrid said warmly from the speaker.

I barked a little laugh. Was he, though? Was he really? As I watched Gordon cramming three mayonnaise-coated poppers in his mouth at once, I had to wonder.

Last fall at the Pickin’, I’d have told you there wasn’t a soul on this earth who knew me better than Dunn did, but with each successive loser he set me up with, I began to doubt whether he knew what I wanted—what I deserved—at all.

I grabbed my phone to text him that he needed to get me out of here immediately, but before I’d begun typing, the man himself pulled up a chair and flipped it around backward so he could face the table.

“Howdy, gents. Tucker, looking magnificent as always. And you must be Gordon. You’re… you… have a little, ah… popper juice on your chin there.”

Gordon grunted and ran the back of his hand over his mouth.

“Hey, Dunn,” Ingrid drawled from the speaker flirtatiously.

“Uh.” Dunn looked at my incredulous face and shrugged helplessly. “Hey, Ms. Cooper. How’s Moxie?”

She giggled. Giggled. “Oh, she’s just great. How’s Bernadette?”

“She’s alright, thanks for asking. Old Spots are a hardy breed, for all that they’re rare.” Dunn darted another glance at my face and bit his lip nervously, like he’d finally clued in to the fact that I was displeased—possibly thanks to my laser eyes, or maybe my expression of absolute rage.

Alana plunked a soup bowl of mayonnaise down on the table, then flounced away.