35. Salinger
35
SALINGER
M andy is wearing the oversized sweatshirt I left for her when I slipped out of her bed, taking a grumpy Pepper with me to go work out the next morning. She’s sitting on the couch eating leftover Italian food, her hair tied up in a messy bun, scrolling on her phone.
“You forgot to lock the door.” The words are slightly muddled around the mouthful of pasta.
“I figured you’d be too hungover to do anything stupid.” I toss my keys and Pepper’s leash on the coffee table then sit next to her on the couch, pulling her close to me.
“You’re sweaty.”
“And you still smell like sex, but you don’t hear me complaining.”
She elbows me.
I shouldn’t have crawled into bed with her. I didn’t ever allow myself to fall asleep next to the women I fucked. Didn’t want them turned into emotional weapons to be used against me. I was just going to hold Mandy for a few moments, but the warmth of her, the sound of her breathing, had lulled me to sleep.
Her phone is beeping.
“Is that him?” I snarl, grabbing for it.
“Lunatic!”
“It is, isn’t it?”
“No.” She tries to fight me off, holding the phone close to her chest.
Pinning her to the couch, I grab her wrist, prying her fingers off the phone.
“It’s mine,” she shrieks.
On the phone are a number of messages in the Instagram app.
Lauren: You’re being bitchy because you didn’t get laid last night.
Lauren: You shouldn’t have left the club.
Lauren: Don’t judge other people for having sex.
Lauren: It is not a good look.
“Why do you care who your sister is sleeping with?”
“I care if she’s doing it in my bed.” Mandy snatches the phone from me and starts typing furiously, then she gives up and calls her sister. “You better freaking pick up,” she snaps, waiting for the call to connect. “Lauren.”
Her younger sister’s voice is whiny over speakerphone. “I just don’t know why you can’t be happy for me. I finally hooked up with the guy I’ve been seeing. I thought you’d be proud of me. I didn’t even sleep with him on the first date. ”
“You had sex in my bed. Of course I’m upset. You better wash my sheets,” Mandy says. “I thought you were going to his place.”
“He said it was too far and really wanted to go to mine.”
“You mean mine .”
There’s the garbled sound of a man’s voice in the background, muffled, like he’s talking into a pillow.
“Is he still there?” Mandy hisses.
“I can’t just kick him out—that’s rude. I want to make him breakfast. Don’t you have any pancake mix?”
“I make my pancakes from scratch, so no.”
“Fine,” her sister huffs. “I’ll make it myself.”
“Don’t touch my stand mixer—you’re just going to break it.” She pauses. “Hello? Lauren. My stupid sister. I can’t believe this, after everything I’ve done for her. This is a new low.” Mandy takes an angry bite of her pasta.
“Little siblings, right?” I raise an eyebrow. “You’ll give ’em a kidney but kill them if they touch your shit.”
“This isn’t just touching my shit. She had sex in my bed. Argh!” She tangles her hands in her hair. “Seriously, my sister is the worst.”
“My brothers could give her a run for her money, I bet.”
“Are all of your brothers gainfully employed?”
I hesitate. “Yes.”
“The last time my sister had a job was in high school, when she slept with the manager of the taco place where she worked. Giving her a piece of my mind is the only reason I’m going to dinner today, by the way—otherwise, I’d leave you to my grandmother’s mercy.”
“I don’t mind basking in the love of my adoring fans.”
I have showered, dressed in a freshly pressed suit, and selected a bottle of wine to bring to Mandy’s mom’s dinner that afternoon. Pepper chases a wine cork around the wine-cellar floor.
“Oh no. No, no, no.” Mandy looks into the wine cellar.
“What?” I look up at her. “You don’t think your family will like the Domaine des étoile? It’s a good year.”
“Do not waste that bottle. We’ll stop at Walmart on the way in and pick up a box of wine.”
“We’re not bringing your parents boxed wine.” I slip the bottle into the wine gift bag with my monogram on it.
“This is wasted on them.” She crosses her arms.
“Fine.” I pull the bottle back out. “I’ll bring a cheap wine.”
“How cheap?” Mandy rushes over to the rack of slightly less exclusive reds. “I know you—you have expensive taste. My parents do not. My grandmother certainly does not.”
“I have a reputation to uphold.” I slide another bottle into the bag.
She huffs. “You don’t have to go. In fact, I wish you wouldn’t.” She trails her fingers along the row of buttons on my shirt. “You know, maybe you and I could open that wine and really appreciate it.”
I lean down to kiss her mouth. “Tempting, but I want to see how your dad’s lawn is doing.”
“Oh my gosh, I’m dating a guy just like my father. I mean… uh…” She looks up at me with apprehension.
I save her. “I don’t know if locking someone up in your penthouse counts as a date.”
“It does when you’re thirty-four and perpetually single.”
Dating. Mandy thinks we’re dating.
Are we dating?
We aren’t really sleeping together.
I should have set her straight, right? Should have told her that she’s not the type of girl I fuck, let alone date.
Except I did fuck her.
Well, half fucked. I didn’t take off my pants.
The yard in front of her parents’ house is freshly tilled, the scent of topsoil and fertilizer filling the air with an earthy smell.
Mandy clutches the wine in front of her like a shield as we make our way up the walkway.
Before I can reach out to ring the doorbell, Mandy has already pushed the door open.
“There you are.” Her mother hurries over to her and immediately reaches over to pull on the waistband of her skirt.
“Mom!”
“Salinger doesn’t want to be seen with you if your skirt’s riding down that low. It needs to sit at your natural waistline. Salinger!” Gale motions me down so she can kiss my cheek. “You look dashing as always, and you brought wine. You didn’t have to do that. Mandy, why did you let him bring this wine?” Gale pulls the bottle out of the bag. “It looks expensive. Mandy, is this expensive?”
“You’re worth it,” I assure Gale, who beams at me.
“Keep that away from Mandy’s grandmother.” She lowers her voice and hands the bottle back to me. “She can’t handle it. Oh, Amy.” She turns to her youngest daughter, who is in the middle of the sunken living room screaming at a teenage girl in a crop top and pink sweatpants. “Think of your baby. You have to manage your stress levels. ”
“I’m going to be your stepmother, Isabella!” Amy insists. “You listen to me and put that phone away right now.”
The girl is ignoring Mandy’s sister and instead entranced by her image in the phone screen. “Hey, girlies, it’s Isabella! We’re back here live with the next episode of the Williams family telenovela. Your girl is here with the ex-stepgirlfriendie, there in the back, and the new stepbitchy. Say hi, Amy! Can you believe”—the teenager pouts at the phone screen—“that she and I are almost the same age?”
“I can.” Mandy’s grandmother waves to the phone. “The gene pool really needs more lifeguards.”
“Shout out to Granny Evelyn! Go on, girl, with your trendy name. Can you do the sponsor shout-out today?”
I slide past them to the wet bar, where Mandy’s father stands with a thousand-yard stare, looking out the window to his lawn.
“Shut the front door!” Isabella yells at me and fans herself dramatically for the camera. “You guys , who is that?”
“Isn’t he hot?” Gran whoops. “Look at that man. And”—she pulls a phone out of her bra—“I have a photo of him shirtless.”
“Gran, Isabella, stop that right now.” Mandy rushes over.
Her mom chases after her with a safety pin, calling, “You’re gaping, Mandy!”
“Be proud of that hot piece of man-ass you’re banging!” Gran whoops.
I set the bottle of wine on the polished wood of the wet bar.
“Supposed to rain tonight,” Mandy’s dad says .
“Get a load of this chest,” Granny Evelyn tells the camera. “Mandy, you get the whole cow at home, so let us have this. Don’t mind my granddaughter there in the back.”
“Looks like she needs some of that hair serum from today’s sponsor.” Isabella blows a kiss to the camera.
“Worried about the rain washing out the topsoil.” Patrick sighs heavily.
“Ex-stepgirlfriendie!” Isabella chirps at Lauren, who appears with a mug of wine in her hand.
“I just want to tell every one of you out there,” Lauren says, wiping at her makeup-gooped eye, “that even if someone betrays you, even if your dreams are crushed and the person closest to you uses you, you can still rise out of the ashes.”
Mandy’s grandmother starts humming a hymn.
“I put mosquito netting down. You can get it in bulk,” I suggest to Patrick, uncorking the wine.
“Karma will get them back.” Lauren sniffles. “If you believe in yourself, you will be rewarded by the universe. I have met the most wonderful, loving man...”
“Did you and Mr. Karmic Universe wash my sheets, Lauren?” Mandy demands.
“You need to make sure you buy the undyed kind,” I add, while Patrick takes an absent sip of his drink.
“I’m on a live video, Mandy. Stop going on about your stupid sheets.”
“Let’s see a picture of the lucky guy,” their grandmother urges.
“As if I’m going to tell you all who it is.” Lauren clutches her phone. “So Amy can steal him? No, thanks.”
“I’m not stealing him. I have a real man. ”
In the corner, Kenny is wiping at the ranch dressing that’s globbed onto his chinos.
“Hey, Dad, are you going to sleep with Mandy?” Isabella calls. “And score a three-for-three with the Miller sisters?”
My head snaps up. “The fuck he is.”
There’s dead silence in the room.
Isabella’s mouth drops open. “There’s that touch-her-and-die energy we love.”
“I am so sorry.” Mandy hurries over to me. “Kenny has Isabella this weekend. He does every other weekend. I’ll get her to leave you alone. Isabella, don’t you want to take some video of Pepper?”
“Where’s my Pepperoni?” the teenager squeals, scooping up the dog and holding her for the camera, cooing.
I can’t help but notice that Kenny’s attention isn’t on his ex or his pregnant girlfriend. It’s on mine.
“Thanks, Mandy,” Kenny says to her too cheerfully, holding up a beer.
“Excuse me, Kenny.” Mandy brushes by him. “Mom, the timer is going off. I’m going to check on the meat loaf.”
“It’s good meat loaf. Dinner’s at two,” her dad tells me.
Kenny wanders to the coffee table, where the snacks are arranged. He’s eating vegetable chips, dipping them in ranch dressing, still watching Mandy through the kitchen door.
I stare at him. Suddenly, I know with absolute certainty that it’s him. Kenny is the stalker—he has to be. That’s why she didn’t want to go to the dinner.
Mandy’s in the kitchen alone, taking off oven mitts.
I grab her, shake her. “Admit the truth. It’s him, isn’t it?”
She hits me with her oven mitt. “Can you leave it alone?”
“Kenny. Kenny’s the stalker. ”
“No, it’s not Kenny.” She makes a disgusted noise. “Kenny is an idiot. He slept with both of my sisters.”
“From the way he’s looking at you, I think he’s angling for a third.”
A laugh escapes her mouth. “Wait, you’re serious. No. No way.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Oh my god, you’re not jealous, are you?”
“Of Kenny?” I scoff. “Of course I’m not jealous.”
“Mandy, how is the meat loaf?” her mom interrupts.
“It’s done, Mom. I took it out.”
“Oh, Mandy, you’re not trying to make that poor man cook. Come to the table, Salinger.”
I grab the oven mitts from Mandy and carry the steaming meat loaf to the dining room.
“Such a dear,” Gale says. “Sit. Have some wine. Everyone, this is wine that Salinger brought. Mandy, where are the nice glasses, the one I got from Macy’s?”
“How’s your lawn dealing with all this rain?” Patrick asks me while I plot the best way to remove Kenny from the face of the earth.
“I’ll take Amy’s wine portion, Mom.” Lauren taps her glass with her fork.
Pepper is seated in a chair wedged between me and Isabella, who has her phone propped up on a water glass. The dog leans over and rests her feet on my lap, eyeing my plate.
Her grandmother is dumping ice into her glass of wine.
“This is fancy wine, Ma—you can’t do that.”
“Salinger,” the old woman slurs at me. “Do you care if I add my own ice cubes?”
I make a conciliatory gesture .
“I am so sorry,” Mandy whispers as she serves up slices of juicy meat loaf. I run my hand briefly up her bare thigh.
Kenny notices. He’s a little too interested.
I resist the urge to flip the table and carry Mandy out of the house.
I’m not exactly sure if I believe her about Kenny. Stalkers are usually someone with easy access to a woman, like a neighbor, coworker, or ex-boyfriend. A switch flips when they feel rejected, then bam , they’re creeping outside a girl’s window and following them home from work.
If it isn’t Kenny, is it someone from the office? Who else could it be? All Mandy does is go to work, visit her family, and go home.
What I do know is I’m not sorry at all I kept her locked up safe.
The stalker could be anywhere, watching, waiting.