Chapter 9 - Winnie
WINNIE
Vvvrrrrrrrrrrr!
“What the hell—” After snorting awake, I lean over to check my phone on my nightstand for the time—and promptly fall off the couch.
“Ow!”
The floor vibrates with the sound from the vacuum.
Limping, I stumble around in the dark, locate my phone, stub my toe on my couch, see that it is indeed ass o’clock in the morning, throw the door open, and confront my mom.
Yes, I have a couch in my bedroom, because it’s my dream bedroom that I worked hard for and was not planning on sharing with anyone, least of all my sister, who is sprawled sound asleep in my bed with my dog.
I’m regressing. This is regression.
“Mom! Mooom!” I holler over the noise of the vacuum.
“Oh, well, look who’s awake,” Mom says by way of greeting.
“It’s seven in the morning.”
“I’ve been up since five a.m.” Mom sniffs. “Some of us weren’t out partying late.”
“It was a work event.” I stumble into the bathroom. “I drank too much,” I whisper to my death-warmed-over reflection in the mirror.
There’s a slip of paper jammed in the corner of the mirror.
Did you wear that sexy little dress just for me?
The dress is thrown haphazardly over the tub.
For some reason, that note gives me pause…
It wasn’t there a few hours ago.
I know because I checked for notes yesterday or, rather, early this morning when I came home. Drunk and a little horny from Fitz and all his expensive wine and that weird possessive way he had his hand on the back of my neck—I craved the familiar.
Wanted a little sign from the only real man in my life.
Now this note is here.
This means there was a strange man in my house while I was here.
It’s one thing if he comes in when I’m not there. What I don’t know can’t hurt me. But to just walk in while I’m sleeping? I shiver. Was he watching me when I was passed out on the couch?
The bathroom window is too small. That means he came in another way. The closest entry is the one in my bedroom—the double floor-to-ceiling windows that open out onto a balcony that overlooks my overgrown backyard.
I look down.
The plastic bra cups are still shellacked to my chest. I barely had the wherewithal to grab so much as a blanket.
Did he see me? Is this why he wrote the note?
He’s not Casper the friendly ghost, that’s for sure. The notes were never that sexual in nature. But maybe it was because I never wore anything that could be misconstrued.
Apprehensive, I sneak back into the bedroom. Fidget snuffles on the bed.
I check the handle on the French doors out to the balcony. Locked. “I’m being paranoid and crazy,” I whisper to myself, and I shut the curtains again, blocking out the dim, cloudy morning light.
It was all the wine and cocktails. I didn’t eat enough. I splash cold water on my face and start the slow, painful process of making myself presentable. That begins with peeling off these little sticky torture devices…
“Boo!”
My hand, holding the glue-on bra, jerks. I shriek as my tit is practically ripped off my chest.
It sends Fidget barking in the next room.
“Carolina.” My heart races. “Oh my god.”
“Girl…”
“I think I lost a nipple.”
“Oof.” Carolina inspects my boob.
“Is it bleeding? How does it look?”
“Hairless.”
“Why is everyone up so early?”
“I came over here, remember? Last night.”
“No?”
“You were so drunk last night.” Carolina peels off the other cup while I wince. “Not drunk enough to convince you to go hunt down Fitz and fuck him in the coatroom.”
“I can’t have sex with a guy with plastic adhered to my boob.”
“You can, and you should have.”
“But Kathy—” I pull on my T-shirt.
“He was looking at you, not her.”
“Because he didn’t even see her,” I argue.
“Knock knock! Room service!” my dad hollers from outside my bedroom door.
“Dad, no—”
The door bursts open. There’s my dad with trays of food. “I made spinach omelet bites!”
“Winifred, are you talking to your father here without a bra?” Mom pokes her head in.
“Mom, it’s my house.”
“What will your father think?”
“Her father thinks he made a bang-up daughter and any man out there will be lucky to have her. Look, Winnie.” He holds up the newspaper.
“This article—there’s a matchmaking service parents can do for their kids.
Girls get in free. Guess with all the tech companies, there’s a mismatch between boys and girls.
” He bustles around happily, laying out breakfast on the coffee table. “I’m signing you up.”
“No thanks, Dad.”
“No, sign her up. I need a great-granddaughter. Soon. My tits are already dragging in the grave,” Gran begs.
“Mrs. Miller’s son is just divorced.” My mom throws open the curtains.
“Who?” I squint.
“Honestly, Winnie, you have to get to know your neighbors. She gave us extra apples. I made turnovers.”
Fidget sniffs from the bed.
“I thought you all were going to come home with a man. I don’t see any men in here,” Gran demands. “Where’s Kathy’s new rich boyfriend?”
“There were like five girls for every guy at that party,” Carolina complains as we tuck into the breakfast. “They wouldn’t even look at her. It was a scam.”
I try not to think about the stalker in here, watching me.
“Did you make eggs benny?” Kathy flops back down on the bed.
“We need Winnie to make her famous hollandaise for that.” Dad winks at me. “You really should put that sauce on your dating resume, Winn. Guys will line up.”
“You need to add cooking lessons to Kathy’s—”
“Sex and food–that’s how you get a man. Go old-school.”
“She doesn’t just need a man—he has to be rich.” I scoop sausage crumbles onto my egg bite. “Don’t worry, Kath. I have cascading backup plans. We’ll find your perfect man.”
“Or you could just get married and we can all live with you, Winnie,” she whines. “You have a billionaire after you.”
“It was the dress. I told you.” Gran pokes me in my sore nipple.
“Straight men like tits and ass. It ain’t that complicated—you girls and your dating books and Instagram gurus.
Give him a little bit of this and a little of that.
” She squeezes my boobs because no one in my family has boundaries, apparently. “You lead him around by the penis.”
“When are we going to meet him, Winnie?” Mom reaches out to wipe cheese off my face. “I guess I’ll tell Mrs. Miller that we don’t need to set up a date for our kids after all.”
“What? No. I’m not dating him.”
“So you do want to date Mrs. Miller’s son? He’s a little off.” Dad makes a face.
“Fuck the Millers’ son,” Gran demands. “Why aren’t you with this billionaire?”
“Because, Gran, he—” He’s too attractive, he’s too much, I will never trust that he actually finds me attractive. “Because Fitz stole my shop out from under me.”
“He’s just doing it because he likes you.” Mom comes at me with a brush.
“No, that’s what got Kathy into that nonsense. Winnie has worked hard to build her business. Some man can’t just come in, dick swinging around, and take it from her,” Gran rails. “You’d sell your own daughter down the river just to lick up the cold jizz of the patriarchy. Where’s your solidarity?”
“Excuse me for wanting my daughter to actually find a man to marry so that my sister can’t keep rubbing all her grandchildren in my face,” Mom shrieks.
“No one pulls that shit on my granddaughter.”
“It’s fine, Gran. I have several other options.”
“Let’s see their pictures.” Gran holds out a hand.
“Of the new locations for the Brew & Browse?” I frown.
Mom smooths my forehead. “Honestly, Winnie.”
“The men. Who are your other husband prospects?” Gran begs. “I need to have good-looking grandchildren.”
“Oh! Let’s do a fall wedding.” Mom’s happy.
“Yes!” Kathy’s eyes light up. “We need to book a venue. Ooh, do you think Weddings in the City would do it since you’re marrying a billionaire?”
“Date one of the men on your phone who’s extra violent. Send him after Fitz. Why, I oughta go after him myself.” Gran shadowboxes.
“No, just leave him alone. Please. We’re moving on. There is no wedding. There is no dating. We’re focused on Kathy, who…” I check my phone. “Has a date!”