13. Chapter 13
Chapter thirteen
Brandy
I was on my third attempt at finding something worth watching on television and my two hundred and eleventh replay of the day when there was a knock on my front door.
I'm not expecting anyone.
I opened the front door.
Ruthie stood there carrying a covered cake pan. Jo was behind her with a six-pack of root beer under one arm and two bottles of wine under the other like she was prepared for any contingency.
“Hi. What's up with you two?” I asked, glad to see them.
“Jo told me everything,” Ruthie said, stepping into the house. “I brought cake.”
Jo followed her in and set the bottles on my kitchen counter. She looked around at the mismatched furniture, the succulent on the windowsill, and nodded once like she approved.
“Do you have wine glasses?” Ruthie set the cake down. “I should have asked.”
“I do. Although, fair warning, I only have two so far. But I have coffee mugs if someone doesn't care.”
“I've got root beer,” Jo said, dropping onto my couch with ease. “I'm driving.”
Ruthie appeared a moment later with two wine glasses and a bottle of root beer. She handed me a glass and Jo the root beer, then headed back into the kitchen.
“Okay,” Ruthie said, returning with the cake, paper plates, forks, and a knife she'd apparently brought because she knew my kitchen situation. “This is Better Than Sex Cake.” She handed me a slice on a paper plate. “Seemed like the right thing to bring over for a ‘men suck’ chat.”
I laughed as I took a bite.
“Ruthie,” I moaned.
“I know.”
“This is—”
“Better than sex?”
“Hey!” Jo said, looking perturbed at her wife.
“Sex with a man, babe. Not you sex. Man sex.”
“Okay, that's better.” Jo puffed out her chest. “Now, Brandy, what happened in the office? We didn't see you after he called you in.”
I told them, and when I finished everyone was quiet for a moment.
“Summer Weiner.” Jo shook her head. “That's a Scott comment.”
“The chief actually said Summer Weiner?” Ruthie's eyebrows were practically at her hairline.
“Several times.”
Jo looked at Ruthie.
Ruthie looked at Jo.
Some kind of communication happened that I wasn't fully privy to.
“And he said no?” Jo clarified.
“You heard him.”
“I did.” Jo nodded. “Can I say something?”
“I'm guessing that's why you're here.”
“Men,” Jo said, “are the most frustrating creatures on the planet, and I say that as someone who has spent eleven years working in an enclosed space with them.”
“So frustrating,” I agreed.
“They can't just say a thing.” She leaned forward with her root beer.
“They can't just look at a situation and go, yes, this is happening, I will adapt.
No. They have to dig in and push back. Make it a whole production about their feelings while simultaneously pretending they don't have any feelings.”
“My ex was the same way,” I said. “Every single time I wanted to change something. Paint a room. Get a new couch. He'd argue about it for three weeks, and then the day it happened he'd act like it was his idea.”
“Because it was easier than admitting you were right,” Ruthie said simply.
“That!” I pointed at Ruthie.
“Men,” Jo confirmed, gesturing with her root beer like it was a gavel.
“Men,” I agreed.
And we drank to that.
Ruthie cut us each another slice of Better Than Sex Cake.
“The thing about Nick,” Jo said, settling back into the couch with the tone of someone who had been thinking about this for a long time and had finally figured out how to say it, “is that he's a good man.
He really is. But that man needs a woman in his life to show him it's alright not to be such a control freak. That change is sometimes a good thing.”
She slowly turned her root beer can in her hands.
“But as long as I've known him, I can say he doesn't do well when things change.”
“Well, he's met his match because I'm not budging.” I took another bite of cake. “What's his story anyway?”
“He had a pretty rough go of it,” Ruthie said. “Before he moved to Denture.”
Jo looked at me. “He was married. She cheated on him with his chief. Then, when the promotion came, she chose the chief over Nick. He moved here and they got a divorce.”
“That's horrible.” I had no idea how similar our stories were. What he'd said that morning on my sidewalk popped into my head.
Nothing to keep me at home.
“He fixed my spigot,” I told them. “He came over in the early hours of the morning and fixed it.”
“Explain that,” Ruthie said.
I told them everything that had happened, including his comment.
“He just showed up?” Ruthie said carefully. “To help fix it?”
“Wasn't that nice of him?” I asked, glancing at both of them. “I didn't even ask him to.”
“See, that's what I don't get. Helping people, that's the kind of guy Nick Carson is.” Jo filled me in. “He's always doing things for people. Helping neighbors, assisting the elderly, fundraisers, stuff like that.”
I opened my mouth.
“Then why is he being so stubborn about the event? I figure because of the Summerween advertising, you might get more kids to come to Safety Week.”
“I don't know.” Jo shook her head. “Thompson, Scott, and I talked about it, and we can't figure it out either. We all think it's great that the final night will bring out lots of people.”
“Doesn't he see that?”
“That's the part I don't understand. I just don't see how he couldn't.” Jo ran a hand through her hair.
“So.” I looked between them. “Then why is he being such a jerk?”
Jo and Ruthie looked at each other again.
“I guess he's just worried it's going to take the thunder away from his week,” Ruthie said. “Summerween is a great idea.”
“Any ideas how we can get him to go along with it?” I asked.
“I don't know. Like I said, this is a different side of him than I've ever seen.” Jo frowned. “Than any of us have seen.”
“What's with him and Chief McAllister?” I asked as the thought popped into my head. “Nick snapped at me about dating McAllister. I'm not dating Hank.”
“The two chiefs are friends, but as long as I've known them, there's always been an alpha-male whose-penis-is-bigger thing between them,” Jo told me. “Did you know Chief McAllister came over to boast about asking you out?”
“No, I didn't. Why would he do that? It's just dinner.”
“Because Hank McAllister likes to make everything a competition, and he likes to win. Unfortunately, Nick likes to win too. Only he's quieter and more reserved. So whatever Hank deems a competition becomes one.”
“Wait.” I set my wine glass down. “Wait a minute. Am I one of their competitions?”
Another look passed between the ladies.
“What?” I said. “You know something and you're not telling me. What is it?”
“Nothing, really. Like I said, Hank just makes everything into one,” Ruthie explained.
“Well, why would Nick care if I had dinner with Chief McAllister?” I asked. “That makes no sense.”
I looked at both of them.
They looked at each other.
“I know you're keeping something from me.”
“Tell her your theory.” Jo nodded toward me. “Might as well.”
“What theory?” I asked Ruthie.
“We think...” She started.
“Oh no, this is all you, hon,” Jo interjected.
“Fine.” Ruthie swiveled to face me. “I think that Nick is pushing back so hard on the event because you're having dinner with Hank. Nick was working with you first, then Hank asked you out, and now Nick sees it like you like Hank better.”
She hesitated.
“And...” she stopped.
“What and?” I demanded.
“You've come this far. Might as well tell her your whole idea,” Jo said.
“Well...” Ruthie began. “I have no proof of this and nothing to really go on other than what's happened. But I think that maybe, just maybe, Nick might have liked you. And now that you're going out with Hank, he's jealous. Or hurt.”
She shrugged.
“You know he hasn't dated since he got here. Part of me wonders if he's still trying to figure out whether he can trust another woman after what his wife did.”
“I'm not his wife,” I pointed out. “And I was cheated on too. Besides, I have to say, I think that's all a crock. Other than helping me up when I fell, Nick Carson hasn't been anything but a snot.”
“He fixed your spigot,” Jo said.
“Okay. Two times.”
“I said I don't have proof. It's just a gut feeling.”
I looked down at my cake.
“I'm officially renaming this cake.”
“What?” Ruthie asked.
“Better Than Men Cake.”
“I love it.” Jo raised her root beer. “To Better Than Men Cake.”
“To women!” Ruthie said, raising her glass.
Ruthie cut the last of the cake into three pieces and handed them out.
We sat there, and the conversation moved on the way good conversations do. To other things. Easier things. Ruthie's new bread recipe. Jo's thoughts on the zombie clown situation, which were extensive and strongly worded and made me laugh until my stomach hurt.
By the time they left, it was late and the street was quiet.
I was full of wine and cake. I washed the wine glasses and the mug. Then I stood at my kitchen window and thought about the spigot on the side of my house.
Nothing to keep me at home.
I turned off the kitchen light.
He had a wrench, I told myself firmly. That's all.
I went to bed only to think.
What the hell was I supposed to do with the information from tonight?