Chapter Seventeen
David slept poorly and rose early. Today’s note on the kitchen table read:
Went down to see Mrs. J. Won’t go in the Wood. Promise.
Meri
Just as the percolator was bubbling on the stove and David was taking a coffee mug from the cupboard, Meredith came bounding in from the deck, carrying a basket and followed closely by Bianca.
Sliding into the kitchen, he spun a clumsy pirouette that made the skirt of his sundress billow out around him in a whirl of green and white chevron stripes.
Atop his head, he wore a new daisy crown—no, upon closer inspection, it was, in fact, the one from the previous night, quite wilted, though he’d made an effort to revitalize it by adding in a number of fresh violets.
“Good morning, Your Majesty.” It was a relief to see him in better spirits today. “You’re up early.”
Meredith shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.” That seemed to be a common occurrence of late, but before David could remark on it, he went on, “And the eggs was out. Got some more from Mrs. J, though. Oh, good, you’ve made coffee.”
David should by now have been accustomed to these leaps from topic to topic, but he still found them dizzying—or perhaps it was only Meredith himself, setting down his basket of speckled eggs and slithering between David and the refrigerator, brushing against his side, resting a hand briefly on his arm and trailing with him the scent of violets and meadow grass and a hint of his usual patchouli underneath.
David was struck by the urge to take him into his arms and pin him against the refrigerator and kiss him senseless—which, of course, he wasn’t going to do, he reminded himself firmly.
“All yours.” Meredith replaced the percolator on the burner, then tilted his head in question. “You all right? You’ve just been staring off into space, and we both know that’s my job.”
“What? No, no, I mean yes, quite all right.”
“Right,” said Meredith, clearly unconvinced, but he retreated into the living room without further comment. As David fixed his own cup of coffee, the sound of vehicles pulling into the driveway sent Bianca into her usual frenzied yapping.
A moment later, the front door opened and the yapping dropped to a growl as heavy footsteps tramped into the room.
“Hey, Mere,” Florian called out. “How about you get off your ass and come help—what the hell are you wearing?”
David found himself quite embarrassed at the prospect of facing Florian after what had happened between himself and Meredith, as if Florian would be able to tell from one look exactly what the two of them had done.
“It’s a s-sundress, Florian,” said Meredith, tripping on the S in spite of his nonchalant tone.
“Yeah, no shit it’s a s-s-sundress,” Florian mocked. “And you’d better—hey, Dave,” he broke off as David finally steeled himself to step out from the kitchen.
He raised his coffee mug in greeting. “Morning. Everything all right?” He’d be the first to admit he knew nothing of the typical dynamic between the two of them.
For all he knew, this was their usual sort of banter, and certainly it wasn’t his place to interfere, but nevertheless the exchange didn’t sit right with him.
“Yeah, we was just about to bring through these tables.” With a glance down at Bianca, Florian added, “And you’d better watch out that little rat dog of yours don’t get in the way, otherwise he’s liable to get himself stomped on.”
Meredith scooped up Bianca and clutched her protectively to his chest. “You leave her alone.”
“Now, she does have a tendency to get underfoot,” David mediated. “Actually, Florian, why don’t you pull around into the yard? You could back right up to the deck and not have to carry anything through the house at all.”
Florian nodded. “Good thinking. As long as you don’t mind us driving in the grass.”
Bednarek might, but David didn’t. “Not at all, go right ahead.”
“All right, thanks. Mere, let’s you and me have a little chat while I bring the truck around. Dave, you want to give Genevieve a hand?”
Meredith set Bianca down on the window seat and cast a worried look back at her as he followed Florian out. No sooner had they exited than Genevieve came bustling in bearing an impossible volume of shopping bags.
She thrust a heavy grocery sack into David’s arms. “I hope you’ve got room in the fridge.”
“Er, some, but what—”
“Veggie tray,” she said, hefting one of the remaining bags. “Backup veggie tray.” She repeated the motion with the other. “And enough fruit for two fruit plates, but most of it needs cut up still.”
“Wouldn’t it have been simpler—” he hazarded before Genevieve cut him off.
“Oh, it would, Dave, it would. I did, in fact.”
His patience had worn thin on that front. “Look, I’m sorry, but I don’t like—”
“But those bozos,” she barreled on, “they went and put pineapple on, even though I specifically ordered them without. Adalynn is allergic, you know.”
“Yes,” agreed David. “I mean, no, I didn’t.”
“You can bet I gave them a piece of my mind—and got a full refund, obviously. But I wasn’t about to waste my time giving them a second chance to screw it up, so we’re going to DIY it.”
“I can take care of that,” David offered.
Although he hadn’t envisioned himself spending the morning playing sous chef, he hardly intended to pass up any chance at getting himself further into Adalynn Cartier’s good graces.
If she were sufficiently impressed, she might even mention him to her father.
And Cartier, in a show of gratitude, would—well, perhaps he wouldn’t offer him the VP position outright, not just for that, but surely it would make a favorable impression.
“That’d be a big help,” said Genevieve, already starting for the kitchen.
“But for now, can you see if the boys need any help with the furniture? I need to get the tables and chafing dishes set up by the time Sophie and Aurora get here with the hot food.” At his blank look, she explained, “That’s the other bridesmaids. ”
“Yes,” said David. “Of course.”
Outside, it was a touch more overcast than David liked, but in a pinch, they could always move the proceedings indoors, even if it might be a bit cramped.
To the left of the deck were parked a pair of pickup trucks, and from the right came Bednarek up the path, casting a pained look in the direction of the tire tracks in the grass.
“Good morning, good morning,” proclaimed the landlord. His expression brightened at once when he caught sight of Genevieve. “My! Who is this vision?”
“Ah. Mr. Bednarek, our landlord,” David introduced, and did his best to ignore the spectacle playing out in the background.
A heavyset, bearded man who must be Jayceon stoically advanced toward the deck, carrying several folding chairs under each arm, while Florian found himself in the unenviable position of directing Meredith—now sans flower crown—as the two of them maneuvered a large folding table down from the bed of his truck.
(David had long since learned his lesson about attempting anything of the sort, ever since he’d made the mistake of offering to help carry a set of shelves down from the second floor, even if Meredith had subsequently insisted the damage was barely visible.)
“And this is Genevieve Schwarzwelder, Meredith’s cousin.”
(“Other left, dumbass.”)
“Zwiebelbauer,” she corrected. “Not Schwarzwelder. We’re cousins on our mothers’ side.”
“Oh, yes, he did say.”
(“For fuck’s sake, would you watch where the hell you’re going?”)
“Delighted to meet you, young lady,” said Bednarek, keeping hold of her hand for far too long. “Absolutely delighted.”
(“God, you’re useless.”)
“Thank you, Mr. Bednarek,” said David. “So kind of you to stop by.” When Bednarek still failed to detach himself from Genevieve, he added, “Or did you mean to help set up? That’s most generous of you.”
The threat of physical labor did the trick.
“Lamentably no, in fact, I must be going,” Bednarek excused himself, already backing away. “I did have one or two small matters to discuss, but I return later. I have, you see, a business matter most urgent to attend to.”
“Ah. Do you know,” said David, “I thought you just might.”
Once Bednarek had departed with one last wistful look over his shoulder, the group made short work of arranging the furniture to Genevieve’s satisfaction, and David allowed himself to be shooed back into the house.
He was topping off his half-finished coffee when Meredith returned as well, but he bypassed the kitchen and vanished down the hall.
“David?” he called. “Don’t s-suppose you’d let me borrow one of your shirts from the dryer?”
David was puzzled. In all the time they’d lived together, he’d never known Meredith to stammer like that, nor to have any interest in David’s clothing, beyond insulting it.
Misunderstanding his silence, Meredith elaborated, “I mean a proper one, with a collar and buttons and all.”
#99: He thinks this is the time to go and entirely change his look.
David entered the laundry room to find him rummaging in the clothes dryer. “Mine would surely be too big on you. Can’t you borrow one of Todd’s?”
“He’s still asleep.” Meredith tossed aside a bath towel, which David managed to catch before it hit the floor.
“And anyway, have you seen him? His would never fit.” He straightened up holding one of David’s shirts, an understated windowpane check in blue and white.
“Really, we’re just like the three little bears, aren’t we? ”
“I think you’ve gotten a bit mixed up there,” said David. “If all the bears were—” He gave up. “Never mind. Go on, then, but I expect that back in acceptable condition.”
“Thanks. Be right down.”
He was not, of course, right down. Though David had no objection to Meredith embracing a more conventional style, it was hardly the most convenient moment for him to reach that decision.