Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
VERBAL SLAP DOWN
“What?” Gill sounds sleepy, or groggy.
“What’s MacKenzie’s best friend’s last name? Lauren what?”
“Jacobs. But that was her maiden name. Her married name is Warner. Lauren Warner. Why?”
“I need to talk to her. Where does she live?”
“You want to go to her place?”
“No. I was going to look up her number.”
“You want her number?”
“Do you have her number?”
“Does a bear shit in the woods?”
“Can you text it to me?”
“You’d better not upset her.”
“Who, Lauren or MacKenzie? Because it’s too late for MacKenzie. That’s why I need Lauren’s number.”
“Sure.” He sighs heavily. “Give me a second.”
We hang up, and I pull over to wait. Moments later my phone dings with his message. I pull out into traffic. I’m going to have to have this conversation as I drive so I can get to the restaurant on time.
It rings twice before a man says, “Hello?”
“Yes. Is Lauren there?”
“Who’s this?” he spits.
“My name is Sam Stone. MacKenzie is my, uh, girlfriend.”
The guy says nothing, but I hear him yell for Lauren. She groans when he tells her who it is. “Yeah?” She doesn’t sound friendly.
“Hey, Lauren, this is Sam Stone.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“You can ask, but don’t count on an answer.”
What? Why not? I barrel ahead. “What’s the story with the coat?”
She lets out a huge, irritated breath. “Why?”
“Because.”
Silence.
“Please?”
“I’ll tell you, but if you tell her I told you, I swear….”
Jesus. “Okay. Okay. I promise I’ll keep it to myself.”
“It belonged to her grandfather.”
“And?”
“What do you mean, and?”
“What does the fact that it was her grandfather’s coat have to do with her unnatural attachment to the thing? Have you seen it? It’s on its last leg.”
I could hear a smile in her voice. “Yes. I’m well aware the coat is… unsightly. I’ve tried to get her to give it up, but when we talk about it, she tears up.”
“So, okay. What’s the significance of the coat? And about him—her grandfather, I mean?” I keep hearing MacKenzie’s voice saying that word: relationship.
“She didn’t tell you about him?”
“No, she didn’t. I asked her about the coat on our first date—for the story behind it. She said, ‘There is no story.’”
“Well, no, there’s no story, per se. Frank Parker—MacKenzie’s Pops—was a cool dude, and he was everything to Mac.
Mac was everything to Pops. Pops lost his wife and daughter and Mac lost her grandmother and mom on the same day, in the same car accident.
That sealed their bond. The man would have died for her, literally.
Shit, he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and didn’t tell her because he didn’t want to make her sad.
He refused treatment and kept the diagnosis to himself.
She didn’t even know he was sick—he just up and died one day. ”
Jesus, my poor MacKenzie.
“It’s still hard for her to talk about him. Maybe that’s why she hasn’t told you yet. Either that, or you’re an asshole who says things like ‘you eat like a man,’ or ‘you look okay,’ and my personal favorite, ‘you don’t look fat in that dress.’ Shit like that.”
Shit, Lauren already knows about my most recent foot-in-mouth exercise. MacKenzie must have called her before I even drove away. I groan aloud. “I don’t know what it is about her, but I stick my foot in my mouth at every turn.”
“It’s not just your stupid mouth. What the hell is with you ghosting her all week? You ghosted her on fucking Valentine’s Day, you ass.”
Ghosting? “I know. I woke up one day last week and started thinking about… things.”
“Things?”
“Yeah. Things about us. Like relationship things. Cohabitating things.”
“And you freaked out?”
“In a word, yes.”
“You’re what, forty years old?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“A thirty-nine-year-old adolescent, apparently. A thirty-nine-year-old acting like a twentysomething who doesn’t have two clues to rub together.”
She’s mixing her metaphors, but I stay quiet so she’ll finish her thought.
“You’re supposed to be a grown-ass man, Sam Stone.
A real man doesn’t treat any woman that way.
Let alone my best friend, who is the kindest, sweetest, most loyal person I’ve ever known.
You’re treating her like crap, Stone. She’s a person who would literally give you the shirt off her back if you needed it.
But she won’t give up the coat. Nobody should ever ask her to give up that coat.
But you did—you asked her to give up the coat, Sam.
You didn’t have a clue about her feelings, and honestly, I don’t think you gave a crap about them.
Then, on top of that crap, you told her she wasn’t good enough to be seen with you. ”
“I said no such thing.” That’s just a bald-faced lie. “I told her that, uh, she couldn’t wear that old thing when we go out. I didn’t tell her she wasn’t good enough to be seen with me. It’s not the same thing—at all.”
“Do you pay attention to anything? Have you even noticed how frugally she lives? Clothes are a luxury. You just take for granted that money is no object, but that’s not MacKenzie’s life.
She won’t even let me buy her things; she doesn’t like feeling like she owes me.
And I’ve been her friend for practically our whole lives.
I’ve tricked her by giving her brand-new things, telling her I was going to toss them if she didn’t take them—and that they weren’t really new. That’s how stubborn she is.”
I remain silent. I’m learning a great deal about my girl. And… I’m learning some things about myself as well.
“But the coat is totally separate. The coat isn’t about money, or lack of money.
That’s all I’m going to say. You’ll have to ask her about it.
I will say this, though. Every little spot or stain on that coat has its own story.
And until Mac is ready to let the coat go, or let you in, you’re going to have to deal with the coat. ”
“I see.”
“Do you? I’m not feeling it. Whoever taught you appropriate things to say to a woman totally sucked at their job.
You never say the word fat to a woman who’s dressing up for you.
You never tell a woman that anything about her reminds you of a guy.
Jeez. Did you really tell her you wanted to get fat with her? ”
“Uh, yeah,” I say weakly.
She starts to laugh, but I suspect it’s at my expense. Still, I’m going to be hopeful that this is a good sign. I also hope it means she’s done with the verbal smackdown.
“She’s been the same weight since she was seventeen.
It’s who she is. She’s beautiful, smart, kind, and clever.
But she’s not a size two, and she never will be.
But that doesn’t mean she isn’t self-conscious about her body.
She once had a guy say he couldn’t sleep with her because her thighs were too fat.
So if you’re too stupid to accept her as she is, then you’d better move along. ”
“I think she’s beautiful. I love her body.” I love her thighs.
“Could have fooled me,” she mumbles.
“I know. I’m not lying when I say that I lose my mind around her. I can’t think straight.”
“Sounds like love,” she teases.
Love? “It’s only been eight weeks.”
“You’re counting last week? I wouldn’t. Ghost-time does not count as being in a relationship. Of course, you may not get another chance with her.”
I ignore the last comment—I refuse to believe that. “What am I going to do?” I whine again. This time to a woman who doesn’t like me very much.
“Grovel. Beg. Show her you care about her—not her clothes.”
She’s still not answering my question. “But what do I do?” I whine.
“Google it, dumbass.”
I hear a click. She hung up. Man, these women are tough. I hope Lauren’s husband has balls of steel. He’s gonna need them.
I drive up to the restaurant and wait for a valet.
This is the hottest place in town, and I had to call in a favor to get the reservation.
Shyanne wanted to eat here, so here we are.
I run my fingers through my hair and then touch my forehead.
“I really think I’m coming down with something.
” I give the valet my key. Walking into the building, I mentally prepare for the longest meal of my damned life.
I just want to go home, crawl into bed, and sleep for a week.
And… of course, I want to ask Google the question: How do I win my girl back?