Chapter Thirty
“What kind of dog name is Marlon?” Brigid asked as she lay on her stomach eye to eye with Marlon, who was stretched out on the area rug.
“That was his name when I rescued him.”
I’d spent the last few hours on the couch watching and rewatching iconic scenes from some of my favorite movies, searching for something that excited me.
Or even something to flat-out steal. The Wunderkind had lived so permanently in my head that I was having a hard time finding inspiration beyond it or even imagining myself reaching the finish line on another project.
It had been two weeks since the incident with Eli, and he seemed to be doing everything in his power to not make it awkward—including being too nice, which then actually felt a little awkward.
The only signs of discomfort were when we touched.
The other day, I accidentally backed up into him while I was emptying the dishwasher, and the man flinched.
I spent two hours in bed that night replaying the moment over and over. And then out of frustration, I took myself to bone town and fell asleep with my hand still between my legs. Despite my hard-fought orgasm, I woke up just as unsatisfied.
It was Friday night and Leonard’s living funeral was scheduled for two weeks from Thursday.
Once he reserved the community room, he sent me a mildly threatening note on some very lovely personalized stationery saying that he would no-show to his own funeral if I didn’t give him something to read by the night before.
I’d already watched Gone in 60 Seconds, Notting Hill, and The Family Stone. Now, I was on to My Best Friend’s Wedding, which was way more sad than I remembered.
“I don’t get it,” Brigid said. “Julia Roberts is obviously superior. The blond is such a pick-me girl.”
“Cameron Diaz,” I said. “And I don’t know what a pick-me girl is.”
She rolled over to her back. “You just know it when you see it.”
Marlon pawed at her hair and pounced. This was the most spry I’d seen him since he ran off with my dirty underwear two weeks ago.
Brigid lazily scrolled through her phone and without looking up asked, “So how long have you been hooking up with my dad?”
I choked on a swig of sparkling water and fumbled to recover. “Uh, since never.”
“You’re the same Vera he married in Vegas, right?”
I closed the notebook that I’d been taking notes in . . . most of which were just doodles of flowers and stick figures holding knives because that’s how the prospect of writing made me feel. I paused the TV, leaving Rupert Everett mid-song during the iconic “I Say a Little Prayer for You” scene.
“That was a long time ago,” I told her. It was hard to imagine Eli telling anyone about our short-lived marriage.
It felt like the kind of thing that was meant to be kept secret.
Surely, he was embarrassed by it all. I mentioned it once in front of Brody and he turned into a brick wall, only saying what a stupid idea it had been.
Tess knew, but that was it. If Eli had told his mom and now his daughter too, who else knew?
What was there even to talk about? I supposed it was a good story for a party or two truths and a lie.
“I found a photo of you two at his house when I was in middle school, so yeah, I pestered him until he told me the story. It’s not a big deal or whatever. Marriage is a sham and, like, a total societal construct. I guess it’s pretty cool that you guys made a joke of it.”
“Yeah,” I said as I hit play again on Rupert Everett. “A real joke.”
“Have you heard from my dad?” she asked.
I checked my phone, but no messages from Eli.
He was supposed to take Brigid driving tonight since she’d just gotten her learner’s permit, but one of our residents had a big fall today.
When they got to the hospital, they were having some cognitive issues, so he went up there to check in on them.
It was supposed to be a quick in-and-out trip, but Brigid had been here for long enough that I went ahead and made us artichoke and goat cheese pasta.
“Nothing yet,” I told her. “But I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”
She tossed her phone under the coffee table, the boredom seeping off her. “It’s fiiiine. Cars are ruining our environment and communities anyway.”
“So if your dad buys you a car for your sixteenth birthday, you’re going to say no thanks?”
She smirked. “Well, if he’d already bought it, I wouldn’t say no. That would just be wasteful.”
“Totally,” I said. “Strong logic.”
We finished My Best Friend’s Wedding as we shared the last of a pint of ice cream, and by the time we were done, Brigid was yawning and practically using Marlon as a pillow.
“Is your mom coming to get you?” I asked.
She shook her head. “She doesn’t get home from work for a few more hours.”
“You want to wait for your dad? You can always sleep here.”
“Or maybe you could give me a ride home and I could use this as a chance to guilt him into a pair of Golden Gooses?”
“I don’t know what those words mean, but yeah, sure. Let me grab my keys.”
“Can I drive?” she asked. “Legally, I’m allowed to with an adult in the car.”
“This feels like a trick,” I said as we made our way out to the parking lot. “Besides, unlike your dad’s electric car, mine takes regular old gasoline. I wouldn’t want to sully your eco reputation.”
She rolled her eyes and held a hand out for my keys. This was probably not a good idea. Eli might be mad. And I didn’t even know her mother. But for reasons I was not willing to confront, I really, really wanted Brigid to like me.
I dangled the keys in front of her. “Which side is the gas?”
“The right,” she said. “Brake is on the left. I’ll stop and look both ways at every stop sign and I’ll only take residential streets home.”
“Oh good,” I said. “More pedestrians for us to murder.”
She squinted, her brow furrowed just like I’d seen Eli do so many times when he got the joke but didn’t think it was especially clever. He made you earn every laugh, and it seemed that Brigid did too. “Are you just eternally worried? Is that exhausting?”
I dropped the keys into her open palm. “Terribly.”
We got in the car, and Brigid adjusted the seat to her liking, then buckled her seat belt and flipped through the radio until she found the local top one hundred station that was currently playing “all your favorite TikTok hits.”
As we set off down some back roads that seemed to take the long way around downtown, Brigid rolled the windows down and consistently went five miles under the speed limit.
I wasn’t going to complain. The streets were relatively quiet, so I rolled my window down too, and okay, fine, I sort of felt like the cool girl I never was.
Eli’s house was only a short ten-minute drive away and was at the center of a neighborhood full of mid-century modern gems. Brigid pulled into a driveway in front of a sprawling ranch with a pitched A-frame. Warm lights lit the breeze-block wall surrounding the entryway.
“You’re sure you’re going to be okay here by yourself?” I asked as she pulled up the parking brake like a pro.
With a death stare, she said, “Thanks for letting me drive your car.” She opened the door and stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. “Just don’t tell my mom, okayyy?”
“Brigid! Seriously?”
She turned around with another eye roll, but this time she wasn’t annoyed. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding! But maybe don’t say anything just in case. See you around, Vera! Oh, and by the way, you have my approval to hook up with my dad.”
“Oh . . . um, thanks?”
“You’re welcome!” she sang.