Page 11 of Angelic Acts
That was the beginning of this nightmare.
Now, in the two-move Fool’s Mate checkmate, he lost to me and accusedmeof cheating because ‘no girl could win against his superior intelligence.’ Only to fall for the same checkmate a minute later against Tom.
He thenclears the boardwith one swoop of his arm. When Betty clutches her chest in horror, Garrison has the decency to clean his mess and blame it on tennis elbow. Tom perks up and asks what classification he plays at. Garrison boasts of his 9.0 level. To which Tom, barely suppressing a grin, notes he’d never heard of anyone above a 6.0, so Garrison must be above a professional level. When I add that it was, ‘really impressive,’ Betty sends me a scolding look.
When we make our way to the kitchen to eat, the smell of lasagna overwhelms me. My mouth instantly waters, and embarrassingly, my stomach grumbles.
“I know some guys don’t like it when their women starve themselves, but I think a woman with a tiny waist is so sexy.” Garrison gives me a once-over, then raises a brow.
My sweater hides my lean build that I’ve developed from running, not from starving. Especially not from lack of eating this lasagna.
Tom’s grip on the serving spoon is so tight that his knuckles are white. I’ve never seen him clench his jaw in such a way. When Tom serves me, he piles up almost half the lasagna on my plate. There’s so much that it almost spills off the plate. I stifle my laughter at Garrison’s look of disgust.
The three of us dig into the delicious meal, but Garrison picks up his cutlery and starts dissecting the meal. With almost surgical precision, he extracts every vegetable.
“Is there something wrong with your lasagna?” I maintain an even tone, hiding my amusement. Tom coughs to conceal his laugh.
Garrison’s eyes narrow at me. “I don’t believe in vegetables.”
Betty’s eyebrows stitch together. “I’m not sure I understand, dear.”
“I don’t believe in vegetables,” he repeats slowly.
“They’re not the Loch Ness Monster. They’re real. And right there on your plate.” Tom points his fork at Garrison’s discarded pile.
“They have too much fiber.” He glares at Tom. “They back me up.” Tom raises a brow. “I can’t shit when I eat them.”
Betty looks mortified. Her cheeks redden as she clutches her chest. I’m not sure anyone’s dared to speak so tactlessly in front of her. Tom takes one look at his wife then at me and raises from his chair. He looms formidably over the table.
“Garrison, why don’t I walk you out,” Tom offers in a sharp voice.
“Nah, I’m not done yet,” Garrison says through a mouthful.
“Yes, you are. Get up.”
“You’re kicking me out?” Garrison’s tone is affronted as thoughwe’rethe ones overstepping. He glances at the two women in the room as if he expects us to defend him. When we don’t, he flies out of his seat and hovers over me. “Fine! I wouldn’t fuck you even if you begged for it. You’re not even nerdy in a sexy librarian kind of way. You’re just frumpy.”
I blink rapidly, trying to process what he said. No one’s ever spoken to me this way, not since…
Before my mind can even go to that dark place, Tom’s already rounded the table and is dragging Garrison by the scruff of his neck out of the room. I hear the front door open, then slam shut.
Tom returns to the table and begins eating as normal. If it weren’t for the stiffness in his shoulders, I’d question whether Garrison was a figment of my imagination.
After Betty returns with brownies, she sighs. “I never should’ve trusted Norris. The hag cheats at bingo. Of course her kin would be a disgrace.”
The statement is so unexpected that I start laughing and can’t stop. Betty never speaks ill of anyone, which makes it all the more humorous. I laugh until I have tears streaming down my cheeks. Eventually Tom joins in, and we’re doubled over clutching our bellies.
Betty lets out a few giggles then claps her hands together. “I’m officially hanging up my match-making gloves.”
“One and done?” I ask lightly.
“Garrison and done,” she agrees solemnly.
“You know, dear, I don’t think these guys your age are worth looking into. Maybe just keep to your snakes.” Tom’s nose is scrunched as he says it.
Not long after, Tom and I retreat to our game of chess. Betty watches her soap opera while we play. It’s a comforting way to end a ridiculous evening. When the snow starts to fall quickly and heavily, they insist I stay the night.
And the next morning when I arrive home, my driveway is already shoveled, just as I knew it would be.
