Page 23 of Forked (Frenched 2)
“Several. Did I forget to mention they’d be joining us?”
Scowling, I put the car in reverse and pulled out, but I could still see him laughing at me in the rearview mirror as I drove away.
Nick actually had a point about my parents.
They weren’t huge fans of his, and it wasn’t because he didn’t have money, like he’d always thought. They liked him fine back then; they just weren’t overly excitable or affectionate people. But that was B.V. Since they knew about the whole marriage and morning- after episode, I was glad when I got home that they appeared to have gone out for the evening. I didn’t really want to explain what I was doing spending the weekend with the guy who broke my heart—not that I really knew what I was doing—so I figured I’d just leave a note, make something up. That was much better for me than having to lie to their faces about it.
Upstairs, my grandmother’s bedroom door was closed, and I tiptoed past it down the hall to my bedroom over the garage. From beneath my bed, I pulled a small vintage suitcase that Mia had found at a flea market for me. It was yellow with three brown stripes, rectangular and hard shelled, the kind people used to cover with travel stickers. This one had only two—one for the Cunard line, and one that said Hotel Pierre, Paris.
Into the case I put two sundresses, a romper, my bathing suit, pajamas that were comfortable and pretty but not too sexy, and a pair of flats. I packed running shorts, a sports bra, and a tank top as well as my running shoes, remembering how nice it was to run on the dirt roads around the farm. Last, I packed some undergarments, carefully choosing pretty, feminine things that were girlish and even a little modest. No thong underwear or crotchless panties or anything that said Obvious. And anyway, I preferred retro-inspired boy shorts and matching bras, which provided good coverage and support where I needed it and complemented my curvy shape. If there was satin and lace and a sheer panel here and there, well, so be it. I wanted to be prepared to break the no-sex rule without looking like I’d planned on it.
I threw in my toiletries and hair dryer, and was tucking my birth control pills into a side pouch when my grandmother spoke from the doorway.
“You going somewhere?” She wore a robe and slippers, her shrewd black eyes drifting over the contents of my suitcase.
Frantically, I slammed the top and snapped the latches. Had she seen the pills? My heart jack- hammered as I tried to make my voice sound normal. I was twenty-eight and shouldn’t have cared if my grandmother knew I was on birth control, but I did. “You startled me, Sitty. Yes. Um, I’m going somewhere with Erin for the weekend.” Sitty had actually been fond of Nick, and hadn’t really said much when I’d told her we’d broken up—a heavy sigh followed by “Well, you’re still young. You could find someone else” (which she never said to me anymore, by the way). But if I told her I would be with Nick this weekend, she’d tell my parents, and that was not a situation I wanted to deal with. Not that they could tell me what to do, of course. Despite their tendency to treat me like a child, I was an adult that made my own decisions, but I was living under their roof at the moment, which gave them the opportunity to make my life unbearable, if not the right.
“Where are you going with Erin?” Sitty asked.
“Where? Uh, her cottage. I mean, her parents’ cottage. On Lake Michigan. They invited us. For the weekend.” My choppy sentences were awkward, obvious lies, but I was careful to keep my head down so she wouldn’t see my face.
“I thought her parents got divorce.”
“They did. Yes. Um, they’re not going to be there. Just Erin and I will be. They invited us to use it. I mean, her mom did. She owns it now.” Rising to my feet, I knew I should get out before I made it worse. “Well, I better go.”
Sitty stepped aside and let me pass. “OK, habibi. You go for your weekend. With Erin. With fancy underwear. I think it’s nice.”
I stopped moving halfway out the door and looked back over my shoulder. Her eyes told me she was no fool, even if she pretended to be one. “Thanks. Can you tell my Mom and Dad?”
“I will tell them. You have fun. But don’t get another one of those scars.”
I rolled my eyes. “They’re tattoos, Sitty. Not scars.”
She sniffed. “What’s the difference?”
I almost answered the question but realized she could keep me there arguing with her twisted old lady logic forever. There was no way to win an argument with her. “OK, no new scars this weekend.”
I rushed down the stairs and out the door, hoping I was right.
#
On my way to Nick’s apartment, I called Erin. I was sort of hoping it would go to voicemail so I could just tell her my plans in a message and avoid a talking- to, but she picked up.
“Hello?”
“Hey. Are you at the movies?”
“Yes, waiting in line for snacks. Where are you? Did you see him?”
“Yeah.”
“And?”
I filled her in on my evening so far, leaving out the wet panties, urges to lick him, and various other sordid details that would make what I was doing a Very Bad Idea. But Erin wasn’t stupid, and sure enough, when I got to the part about spending the weekend with him, she gasped.
“You didn’t say yes, did you?”
“I had to! He wasn’t going to do Angelina’s party otherwise.”
