Page 77 of Forked (Frenched 2)
“He said that?”
“What boy sits with someone’s grandmother for two hours if he doesn’t love her?”
True. Trying to think of an argument, I opened my mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
“You look like baby bird,” she said. “And why do you dress like a painter?” She gestured to my sweats. “Last weekend you go with Erin with fancy underwear but this weekend it’s rags.”
I looked her in the eye. “I wasn’t with Erin last weekend. I was with Nick.”
She looked smug. “I know this.”
“He told you?”
Her shoulders rose. “He did, but I already knew there was a boy involved.”
I rolled my eyes. “Well, not anymore. We’re done.”
“Why? You don’t like him?”
“I do like him. I love that asshole, in fact. But I’ll have to get over it. He’s never fought hard enough for me, Sitty. It’s not enough for him to tell me or you that he loves me. I want him to show it. I want proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
I sighed. “I don’t know. I’d know it if I saw it.
I’d feel it. Now can I please get by?”
She stepped aside and I passed her, but not before I saw her stick the yellow post-it in her pocket.
Christ, was she going to meddle in this? That’s all I needed. I stomped up the stairs, changed into running clothes, and laced up my Nikes. “I’m going out for a run,” I called from where I sat on the stairs.
“OK.” Sitty’s voice came from the kitchen. “You’ll be back for supper?”
“Yes. In about thirty minutes.” I stood up and stretched for a minute, then headed out the front door, ready for a good, hard sweat.
Three miles later, I came home exhausted and dripping to find a strange car in the driveway, an SUV I’d never seen before. It made sense when I found Nick Lupo standing on my front porch steps.
“Gotcha.” He looked so good in his fitted black Burger Bar t-shirt I wanted to punch him with my newly corrected fist.
“Sitty,” I muttered through clenched teeth before blowing a sweaty strand of hair out of my face. “She called you?”
He nodded. “She did. So can we please talk?”
“No.” I narrowed my eyes, trying not to think evil thoughts about my grandmother. “Why would she do this?”
“I think she hopes I’ll marry you. She kept asking me if I wanted a wife.” He didn’t even try not to smile.
“Oh, Jesus. I’m going to kill her.” I attempted to get around him to the front door but he came off the steps and took my by the shoulders.
“Coco, please.” His voice was low. “I don’t even know if you’re pregnant or not.”
“You’d know if you bothered to call me this week.”
“I know, I’m sorry. It was a rushed trip and I lost my phone and forgot my iPad at home. But I missed you like crazy. It’s been hell wondering about the test results. Are you pregnant or not?”
I waited a beat, just to drag out the torture a little. “Not.”
He registered the news, nodding slowly. “Well, that’s good.”
