“Ah kinda like that one,” Anna Marie offered, flipping through the plastic frames of art prints in the upright rack of the discount art shop at their local galleria. The clacking sound was comforting amidst chattering shoppers and innocuous classical music piping from the speakers.
“Eh. Too…blah.” They continued to riffle through the racks.
“C’mon, ‘Ro, live a little; how often do ya get to decorate yer whole house without any interference? No plaid, no dogs playin’ poker, no girly calendars hangin’ on the walls, none of those lame plasticcups from fast food places and gas stations that warp out of shape in the dishwasher, no mountain bike hanging from pegs on the wall…”
“No black bathroom rugs that fade to different shades of gray,” Ororo chimed in. She’d thrown those out first after Pietro left; they were the spare set for the bathroom when the good ones were in the laundry.
“Crap with beer logos all over it,” Anna Marie groused.
“Pietro’s beer mug from Hooters went out the door with him,” Ororo boasted. “Man, I hated that damned thing.” Anna Marie paused mid-flip, letting the next print tip loose from slack fingers as she sensed Ororo freezing up beside her. Her eyes followed Ororo’s gaze out into the mall corridor.
“Oh, my God,” Ororo exhaled on a stuttering breath. The air seemed to thicken, clogging her throat.
Pietro’s cool silver eyes pinned her, raking over her with something akin to amusement. He blood froze when he blew them both a kiss, and raised his Orange Julius cup in silent salute. Even when he appeared to walk away, Ororo began to hyperventilate.
“Roro…?” Anna’s hand found hers. “Calm down, kiddo.” Ororo’s harsh gulp was strained, preceding ragged gasps for air. “Roro, calm down, do ya hear me, it’s okay. Yer with me. We’re out in the open.” Ororo rocked on her feet. Nerveless fingers dropper the paper cylinder she’d been about to purchase. She felt a crunching sensation in her temples and saw a field of static clouding her vision. She heard Anna talking to her one moment, wondering why she sounded like she was underwater.
“Sit!” Anna barked. She gripped Ororo’s arm and urged her to go limp; she slumped against the rack.
“My purse,” Ororo croaked.
“Whaddya need, ‘Roro?”
“My cell,” she hissed. Store staff approached, faces wreathed in concern. “And my mints.” Anna Marie obeyed, freeing Ororo’s purse from her grip and attempting to fan cool air on her face. Ororo’s lips were gray and chalky, and her cheeks felt clammy. Anna fumbled into the middle pocket before upending the whole clutch, dumping out its contents. Anna found the Mentos and handed Ororo the roll before noticing how badly her hands were shaking. She bit open the wrapper impatiently and pushed a candy between Ororo’s lips. Ororo pocketed it in her cheek, relaxing by degrees as Anna talked her through it, yanking open her mobile and scanning her contacts. She will her voice to be calm as she spoke into it; Ororo heard Logan’s rumbling rasp when Anna hit the speaker button.
“Yer woman’s havin’ an episode, bub. We’re at the mall, and Ro’s got somethin’ sweet ta tide her over fer the moment, but ya betta skedaddle on down here.” Ororo heard the rising panic and frustration in his voice from where she sat, even if she couldn’t make out the words. Anna bristled, then smiled briefly, holding Ororo’s mobile up against her cheek. “Ornery sumbitch, ain’t he? He wants ta talk to ya, hon.”
“Hi,” Ororo greeted him. “Had a little scare. Got dizzy,” she explained.
“Don’t get up til I get there,” he snapped. “Don’t move a goddamned muscle.” She heard him jingling the keys to his bike in the background. She didn’t try to lecture him about how he expected her to come home with him on his bike in her condition. She was still breaking out into cold, tingly sweats. She chewed the spearmint candy listlessly; Anna rubber her arms and fed her another while the waited. Bit by bit she regained a fraction of her equilibrium. Onlookers began to drift away as Ororo and Anna exchanged words and Ororo’s voice gathered more strength.
“Ya told me ya kicked him out, kiddo. That took guts.”
“I told you he packed up his stuff. I didn’t explain what else happened to mine.” Anna’s eyes were full of sympathy and questions, encouraging her to pour it out. “He broke everything. Things we bought together. Things he knew I loved. Personal things I had before we even started dating, Anna!”
“So that’s why ya wanted ta get new things?”
“Yeah. Not a lot. Just something to fill up some of that empty space. Call it my own.”
“Means that much to ya, huh?”
“I’ve spent too long, letting him back in, Anna. It was time for him to get out.”
“Okay,” Anna agreed. “I know ya loved him. An’ I ain’t one ta bash him knowin’ that ya loved him, since that’s make me one lowdown, dog-dirty friend. But if he sets foot inta yer life again ta hurt ya one moer time, sugah, so help me, I’m gonna hafta bitch-slap him inta next week.”
“Stand in line,” Ororo groaned. Her hands shook as she reached for another mint.
“Damn,” Anna tsked. “What else can Ah do for ya, kiddo?”
“D-don’t leave,” she stammered.
“All right. S’okay. Ah ain’t movin’.”
“Cold.”
“C’mere.” Anna slumped beside her and wrapped her in a supportive grip, continuing to rub her arms and hold her chilly hands. Gooseflesh was slow to dissipate until a familiar pair of boot-shod feet crept into view.
“Ro?” Welcome relief speared through her at the sound of his voice.
“Hey.” Strong, warm hands pried her from Anna’s grip, huddling her into the vast breadth of his solid chest.
“Yer puttin’ me through my paces, darlin’, ya know that?”
“Hey, petit. Ya can’t keep givin’ Logan here scares like that. He’s old, he can’t take too much drama like he used to,” Remy drawled. “Might give him a coronary.” Logan ignored it and busied himself with small tasks: unrolling another mint after he relieved Anna of the packet, pressing his thumb against Ororo’s wrist to check her pulse, sweeping her hair back from her face.
Logan made a small, dismissive grunt. “This ain’t drama, Cajun.” He nodded to Anna. “What brought this on?”
“We were doin’ fine til Ororo saw something she didn’t like.”
“Bad art?” Remy scanned the tiny poster shop as if looking for the source of Ororo’s bad turn.
“Bad ex,” Anna qualified. Remy nodded and shifted the paper sack he held more comfortably in his hand.
“This ain’t just low sugar?” Logan felt the side of Ororo’s neck, noting her racing pulse and clammy skin.
“Panic attack. Dip in my sugar. Blood pressure bottomed out. The trifecta,” Ororo boasted weakly.
“This ain’t drama, ‘Ro, yer gonna be fine,” Logan assured her, attempting to allay the worry in her eyes that had been there since Remy spoke her earlier thoughts aloud. “Ya came in bleedin’ last time, darlin’; compared to that, this is a friggin’ walk in the park. At least yer talkin’- and actin’ - like I just farted in church. That’s a good sign.”
“Somethin’ sure smells good,” Anna noticed.
“Made a quick stop on the way over,” Remy replied, holding up the bag. He began to open it, until the store clerk peered at them from his perch behind the counter made a disapproving face and beckoned them to move along, indicating the “No Food or Drinks Allowed Near Merchandise” sign.
“Let’s get some air,” Anna suggested.
“Let’s eat,” Logan added. Ororo’s legs still wobbled as they left the store, with Ororo leaning against him, her arm draped around his shoulders for support. His brawny arm held her snugly around the waist, practically carrying her. Ororo’s eyes scanned the corridor of the galleria. No Pietro.
She still mentally wiped off the kiss he threw her, cringing at the memory.
They strolled to the seating surrounding the food court. Ororo was thrilled to find that the food came from a restaurant outside the mall, instead of from the vendors whose food smelled the same, from equally nondescript menus.
Remy extracted the sandwiches from the bag and peered inside the wrapper of the first. “Grilled chicken, cher,” he announced, handing it to Ororo. She took it gratefully and unwrapped one of the neatly sliced halves, biting into it with relish. Black pepper, pepperoncinis and habanero jack cheese made her eyes water, but it was delicious. Logan nodded to Anna, “Got you one, too, kiddo, dig in.”
“Awww, that was sweet; ya didn’t hafta go to the trouble,” she beamed as Remy passed her another chicken sandwich, this one parmesan with black olives.
“He said his baby doll was out paintin’ the town with a friend; seemed like the thing t’do.” His eyes twinkled at her as he bit into his own pastrami reuben. “Kinda had an ulterios motive, though, petit.”
“Like what?” Anna tweaked out a chunk of chicken and popped it into her mouth, licking the marinara sauce from her thumb.
“I like watchin’ a beautiful woman eat.”
“Oh…mah God!” Anna breathed, right before she left the fragment go down the wrong pipe. She sputtered and choked as Remy’s grin evaporated, suddenly contrite as he reached over to whack her soundly on the back.
“Geez, Cajun,” Logan growled, “make her choke t’death, for cripes’ sake!”
“Maybe…*KAFF!*…ya shouldn’t…*kaaarrggh*…say stuff like that, shoog,” she recovered, eyes still watery but riveted on him. Ororo and Logan watched the two of them thoughtfully, trading glances across the table. Anna caught the silent exchange. “What?” she prodded.
“Gotta chew, kiddo,” Logan pointed out slyly.
“Now see, Ah knew that.”
“I wasn’t expecting both of you to come here,” Ororo mentioned.
“It was either that or take the bike.”
“Ah.”
“Roro an’ I took her care here,” Anna reminded them.
“I can driva ya both home.” Ororo swiftly kicked Logan under the table. “Ow! Geez!” Innocent blue eyes darted to the side as she “willed” him to let the other shoe drop…
“Don’t trouble yaself, mec. I can take Anna wherever she needs t’go.”
Up until that moment, Anna had finished wiping the corners of her eyes with her napkin, having finally recovered from her choking episode.
This time she inhaled just enough of her soda to exhale a dribble of it through her nose when she choked this time.
“Spit take through the nose. Classic,” Logan marveled. Ororo kicked him again as she handed Anna another napkin.
“Take ya time, getting’ back t’me on that ride, petit.” Remy smiled again and continued to pat her back, this time less briskly. His hand lingered long enough to flatten against her and caress her in lazy circles. Anna’s eyes, still slightly limpid from her exertions, studied him in slow degrees, drinking in tiny details. His hands. His smooth, golden skin. The amused flare of his nostrils above the sharp, sensuous notch of his lip.
Laughing, intelligent black eyes were her undoing. His solicitous touch, coupled with that intense gaze silenced the surrounding clamor and drove heat into her cheeks in a delicious flush. Memories of his flesh beneath her lips, dappled with airy puffs of whipped topping resurfaced and made her shiver.
“Y’cold?”
“Hm?”
“He asked if you were cold, Anna,” Ororo announced, plucking loose a chunk of chicken and using it to swab up a puddle of marinara dripping from Anna’s forgotten sandwich.
“M’fine…but Ah think Ah could use that ride ya mentioned before.”
Hoo. Could she ever. Logan smothered a small cough, moving his leg this time when Ororo tried to kick him again.
~0~
Anna silently checked her teeth in the tiny sideview mirror of Remy’s car one more time to make sure she didn’t have chicken in them or sauce on her chin as Remy wrapped his arm around the seat to back out of his parking space. Her stomach fluttered, even though she was finally, comfortably full from lunch, one she couldn’t remember enjoying more on previous occasion.
She was getting a ride home with Officer Hot Abs.
The leather upholstery felt cool against her back. The car itself managed to be surprisingly neat; no fast food wrappers or Big Gulp cups, no forgotten jackets in the back seat. The floormats even looked as though they were recently vacuumed. A faint hint of air freshener tickled Anna’s nose.
“Smells nice in here. Whaddya use?”
“Febreeze. Cuts the funk.”
“Mmmmm.”
“Where ya live, cher?”
“Off that first exit on route five, south. Adler Street.”
“Nice neighborhood, petit.”
“Got a little one-bedroom. It’s a place ta hang mah hat, Ah guess.” She snuck looks at him. He looked comfortable shifting gears and steering the sporty little car that he obviously babied. “Gotta be hard not ta open this baby up on the highway,” she murmured. He craned his neck around to look at her more closely, eyes thoughtful. “What?”
“Ya like ta go fast, cher?”
“That and really good chocolate are two of mah only vices, shoog.”
“Get ready t’enjoy one of ‘em in a minute, den, honey pie,” he grinned, shifting into third. Remy wove his way through late afternoon, straggling traffic, and a funny frisson of delight mixed with terror uncurled in Anna’s core. The engine revved to life once they were free and clear of the drifting trail of cars, and Anna felt the road calling her to ride it as the needle on the speedometer began its arc across the dial. She reflexively grabbed the door rail and floored an imaginary brake.
“WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”
“Attagirl, cher,” Remy chuckled. Their eyes met briefly over the console, and her hand slid from her lap and covered his as she helped him to shift gears over the next three-mile stretch. Luminous green eyes danced with excitement and a shared understanding found between kindred spirits. His eyes raked over her before he rearranged their hands, allowing his to envelop hers and wrap her slender fingers around the gearshift. Heat surged through them both at that contact. Despite the unusual circumstances that brought them to this moment, inside his tiny little car, it was shaping up to be a decent day.
“One last stretch before they give us a ticket,” she suggested.
“Never could say no,” Remy promised as he stomped the gas. Anna rolled down the window and let the wind whip through her thick, shining waves of auburn hair. He didn’t want anyone to pinch him yet as she settled back into her seat, freeing a strand of hair from where it caught between her plump pink lips.
~0~
“So what am I bringing?”
“Spinach dip. It’s easy.”
“Meh. I feel like I always end up bringing that.” Ororo checked the rotation speed of a banner on the site page she was putting the finishing touches on as she cradled the receiver on her shoulder. She nagged herself that she should have just put Jean on speaker.
“I love spinach dip!” Jean whined.
“I know, but I’m just sick of bringing it. Why not make some?” she suggested.
“Mine never turns out.”
“Fine, then.” Ororo hit save, then stood and stretched with a long-suffering groan. “I’ve been in the mood for chicken wings.”
“They’re messy. Sauce gets all over the place.”
“Jean, you can’t come between a woman and a good wing, it’s just not done.”
“Not on my new couches. People go to parties. They eat. They drink. They forget to use napkins, no matter how many you have set out. Wings aren’t gonna happen, ‘Ro.”
“You’re such a poop.”
“Sticks and stones. It’s my house,” Jean sniffed. “It should be a lot of fun. Betsy’s coming, Emma’s coming.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Ororo mentally rifled through her closet, deciding what she could wear that wouldn’t make her feel “tore up from the floor up” standing next to their resident diva princesses with unlimited retail therapy. She was still broke from having to assume the entire mortgage payment herself, but on the other hand, she spent about one third of what they used to spend on food and utilities. She was still trying to do that math on that one, but still came up with “five wasted years that I’ll never get back.” It sucked.
Time spent with Logan was helping to roll back the clock. She was craving one of his neck rubs right now.
“The girls from the spa are planning to drop in.”
“Mmph.” Ororo was indifferent either way. The girls from the spa were…nice. Smiley. Lacquered. She knew they didn’t give a good goddamn how she was when they asked, and their eyes just glazed over when she put any detail into the answer. Engagement rings talked, and spoke volumes.
“I left messages for Ali, Lorna and Anna; they haven’t gotten back to me yet.” Her tone was slightly dismissive.
“I’m stopping by Lorna’s today, anyway. Ali said she might meet up with us for a movie. We might see Happy Feet.”
“You guys never tell me about ANYTHING!”
“Chime in any time, Pookie. You can go.”
“No. That’s all right.” Ororo rolled her eyes at Jean’s “I know when I’ve been dissed and deserted” tone that held a hint of haughty in it. “I’ve got things to do to get ready for the party. I was going to make a nail appointment and get my highlights done, anyway.”
“Well, there you go.”
“You’ll miss me,” she pronounced confidently.
“We’ll miss you. And Scott will console you in our absence.”
“That’s MY man! No talk of consoling here,” she insisted, giggling.
“Heifer! I’ve got a man of my own,” she assured her.
Silence.
“Logan’s coming with me tomorrow night. He said to tell Scott that he’ll bring the beer.”
More silence.
“Jean? Helloooooo?”
“Uh-huh. Listen, Ororo, I better motor. Kiss-kiss. Talk to you later, ‘kay? Bye!”
“Okay, Jean; by-“ Click.
“Well…shit.” Ororo powered off and set the handset in its holster before heading down the hall to the bathroom. She pondered her talk with Jean while she showered, making free with the new bottle of bath gel and slathering her hair with conditioner. She brought it up to Lorna twenty minutes later when she answered the door, dressed to kill in her new black jeans and a sweater that Anna talked her into buying while they were at the galleria the day before.
“Jean’s been acting weird lately,” Ororo commented as she hugged her hello and tugged her into the foyer.
“That’s called ‘newly married, so my shit don’t stink,’ ‘Roro. No biggie. It’ll pass.”
“Her head’s probably still in the clouds,” Ali rationalized, following Lorna inside and pecking Ororo on the cheek. “You smell good,” she commented.
“Liz Claiborne. Curve.”
“Mmmm.”
“C’mere, I’ll spray some on you.” They trekked back to Ororo’s room, taking in the mostly bare walls.
“It practically echoes in here,” Ali tsked.
“Ain’t my fault,” Ororo shrugged.
“Did he just take everything, or…?”
“Or something like that.” She rummaged through her vanity and found the perfume. “Bring your neck over here.” She gave Ali and Lorna both a quick spritz, filling the room with the flowery, feminine fragrance. “I ain’t sorry, either. He messed up. Big time.”
“Anna said you told him to leave.”
“He left panties under my bed. RED panties.”
“Ooooh.”
“That’s not even all right. Damn,” Ali scowled, twisting her lips. “And he’s still among the living?”
“Better yet, Ororo, is he at least walking funny? I would have left him walking funny, pulling that mess,” Lorna swore.
“He can walk however and wherever he wants now. Let me grab my purse.” They headed back to her bedroom, noticing a new sheet set on the bed and her father’s framed picture in its characteristic place on the side table. Ali was the first to notice one other detail.
“NICE!” She leapt across the bed to grab a doubled-up flannel shirt that wasn’t Ororo’s size. “Ahem!”
“What?” Ororo inquired innocently, trying to smother a smile but letting a crumpled smirk escape anyway.
“THIS! What ‘what?’ Don’t ‘what’ me, you! Fess up!” Ali waved the shirt under Ororo’s nose, her grin a mile wide. “DISH!”
“Doesn’t look like Pietro’s shirt,” Lorna quipped dryly.
“Nope.”
“Smells good,” Ali remarked, inhaling the faded scent of Logan’s aftershave and a hint of something that reminded her of her father’s cigars.
“You’ve met him,” Ororo explained. “Kind of.”
“When?”
“Jean’s hen party. The bachelorette. The fierce-looking guy who chaperoned.”
“Wait…that guy? The one with the grumpy eyebrows?” Lorna was aghast but dying to know more.
“He was kinda yummy, in a scary way,” Ali admitted.
“Logan’s not scary at all.”
“Guess not, Miss-I-Got-a-Little-Souvenir-and-I-Ain’t-Telling.” Ali continued to wave the shirt at Ororo as she grilled her like a flounder. “When were you going to tell us about him?”
“Tomorrow,” Ororo deadpanned. “We’re going to Jean’s housewarming tomorrow.”
“I forgot,” Ali confessed. “Whoops. Now I’ve got to run out and get a hostess gift. Crap.”
“Bring wine,” Lorna suggested.
“All we ever do is drink when we go to Jeannie’s,” Ali whined. “I just hate this constant barrage of gifts! Bridal shower gift. Bachelorette gift. Housewarming gift. Eventually baby shower gift.”
“Socially acceptable begging?” Lorna offered. “I don’t know. I didn’t make that rule.”
“I’m broke,” Ororo announced. “And Jean already said I’m bringing spinach dip.
“Again?” Ali folded Logan’s shirt neatly and laid it on the dresser. “If I have to look one more bowl of that stuff in the eye, you’ll have to call me Popeye.”
They piled into Ororo’s little Honda and made it to the theater ten minutes into the opening credits. Ali held the bucket of popcorn on her lap while Ororo and Lorna flanked her on each side, nursing cups of fruit punch and a box of Jujubes. The opening sequence of the movie made Ororo nearly dizzy but she got into it, enjoying the music and graphics. She laughed when she heard a tiny voice cooing behind her, “Oooooo, Momma, LOOK! PENGUINS!” Lorna and Ali chuckled, too.
“Cute,” Ali murmured, munching a handful of popcorn.
As usual, whenever she was settling down to have a good time, nature called. Ororo got up halfway through and muttered “Gotta powder my nose.”
“Never fails,” Lorna replied cheerfully, taking Ororo’s depleted cup of punch as she rose and scooted around myriad legs in the dark.
Ororo made it out to the lobby and to the women’s room, grateful that the entire row of stalls appeared to be empty. She hadn’t even heard the two sets of feet following her until she was sequestered in a stall. The same little girl she’d heard cried out, “Momma, I don’t have to goooooo!”
“Yes, you do, sweetie,” she argued. “Come on. Let’s hurry so we don’t miss anything.” Ororo heard the slam of the stall right before she headed back to wash up. The soap dispenser was almost out; she shoved the handle insistently, trying to get the last gasp of gel. Half of it squirted out onto the counter instead. Ororo snorted and rinsed. The stall door swished open, and Ororo was surprised to see a harried but attractive woman with light red hair and a trim figure leading her equally striking daughter by the hand. The child looked familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on why.
Her daughter obeyed her mother’s injunction to wash, holding chubby little hands under the spray and singing tunelessly. Ororo met the mother’s tidy smile in the mirror.
“You can brush Princess Poppy’s hair,” the little girl recited in a chipper, almost rehearsed voice. Her movements were graceful for someone so young. Most five-year-olds didn’t have that much poise, Ororo thought, guessing her age.
“Does she like Princess Poppy dolls?” Ororo asked of her mother, trying to make brief, polite chit-chat.
“I used to be Princess Poppy. Now I’m just Luna,” the child informed her proudly.
“Let Mommy talk, Luna, okay?” She dried her daughter’s hands on the rough brown towels. “What can you do? Kids will talk to anyone, any time!”
“Sure,” Ororo agreed, even though she didn’t have much of a basis to know. She decided adults had the same tendency as her new acquaintance took the ball and ran with it before she could make her way back to the theater.
“Luna was in a commercial. She has a few more spots coming up.”
“A commercial? Wow,” Ororo admired. Now she recognized the tiny face and those distinctive, ice-blue eyes and cherub’s cheeks. “So you ARE Princess Poppy!”
“No, I’m Luna,” she corrected her, sticking her chest out like a preening bird. Ororo laughed. She twirled her hair around a tiny finger and clung to her mother’s hand.
“I’m going to get back. It was nice-“ Ororo already had her back turned, hand on the door.
“You’re pretty.”
“Excuse me?” The woman declared this in a sharp voice meant to give her pause.
“You’re pretty.” Ororo turned to face her again. “Pietro said you were pretty.”
Ororo’s blood ran cold.
“Who…?” Her voice didn’t sound like she wanted it to. Dazed, definitely. Not hers. Couldn’t be.
“My name’s Crystal. You’ve met Luna, my daughter.” She swung her daughter’s hand to pacify her when she looked like she was champing at the bit. “Pietro’s daughter.”
“Mommy, let’s GOOOOOOO!” She stomped her little foot, making the lights in her Disney Princess sneakers flicker.
The floor seemed to drop out from beneath Ororo’s feet. She swallowed around a lump.
“I…I don’t know you. Why are you telling me this?”
“I wanted to meet you. See you. This wasn’t planned,” she insisted. “You showed up here, at this particular moment. It just happened. I’ve seen you before.”
“How?”
“About three months after Pietro began cheating on me. I followed him once, just to give myself peace of mind. I saw him at Starbucks. You were there. Working. He was ordering his coffee. Skinny latte with a chocolate-covered biscotti.”
“No almonds,” Ororo whispered.
“No almonds,” she agreed, her eyes turning into hard blue chips. “I was young. I had one more year of school.”
“Pietro had already finished school,” Ororo droned on, before stopping herself. Her lips were struggling to keep up with the conversation. She wanted to run. She wanted to slap her, but…no.
No.
“Pietro was cheating on you,” Ororo stumbled, “to be with me.”
“I was five months pregnant when he moved out of our apartment.”
“I can’t listen to this,” Ororo stammered, heading for the door.
“Don’t run away from me!” Her tone wasn’t angry, thankfully. Ororo spun around, facing her.
“Don’t do this to me! Don’t…” She peered through a sheen of building tears at Luna, studying her, her mind screaming that it was impossible even as she saw the now-obvious resemblance. Pietro’s full pink mouth. The same dimples. The same defiant little chin. Identical posture. She was perfect.
But her very existence made her relationship with Pietro a lie.
Suddenly Ororo sobered, her tears drying before they could even fall. “I’m not even with him anymore.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her face said otherwise. Ororo recognized heartbreak when she saw it. She radiated it.
“Yes, it does. Even if you don’t want to be with him anymore, don’t act like I’m an obstacle to you being able to contact him.” Then it dawned her. “Have you and ‘Tro…?”
“No. Not since I was pregnant,” Crystal assured her.
“Doesn’t make me feel any better,” Ororo snapped. Crystal’s eyes held contrition, not guilt. It still didn’t erase the other women who came between them. “Did you love him?” Crystal’s shoulders were set firmly, her spine ramrod straight.
“Yes. With all my heart.”
“Mommy!” More insistent stomping ensued.
“So did I.” She smoothed a shaking hand over her hair. “I never stopped.”
“Has me met her?” Ororo nodded to Luna.
“Once. Just once.” She held up Luna’s wrist carefully, turning it so that the bathroom vanity lights hit something gleaming and gold there. “He gave her this when she was born.” She fingered it absently. “It’s even inscribed. It says, ‘With Love. Daddy.’”
“He denied his own child.” Ororo was past tears. She was livid. “Do you have a cellphone?”
“Why?” She was already ducking into her large purse.
“I have a phone number to call. It’s for Eric. He’s moved since you and Pietro were together.” Crystal eyed Ororo with interest as she beckoned to her to hand over the phone. She snapped it open and began tapping in a number on her contact list after it beeped back at her. “He’s a good man. He would have made a wonderful father-in-law.” She handed Crystal back the phone once she was finished. “He’s a loving and wonderful grandfather. Don’t deny him this. Or her.”
“Mommy? Why are you crying?” Soulful blue eyes peered up at both women, then looked with interest at the mobile phone clutched tightly in her mother’s hand.
“It’s okay, baby. Let’s go, let’s watch your movie, you’re being such a good girl.”
“Don’t let him just-“
“He threw me away. I won’t just be something he threw away. Everything I have, I made for myself. My little girl is my world,” Crystal reared back, plucking Luna up and balancing her on her hip. “Pietro just donated the DNA.” She rushed out. Luna gave Ororo a small wave over her mother’s shoulder, smiling politely but with relief to be headed back to the theater. Ororo followed them slowly, with shaking steps, still reeling. She was quiet through the rest of the movie; Ali occasionally snuck looks at her when she noticed that she wasn’t laughing. When the lights came back up, there was no sign of Crystal and Luna. She fought back a mixture of frustration and relief.
“Why so quiet, Ororo?” Lorna prodded as she unlocked the car.
“Olive Garden,” Ororo muttered. “Now.”
“Uh-oh.”
“That bad?” Ali inquired, her face full of concern.
“Worse. C’mon.” They inevitably waited at least a half an hour for appetizers, and another forty minutes for food. Ali and Lorna knew that something was up, and that it wouldn’t be addressed with anything short of an all-you-can-eat pasta bowl and more ugly confessions than you could shake a stick at.
Two hours later, all three women were stuffed and still stirring their spoons in their dessert cups. Ali and Lorna were speechless.
Almost.
“Pietro’s a dad.”
“A little girl.” Lorna agreed, sucking the mousse from her spoon thoughtfully. Ororo’s eyes flitted back from one friend to the other.
“Well?” Tension knotted her shoulders as she wrung her napkin in a fierce grip.
“That deadbeat, motherfucking rat-bastard!” Ali exploded.
Phew…
“I didn’t want you guys to think I was lame for being so clueless about what he did to me, and how I didn’t know.” Relief washed over her in a crashing wave.
“Geez…Ororo, forget that nonsense, we love you!” Lorna reached over and gripped her hand, then Ali cover both of them in a Three Musketeers gesture. “To heck with him. I’m just pissed that he never told you he had a little girl. It’s fine that he was a dad, it’s just bullshit that he played his little game for so long!”
“She’s so beautiful; how could he deny such a precious little girl like that? That’s what makes me so mad. Pietro’s crazy to have done something like that.”
“Fucking nuts,” Ali agreed, not holding back an inch.
“He was crazy to cheat on you, Ororo.”
“He cheated on her first.”
“Fine. If it makes you feel any better, than go with that, even though it won’t.”
“I guess it almost does, in a bad way. I tried hard to be what and who he needed me to be. It didn’t work. I just figured it was my fault.”
“Bullshit!”
“I think we already got the point, Al,” Lorna drawled. She munched on the pirhouette cookie that came with her mousse and waved it at Ororo for emphasis. “If Pietro was a player, you never could have turned him away from the game. That’s just the way he’s built.”
“I saw him at the galleria, looking like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth,” Ororo snarled, still riding the rush of anger lodged in her chest. “Threw me into one of my fits. My sugar bottomed out, too. Anna was there, she saw the whole thing. She knows,” she added. “Not about this new mess, but she knows about everything else.” She planned on filling her in.
“Guess he won’t be joining you guys for Scrabble anymore at Jeannie’s, will he?” Lorna polished off the cookie and brushed the crumbs from her hands.
“Hell to the no,” Ororo confirmed, raising her hand for a high-five. The staccato slap of palms rang out over the clamor before they settled up their tab.
Twenty-four hours later, the Summers residence
Ororo had never been air-kissed so much in her life. Her thoughts drifted back to Steve Martin promising “I’ll go, but I’m not kissing anyone” in LA Story. It never fit so well as it did here. Ugggghhhhh.
“MWAH! You look so GOOD! I love what you’ve done to your hair!” Someone, she begged silently, just shoot me.
Logan caught her eye from over the shoulder of Jean’s sister Gayle and saluted her with his beer can. She mouthed the word “Help!” and received another guffaw and shake of his head. The past twenty minutes had been like that, since Ororo had arrived early with the promised spinach dip and helped Jean put the finishing touches on the decorations and to set the table. The master bedroom had been cleared and was spotlessly clean, leaving the bed open to receive coats.
From that moment on, Jean became one part hostess, one part drill sergeant. Logan, Scott, his younger brother Alex, and Scott's backup on Noc, Nate, all escaped to the den to watch Ultimate Fighting Challenge, whooping it up and helping themselves to wings (which Logan convinced Ororo to buy, despite Jean’s warnings to the contrary) while they enjoyed the carnage onscreen.
Ororo scuttled back and forth from the living room to the kitchen, helping Jean bring out trays of finger foods while the barbecued ribs continued to release tempting aromas, making Ororo’s mouth water. She caught sight of herself in Jean’s hall mirror and decided she was fine with what she saw. Her black dress was snug and hit two inches above the knee, making the perfect canvas for her chandelier earrings and kickin’ new shoes that Logan helped to pick out.
He had, of course, made her vow to wear them, and nothing else, once he got her home. She sighed at the memory. Yep…they looked good on her feet, bouncing over his shoulders, too. She loved these shoes.
When Ali and Lorna finally showed up, Ororo’s shoulders sagged in gratitude. “Finally! Took you heifers long enough!”
“I got off work late,” Ali pleaded, hugging her fiercely. She nodded at Logan as he passed by, heading to the den with another six-pack. “Hold on a minute, Slick. Introduce yourself!”
“Name’s Logan,” he offered, shaking her hand with his free one. His grip was firm, and, Ali noticed, absolutely yummy. “Ya went ta Red’s bachelorette, didn’tcha?”
“Yup.”
“Thought that was you. And you,” he grinned, giving Lorna the same treatment. His eyes were warm. “Take a load off, kiddo. Grab some of the wings before they’re gone.”
“I will!” When he was out of sight, Lorna was first to squeal. “Oh, my God! He’s…WOW! I like him, Ororo! I really do! He’s cuter than I remember.”
“Yum,” Ali confirmed. “Honey, hush.”
“Where’s Jeannie?”
“In the kitchen. Let’s rescue her so she can enjoy her party.” Ororo led them back. Jean was just untying her apron and washing her hands at the sink.
“It’s about time you guys got here!” she accused as Lorna pecked her on the cheek.
“See?” Ororo chimed in.
“Oh, be quiet, you!” Ali took her turn next, grasping Jean’s shoulders and turning her this way and that. “Yup. You look like a married woman now, complete with a married ASS!” Ororo and Lorna burst out in cackles that drew curious looks from guests walking past the kitchen.
“Ohhhh…don’t make me hurt you,” Jean warned, eyes flaring even as she grinned. “Just wait. I’ll get you back. It’ll be your turn one day, too, missy!”
“Come on. Show us the house,” Lorna nagged, staring at the elegant kitchen. “This is beautiful.”
“Thank you. Onward! The tour!” she cheered, leading them upstairs. Ororo expressed the same admiration as Lorna and Ali as they ooh’ed and aah’ed their way through the halls and rooms, even though she had already seen it. They eventually landed in the master bedroom, and Lorna and Ali nudged aside the pile of coats to sit down.
“You’re so lucky; you two did a nice job of this,” Ali gushed.
“It’s not really Scott’s thing. But thanks,” she added belatedly, beaming.
“Hey, Jeannie,” Lorna piped up. “Do you still have the green scarf that I liked so much? The glittery one with the fringe?”
“In my lingerie drawer. Top left,” she said, waving her over to it. “Help yourself.” She pulled open the drawer and giggled. Everything was rosebud-rolled, triple-folded and neat as a pin. Jean’s Martha Stewart compulsion was legend. Lorna pawed through the contents carefully, finding a flash of green.
“Aha!” She retrieved it triumphantly and wrapped it around her neck. “Whaddy think?”
“Nice,” Jean encouraged, smiling.
“You have some nice things here. Did all of this come from the bachelorette party?”
“Most of it. I made a trip to Victoria’s Secret, too. Gift card,” she explained.
“Ooooo! LOOK! This is pretty, I wish I could wear this color,” Lorna sighed, pulling out a red brassiere. “Look at the pretty little bows. Looks like something from a pin-up calendar.”
“Hey…I gave you that at the shower,” Ali piped up. “Wasn’t it a set?”
“Hmm?”
“Weren’t there little bikinis that went with it?”
“No, I don’t recall,” Jean shrugged thoughtfully, her brow puckering. She crossed the room and gently shut the drawer.
“No. It was. Panties. A little French-cut thong. Same bows. I almost bought you the nightie, but I figured you would get more use out of the set.”
“Maybe they’re just in the laundry,” Jean offered. Her cheeks suddenly looked…flushed.
Ororo felt a strange tightening across her scalp, gooseflesh running up her nape and arms. She watched the little red bra disappear back into the drawer. She rubbed her neck to dispel the feeling of unease that crept over her.
“You didn’t come home with it.” She didn’t realize her lips had even moved.
“What?”
“Panties. You didn’t bring them home from your trip,” Ororo reminded her gently.
“No. I didn’t take them.” Jean began to lead them outside, but Ororo’s voice stopped her.
“They weren’t here.” Jean halted and stilled, and Ali and Lorna stared at her with questions in their eyes.
“Excuse me?”
“They weren’t here for you to take.” Ororo felt that bothersome lump return to her throat. It nearly choked her. “They were at my house.”
“Ororo! JEAN! What have you two been up to?” Ali joked. Lorna reached out a hand to shush her, not liking the hectic pallor in Jean’s cheeks. She broke out into blotches.
This wasn’t good.
“Not us two,” Ororo droned, as though hypnotized. Her eyes locked on Jean, pinning her. “I had nothing to do with how they got there. Did I, Jeannie?”
“Ororo…”
“Did I?” she repeated, holding up a hand in warning.
“No. You…didn’t.”
“That’s what I thought.” The entire room held their breath.
“Shit,” Ali gasped.
“Hush, Ali!” Lorna was already walking toward Ororo beseechingly, eyes begging her not to act the donkey and forget herself. Forget where she was.
In one smooth motion, Ororo stepped past Lorna and gently shoved her aside as her arm flew out in a broad arc. SLAP!!! The force of the slap sent Jean spinning and tripping over her own feet. She landed against the wall, bracing her palms against it, leaning her forehead against the pristine plaster.
“You said…I was always in your corner, Jean. How could you?”
“Ororo,” Jean croaked, meeting her gaze, eyes glimmering and overflowing with tears. “Please…don’t…”
“HOW COULD YOU? HOW COULD YOU DO THAT TO ME? I…I WAS YOUR BEST FRIEND!”
“You are; you are, please. Don’t…please let me explain.”
“You can’t explain this,” Ororo hissed. “You just can’t, d’you hear me, Jeannie? This isn’t shit you just ‘explain.’ You can’t make me UNDERSTAND this!”
“Ororo…where are you going? Don’t go…you can’t…it will look so bad, please, please. Don’t make me tell anyone that you left, you can’t DO this to me! Oh, Ororo, I’m so sorry! So sorry!”
“Listen to yourself,” Ororo snapped. “It’s not up to me to clean up this mess. My name’s Bennett, and I ain’t in it.”
“Ororo,” she sobbed, her voice hardening, “you can’t tell Scott.”
“No. I can’t. He doesn’t deserve this. Not for one minute.” She felt her heart breaking, hating the red handprint glaring out from Jean’s cheek, her face now white as a sheet and streaked with tears. Ali looked furious. Lorna merely knelt beside Jean and laid a hand on her shoulder soothingly.
“She’s right, Jeannie,” she murmured. “You made a mistake. Let her go. Quit worrying about how things look. That doesn’t matter right now.” Ororo glared at all of them before turning on her heel and stalking downstairs.
She reached the living room, searching it frantically for Logan. She caught him on her way back through the kitchen after noting he wasn’t in the den. Scott was just tugging the ribs out of the oven, and Ororo’s stomach pitched. She struggled to stay calm. She’d known Scott for years. She was transparent around him.
That’s how friends were.
“Hey darlin’, Scooter decided not ta let us starve on all this girly food…whoa. Y’all right?”
“Mm-um. No.” She fished for a handy excuse. “Cramps,” she claimed lamely.
“TMI, sweetheart,” Scott whimpered, holding up his fingers in the sign of a cross. “But that’s fine.” He peered around the corner of the kitchen. “Where’s Jean?”
“Upstairs. I already told her goodbye,” Ororo insisted, tugging on Logan’s arm.
“Ya haven’t eaten yet, darlin’,” he nagged.
“I’m fine.” She retrieved her purse from the hook by the back door. “I’ll go start the car. Scott, thank you,” she recovered, pecking him on the cheek.
“What the hell?” Logan looked flummoxed.
“I’ll save you some ribs; I’ll bring the leftovers for dinner on NOC shift tomorrow night. Go, dude.”
“Killer,” Logan agreed, making “I’m not worthy” bows at Scott as he chucked his empty beer can into the recycle box. He was hot on Ororo’s heels as she stumbled and smiled her way out through the crowded foyer. She was heedless of Betsy and Emma asking where she was going.
“Mind explaining to me what…” Logan’s hand halted her hand on the knob, snaking around her. His breath was hot against her ear, making her heart thud in her chest.
“Not now,” she begged. “When we get outside. Please.” She felt the shift in his body as he turned the doorknob for her.
“Okay, baby. Let’s go.” He tugged open the door, letting in a cool draft of air.
“Am I late?” A silvery eyebrow quirked itself in surprise at Ororo’s sharp intake of breath. Pietro was resplendent in black, wrapped snugly in a wool peacoat that looked made for him. “Hope I didn’t miss anything.”
Ororo felt Logan’s hand tighten convulsively at her hip, shivering as his body drew itself taut as a bowstring behind her.
Oh, shit.
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