Read Online Ex and the Single Girl by Lani Diane Rich - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lani Diane Rich
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said, covering my eyes with my hand.
Beauji leaned back and shouted into the kitchen, “ Davey, there ’ s more, get in here!”
Davey skidded out of the kitchen and hopped onto the couch, still working the corkscrew into the bottle of wine.
“ I can ’ t believe I ’ m telling you this,” I said.
“ Confessio n,” Beauji began.
“ Good for the soul,” Davey finished.
I clamped my eyes tight. “ I cried.”
Beauji gasped. Davey sighed. I opened my eyes, and both of them were handing me compassionate looks.
“ Why?” Beauji ’ s voice tightened. “ What did he do to you?” I look ed at the ceiling, too annoyed with myself to make eye contact. “ He said I was beautiful.”
“ Bastard,” Davey said, popping the cork out.
“ Did he know you cried?” Beauji asked. She, like all women, understood how being told you ’ re beautiful can make you cry. It ’ s a sure sign you ’ re in a bad place, and every woman has been there, even Beauji, who ’ d always been loved. Even Beauji, whose men had stuck.
“ Yes,” I said, taking another sip of my wine. “ It only lasted for a few minutes. He handled it well. I mean, he didn ’ t run screaming from the room.”
“ I ’ ve done that,” Davey said, nodding.
Beauji cut her eyes at him. “ Once.”
I sat up. “ But enough about me. Tell me about the baby. Have you picked out a name?”
This was a stupid question, as Beauji ’ s name had been a re sult of her father ’ s dogged determination to name whatever came out of the chute Beau Jr., and as such she had sworn never to name a child before he or she was born, but I thought it would at least be an effective way to change the subject.
I was mistaken.
“ We still have to talk about you a little more,” Beauji said. Davey gave her a warning look. “ Beauji...”
She cut him a look back. “ Davey, she has a right to know. Mags has probably already told her, anyway.”
“ My wife,” Davey said, turning to me as he stoo d up, “ doesn ’ t have any sense for what ’ s her business and what is not.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “ Good to have you back, baby,” he said. He leaned over Beauji and kissed her on the lips. “ Stay out of it.”
Davey headed up the stairs and I kept my eye on Beauji, my heart beating a little too hard and a little too fast. I knew something was up with Mags. I could smell it. Judging by the look on Beauji ’ s face, whatever the news was, she wasn ’ t expecting a positive response from me.
“ What is it, Beau?” I asked. “ You have to tell me now. Is Mags sick? Is Bev sick? Who ’ s sick?”
She waved her hand at me. “ Nobody ’ s sick. But I think Mags tricked you into coming down this summer for a reason. Has she told you why?”
My eyebrows knit. “ Nothing aside from getting extracurricular with the Englishman. Is that what you ’ re talking about?”
She shook her head. I waited a few seconds, then spit out an impatient, “ Well, what is it, then?”
“ It ’ s Jack,” she said. “ He ’ s coming to town.”
It doesn ’ t matter who your parents are or how healthy or sick or ambivalent your relationship with them is, they will always be the most powerful people in your life. They will be the ones whose approval you will always crave. They will be the ones who hold the po w er to elate or crush you with a word. No matter what you tell yourself — that your father wasn ’ t worth your time anyway, or that your mother was too batty to really know what she was doing to you — your parents will always be the people who juggle knives over your heart. If you ’ re lucky, they ’ ll know it and will juggle carefully. If you ’ re unlucky, you ’ ll be born to Mags Fallon.
“ Wake up, lady!” I said, flicking on the light in Mags ’ s room. It was one o ’ clock in the morning. She was lying on her stomach with cu rlers in her hair, as she had during every night of her adult life. She was wearing an
Beauji leaned back and shouted into the kitchen, “ Davey, there ’ s more, get in here!”
Davey skidded out of the kitchen and hopped onto the couch, still working the corkscrew into the bottle of wine.
“ I can ’ t believe I ’ m telling you this,” I said.
“ Confessio n,” Beauji began.
“ Good for the soul,” Davey finished.
I clamped my eyes tight. “ I cried.”
Beauji gasped. Davey sighed. I opened my eyes, and both of them were handing me compassionate looks.
“ Why?” Beauji ’ s voice tightened. “ What did he do to you?” I look ed at the ceiling, too annoyed with myself to make eye contact. “ He said I was beautiful.”
“ Bastard,” Davey said, popping the cork out.
“ Did he know you cried?” Beauji asked. She, like all women, understood how being told you ’ re beautiful can make you cry. It ’ s a sure sign you ’ re in a bad place, and every woman has been there, even Beauji, who ’ d always been loved. Even Beauji, whose men had stuck.
“ Yes,” I said, taking another sip of my wine. “ It only lasted for a few minutes. He handled it well. I mean, he didn ’ t run screaming from the room.”
“ I ’ ve done that,” Davey said, nodding.
Beauji cut her eyes at him. “ Once.”
I sat up. “ But enough about me. Tell me about the baby. Have you picked out a name?”
This was a stupid question, as Beauji ’ s name had been a re sult of her father ’ s dogged determination to name whatever came out of the chute Beau Jr., and as such she had sworn never to name a child before he or she was born, but I thought it would at least be an effective way to change the subject.
I was mistaken.
“ We still have to talk about you a little more,” Beauji said. Davey gave her a warning look. “ Beauji...”
She cut him a look back. “ Davey, she has a right to know. Mags has probably already told her, anyway.”
“ My wife,” Davey said, turning to me as he stoo d up, “ doesn ’ t have any sense for what ’ s her business and what is not.” He leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. “ Good to have you back, baby,” he said. He leaned over Beauji and kissed her on the lips. “ Stay out of it.”
Davey headed up the stairs and I kept my eye on Beauji, my heart beating a little too hard and a little too fast. I knew something was up with Mags. I could smell it. Judging by the look on Beauji ’ s face, whatever the news was, she wasn ’ t expecting a positive response from me.
“ What is it, Beau?” I asked. “ You have to tell me now. Is Mags sick? Is Bev sick? Who ’ s sick?”
She waved her hand at me. “ Nobody ’ s sick. But I think Mags tricked you into coming down this summer for a reason. Has she told you why?”
My eyebrows knit. “ Nothing aside from getting extracurricular with the Englishman. Is that what you ’ re talking about?”
She shook her head. I waited a few seconds, then spit out an impatient, “ Well, what is it, then?”
“ It ’ s Jack,” she said. “ He ’ s coming to town.”
It doesn ’ t matter who your parents are or how healthy or sick or ambivalent your relationship with them is, they will always be the most powerful people in your life. They will be the ones whose approval you will always crave. They will be the ones who hold the po w er to elate or crush you with a word. No matter what you tell yourself — that your father wasn ’ t worth your time anyway, or that your mother was too batty to really know what she was doing to you — your parents will always be the people who juggle knives over your heart. If you ’ re lucky, they ’ ll know it and will juggle carefully. If you ’ re unlucky, you ’ ll be born to Mags Fallon.
“ Wake up, lady!” I said, flicking on the light in Mags ’ s room. It was one o ’ clock in the morning. She was lying on her stomach with cu rlers in her hair, as she had during every night of her adult life. She was wearing an
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