Read Online Let's Be Frank by Brea Brown - Free Book Online Page B

“Geez. Your concern is touching, but I’m really okay. That last one hit me hard, but now that I’ve walked around, the buzz is fading. Why don’t we order something to eat, huh?”
    When my speech receives no response, I look from one woman to the other. Frankie’s lips are absent, sucked into her mouth as if she’s already eaten—a lemon. Betty laconically signs the credit card slip in front of her with a flourish, and slaps the pen on top of the tiny plastic clipboard.
    “Are we leaving? What did I miss?”
    I seem to recall everyone was happy before I left, but now… Something obviously happened while I was gone.
    “Nothing,” Frankie replies tersely. “Drink your water.”
    Like a chastened child, I start to do as I’m told, but a few gulps in, I stop and say to the silent table, “Seriously. What’s wrong?”
    As if I haven’t said a thing, Betty pushes the receipt holder toward the edge of the table and tucks her wallet into her purse. “Well, kids, I’m out of here. There’s a big shoe sale tomorrow at Younkers, and the doors open early.”
    “Yeah, fine. Bye,” Frankie dismisses her coldly.
    I tense, hating even the hint of confrontation, much less the uncomfortable aftershock of it, when I’m not aware of what actually went down. My body’s response to the psychological upset I’m feeling sobers me better than a head-dip in a cold barrel of water.
    I stand with Betty and say, “It was nice meeting you.”
    “Likewise,” she says, sounding sincere for the first time all evening. Her bright blue eyes soften around the edges. “Have a nice night.”
    “We will,” comes the firm assurance from behind me in the booth.
    Betty rolls her eyes and turns on her heel, waving at Rusty on her way out the door. “Left you a big tip, Russell. You’re welcome.”
    I watch her go, wrapping her scarf around her neck and sliding her hands into her gloves before she pushes on the pub’s door to reenter the cold, now-dark world.
    When I turn to sit back down, I bump into Frankie, who’s exited the booth and is standing right behind me.
    “You okay to drive?” she asks, sounding uninterested in the answer.
    “I will be in a few. Are you?”
    Instead of answering my question, she merely gives me a cold kiss on the cheek and says, “I’m traveling all next week, so do you want to do something this weekend?”
    Still thrown by the rapid change in the evening’s tone, I merely grunt an unsure, “Sure…” before recalling, “Oh, I told Mom and Dad I’d bring you with me to their place for lunch on Sunday, remember? But if you’d rather not do it this weekend, I’d totally understand.”
    Unfortunately, she brightens at the reminder. “I’m looking forward to meeting them. It just slipped my mind. Unless you’d rather not…”
    I’ve been putting it off for a couple of weeks now. If anyone’s waiting for me to want to do it, it’s never going to happen.
    I smile bravely. “I think my mom’s about to take matters into her own hands, and that’s always a dicey proposition, so it’s probably best if I take you to her. And Dad, of course. But he’s echoing whatever Mom wants, because—” I stop myself before mentioning anything about getting laid this century, since it comes too close to kicking the elephant in the room right between the legs. “—he’s a nice guy,” I finish lamely.
    “Apple must not have fallen far from the tree,” she purrs, pressing herself against my chest and leaning into my lips.
    Alcohol and biology conspire against the civilized, enlightened guy who usually controls things in my brain. “I can take a vacation to Doucheville, if you like it there.”
    Before her mouth makes contact with mine, she retreats, her face closing off.
    “Or not,” I mutter.
    She shrugs on her coat and pats my shoulder on her way past me. “Don’t forget to pay the tab,” she instructs. “I’ll see you Sunday.”
    Apparently, my trip to Doucheville will be via