hate surprises! Doesn’t he know how much you hate surprises?”
“I don’t hate surprises!” Julie began making another perfect Cobb salad forkful as she spoke. “It’s romantic. It’s thoughtful.”
“It’s fan-tastic!”
Julie put down her fork with a loud clink on the table. “Say it.”
“Nope. Everything’s good. Fine.”
“Just say it.”
“Say what? That you’re pretending to like the idea of a mystery trip when we both know you’d rather have all the hair on your body pulled out by the root? Or that you’re dating the most unappealing bachelor this side of the Mississippi because you don’t want to be alone for Christmas?”
“Christmas doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Ah, but you concede my other point. The guy’s a waste of plasma.”
Julie could feel a headache beginning to throb in her left temple. Why was she having this conversation? “Why do you have such a problem with Greg?”
Becky took a long sip of her drink before answering. “He gives me the creeps.” She bit down on a piece of ice. “And honestly, Jules? I don’t think you like him any more than I do. Pretend it’s January, sweetie. Let it go.”
Julie knew she should defend her boyfriend, but nothing came to mind. How come nothing came to mind?
Because a waste of plasma is an apt description.
She used her fork to redistribute the chicken evenly over the surface of her salad. When had she decided that it was better to date someone she had no interest in than to be alone? It wasn’t just Greg, he was just the latest in a continuous stream of guys she didn’t even like. The kind of men who had always been attracted to her.
“You’re right,” said Julie.
Becky was halfway through a bite of her Philly steak sandwich and talked with her mouth full. “I am?”
“He’s an ass.”
Becky slammed the table with her open hand, getting the attention of several other diners. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
“He annoys the absolute crap out of me.”
“Amen, sister!”
“He talks about random, bizarre things. Invasive bamboo and the growth cycle of hair. I can tell you more about asphalt than you would ever want to know.”
“Let it all out.”
“When he touches me I want to pat his head and tell him to sit.”
Becky snorted. “Please tell me you haven’t slept with him.”
“Ugh,” Julie visibly shuddered. “His hands are wet. Not just damp, Becky. Wet. Always.”
“Feel better?”
Julie turned sad eyes to her best friend in the world. “I wanted to like him,” she said quietly.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I wanted to love him.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Julie pulled out her cell phone and dialed before she could reconsider. “Greg, it’s Julie. I’m not going to make the trip this weekend. We need to talk. Call me when you get this.”
“I wonder where he was going to take you.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, relax. You did the right thing.” Becky took another bite, a string of cheese running from her mouth to the bun. “I’m just saying, someplace warm might be nice at Christmastime. Maybe a few palm trees.”
~~~
Marianne Jared was standing in her large country kitchen making Christmas cookies en masse, holiday music playing in the background. With her daughter’s wedding just days away, she was calming her nerves and preparing to feed the hungry crowd that would be descending.
She had the gingerbread men stacked up on cooling racks, and had just started blending butter and sugar for the next round when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Ma.”
She felt her stomach clench at his tone, and walked away from the stand mixer, leaving it running. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not going to be able to make it to the wedding, for real.”
She brought her hand to her face and pinched the skin between her eyes, counting to five before trusting herself to speak. “Why not?”
“There’s a case here in Jacksonville. Barstow
“I don’t hate surprises!” Julie began making another perfect Cobb salad forkful as she spoke. “It’s romantic. It’s thoughtful.”
“It’s fan-tastic!”
Julie put down her fork with a loud clink on the table. “Say it.”
“Nope. Everything’s good. Fine.”
“Just say it.”
“Say what? That you’re pretending to like the idea of a mystery trip when we both know you’d rather have all the hair on your body pulled out by the root? Or that you’re dating the most unappealing bachelor this side of the Mississippi because you don’t want to be alone for Christmas?”
“Christmas doesn’t have anything to do with it.”
“Ah, but you concede my other point. The guy’s a waste of plasma.”
Julie could feel a headache beginning to throb in her left temple. Why was she having this conversation? “Why do you have such a problem with Greg?”
Becky took a long sip of her drink before answering. “He gives me the creeps.” She bit down on a piece of ice. “And honestly, Jules? I don’t think you like him any more than I do. Pretend it’s January, sweetie. Let it go.”
Julie knew she should defend her boyfriend, but nothing came to mind. How come nothing came to mind?
Because a waste of plasma is an apt description.
She used her fork to redistribute the chicken evenly over the surface of her salad. When had she decided that it was better to date someone she had no interest in than to be alone? It wasn’t just Greg, he was just the latest in a continuous stream of guys she didn’t even like. The kind of men who had always been attracted to her.
“You’re right,” said Julie.
Becky was halfway through a bite of her Philly steak sandwich and talked with her mouth full. “I am?”
“He’s an ass.”
Becky slammed the table with her open hand, getting the attention of several other diners. “That’s what I’m talking about!”
“He annoys the absolute crap out of me.”
“Amen, sister!”
“He talks about random, bizarre things. Invasive bamboo and the growth cycle of hair. I can tell you more about asphalt than you would ever want to know.”
“Let it all out.”
“When he touches me I want to pat his head and tell him to sit.”
Becky snorted. “Please tell me you haven’t slept with him.”
“Ugh,” Julie visibly shuddered. “His hands are wet. Not just damp, Becky. Wet. Always.”
“Feel better?”
Julie turned sad eyes to her best friend in the world. “I wanted to like him,” she said quietly.
“I know, sweetheart.”
“I wanted to love him.”
“Let’s not get carried away.”
Julie pulled out her cell phone and dialed before she could reconsider. “Greg, it’s Julie. I’m not going to make the trip this weekend. We need to talk. Call me when you get this.”
“I wonder where he was going to take you.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Oh, relax. You did the right thing.” Becky took another bite, a string of cheese running from her mouth to the bun. “I’m just saying, someplace warm might be nice at Christmastime. Maybe a few palm trees.”
~~~
Marianne Jared was standing in her large country kitchen making Christmas cookies en masse, holiday music playing in the background. With her daughter’s wedding just days away, she was calming her nerves and preparing to feed the hungry crowd that would be descending.
She had the gingerbread men stacked up on cooling racks, and had just started blending butter and sugar for the next round when the phone rang.
“Hello.”
“Hi, Ma.”
She felt her stomach clench at his tone, and walked away from the stand mixer, leaving it running. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not going to be able to make it to the wedding, for real.”
She brought her hand to her face and pinched the skin between her eyes, counting to five before trusting herself to speak. “Why not?”
“There’s a case here in Jacksonville. Barstow
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