For Better Or Worse Payne, Jodi (10 best novels of all time TXT) 📖

And with as little as that, we were bonded. Andrew handed me the controller and showed me how to play. Huzzah for boobies.

Eventually Ellen came looking for Andrew to tell him that dinner was ready. She smiled at me and told me with a chuckle that of course I was invited, too. I think she was trying to make a joke, but it was hard to tell above the hollow sound her pea brain was making as it rattled around in her skull.

The food was amazing, and there was so much of it that I envisioned myself, with some dismay, eating nothing but turkey for the remainder of our visit. Gareth and I exchanged a few pleasant words, but Julie and her mother didn’t speak at all. In fact apart from the gift-giving, they hadn’t spoken all day.

A lot of things came up over dinner. People wanted to know how Julie and I met, they wanted to know what I did for a living, and they wanted to know… wait for it… whether or not we were planning a family. Julie chimed in quickly, probably to prevent me from answering.

“Well,” Julie began to explain slowly, but Kathleen interrupted her.

“Of course not,” she said dismissively, and I dreaded what was going to come out next.

“Children need a mother and a father, isn’t that right, Julie?”

“Do they?” I noticed that Julie’s sour lemon face looked just like her mother’s. It was scary. “It’s a wonder I survived, then.”

Andrew’s voice chimed in. “You’re going to have a baby Aunt Julie?”

The table went silent. Julie stared at Andrew. I stared at Julie. Kathleen stared at Gareth and finally, Gareth said, “Could someone please pass the mashed potatoes?” and that, thank God, ended the conversation.

Several courses later, Julie and I excused ourselves and went for a walk to rest our stomachs and take in some of the beautiful, crisp, clean, Vail air. It really was beautiful there, I can’t seem to say it enough. The most beautiful place I’d ever been. Too bad I don’t ski.

In lieu of skiing, we spent the remainder of our evening in bed and I let Julie give me the rest of my Christmas gift. She tied my wrists to the bed frame with her new toe socks.

6

Early the following morning, the McHugh house was quiet. The cousins and other extended family had all gone home the night before. Julie was still asleep, as were her parents as far as I could tell. Slowly, I made my way down the wide bending stairway and across the slated foyer.

The morning sun pierced through the windows aggressively, but somehow failed to warm the chilly, stone floor as sunshine should. I wiggled my toes in my new slippers, grateful for their protection from the cold slate. I made my way through the large dining room and into the kitchen in search of coffee.

The kitchen was magnificent. It was stainless steel and blues and greys with a ceramic tiled floor.

One end enjoyed an amazing view, though the windows weren’t as tall as at the other end of the house. I peered out at the mountains. Someone must have been awake because the small Bose radio was on.

“Carmen,” I said aloud, though to no one in particular, as the kitchen appeared empty.

A voice from the pantry replied, however, and I jumped a little. “Julie? Is that you, sweetie-pie?

I’m glad you came down, I wanted to talk to you.”

Shit. Kathleen. I was alone with the Mother-In-Law. “Um no, it’s—”

“Gail,” Kathleen stated coolly, cutting me off as she returned from the pantry. “You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep so I came down for some coffee.”

“Coffee doesn’t help you sleep.”

That was such a mother comment. “Well, no, Kathleen, I’d given up on sleeping.”

Kathleen tilted her head at me and asked, “You know Carmen?”

“I love opera.”

“I never would have guessed.”

I shook my head. “I’m thinking there’s a lot about me you would never guess.”

“I don’t know many bartenders who enjoy the opera.” She chuckled slightly and poured herself a cup of coffee, too.

“And how many bartenders _do _ you know, Kathleen?”

She looked at me. “Oh, all right, Gail, very few.”

I looked at her.

“Fine. None. Well, you, that’s one,” she said with an exasperated tone. Her lips went flat. “But you know what I mean.”

“Yes, Kathleen, I know what you mean.” Bartenders are uneducated idiots. I heard her loud and clear. The air went still and quiet and the tension could have fried the eggs she’d left sitting on the counter. Finally I joined in with the radio, singing softly just to break the silence. “L’amour est enfant de bohéme, il n’a jamias connu de loi.”

“That’s French,” Kathleen informed me.

“Love is a gypsy child, he has never heard of law.” I translated, just to make a point, before I realized with no small irony how relevant that phrase was. It wasn’t lost on Kathleen, either.

“Indeed,” she said, looking at me from the other side of the counter with an unreadable expression. I sipped my coffee and tried to pretend that I had made that point on purpose. “Do you love Julie, Gail?” Kathleen asked suddenly, as if she’d been looking for that opening since we’d arrived and had finally found it.

On its face, it was a fair enough question for a mother to ask of her daughter’s lover, so I decided to treat it as if it had been asked fairly. I set my mug down on the counter and looked at

Kathleen. “Yes,” I said simply. Kathleen’s eyes seemed to be searching mine for something and I started to wonder in the moment of silence that followed if I’d missed something about her. “Julie is the reason I get out of bed in the morning, Kathleen,” I went on, in case she had any lingering doubts. “She’s my best friend, my crutch, my reality check. She’s my sunshine.”

Kathleen studied me a moment longer and I noticed for the first time that her eyes were hazel like Julie’s,