The parade is on the TV in the background, and Gabby is equally mesmerized with the floats and the marshmallows in her cocoa.
I zone out, seasoning the bird and chopping vegetables, sipping lukewarm coffee, and tossing an eye toward Gabby every few minutes.
“Mom. Hello, Mom?”
“Hmm?”
“Your phone is beeping.”
“Oh.” I wash my hands and swipe a finger across the screen.
REID: Happy Thanksgiving, Andonia. (Sorry, I had to write that at least once.) I forgot to ask what you’re doing today. I’m solo and just fried a turkey—if you and Gabby are hungry.
When I don’t respond right away, he texts again, answering himself.
REID: No big deal. Figured you’re busy. Happy Thanksgiving.
My heart tilts, and I take a deep breath trying to set it straight. With Gabby jumping all over the kitchen, I don’t have long to debate what to say in response. My fingers tap at the phone of their own volition.
ANDI: Happy Thanksgiving to you! Gabby and I are cooking. Fried turkey sounds delish, though.
Immediately, three dots appear in a bubble, and he’s typing a reply.
REID: I can bring it over? You make the sides?
“Mommy, can I do the Jell-O by myself?” Gabby looks at me, her nose red with gross, full-of-chemicals Jell-O powder, after apparently pouring some of it into a mixing bowl.
“One sec, because I have to boil the water.”
ANDI: I make a mean mashed potatoes. But fair warning: don’t wear white. My kitchen is covered in red.
I’m not entirely sure if I should mention Leona’s planning to come over when my phone beeps.
REID: Red?
I type back quickly, mentally planning for Leona’s interrogation.
ANDI: Jell-O. Don’t ask.
And he doesn’t push it.
REID: K. What time?
I text him two o’clock, and he responds.
REID: It’s a date.
No, it’s not, but I don’t tell him that. Or maybe it is . . .
“Hellooo, toodles.” Leona opens the door without knocking.
“Hi, Leona, guess what?” I peek out from the kitchen and find the door wide open. Leona is stunning in a cranberry-colored pantsuit, gray and heavy skies behind her.
Gabby is attached to her waist and smiling. “Reid’s coming to eat turkey and bringing a fry thing.”
“Gabbs, shut the door. You’re letting the heat out.” I step out, smoothing my apron, waiting for Leona to pounce.
“Isn’t that nice, dear,” Leona says in a sinister-to-only-me tone.
“Mom and I saw him using it on the computer.”
“Oh, really? Is that so?”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Leona.” I gesture toward the couch. “Why don’t you sit down.”
“I can help you in the kitchen. Or maybe you’d rather wait for Reid to help? I understand the counters are a good height.”
A blush creeps up my cheeks, but she’s right, they are perfect.
“No, you take a seat, and I’ll be just fine all on my own.”
“You still can’t believe that you’re better on your own. No BOB is that good.”
“Who’s Bob?” Gabby dances between us, her skirt flouncing in the air.
“No one important.”
“You can say that again,” Leona says.
“Gabby, when you wear a skirt, you can’t jump like that. Your whole underwear shows. Sit and visit with Leona, and I’ll be back.”
“Are you going to change into a skirt?” Leona calls after me.
I don’t bother to answer. I’m not changing. Skinny jeans and a sweater are fine, right?
The doorbell rings, cutting my obsession to a minimum.
“Andi, door!” Leona waggles her fingers at me.
“Hi.” Reid sets me at ease as soon as the door opens, his hip holding the screen ajar, both of his hands full and a turkey fryer at his feet.
“Hi,” I reply.
“Happy Thanksgiving.”
“I do have food here.” I take in his bags full of I-don’t-know-what.
“The fried turkey is better freshly made, so I ran by the Whole Foods, and since they know me, I scored a fresh one. Brought the fryer, but I think I have to do it down on the sidewalk.”
He went to Whole Foods on a special trip for us? I can’t even explain how that makes me feel. Anxious, immobilized, sensational, honored. The way my feelings are ping-ponging in my head and heart is a tad much. I feel like the wind’s been knocked out of me.
“Reid!” Gabby twirls between us. “You’re letting out all of the heat.”
“Shit,” he mutters. “I mean, shoot.”
“Come in.” I wave him inside, perusing his dark jeans, flannel shirt, and Timberlands. “You know Leona.” I give her the side-eye, making it known to behave. “Let’s get your stuff in the kitchen. Gabby, guess what? Reid is going to fry a turkey here. You’ll probably like it better than the breast I have cooking.”
“I saw you do it earlier, on the laptop.” She prances around, flirting. “What happened to that one?”
“Yeah, right? What happened?” I hope it didn’t go to waste on our account, still marveling over his special trip to the store for us.
“I wanted to make a fresh one for you, Gabby. It’s better that way. I cut the other one into pieces and gave it to a buddy of mine. There’s a guy who spends a lot of time underneath the library parking lot. I figured he could use a hot meal. He can share it with his friends this evening.”
“What’s his name? Does he work at the library? What friends?”
“Not exactly. Uh, his name’s Ralph. He doesn’t work at the library. He and his friends came upon some bad luck, and don’t always get to have three meals a day.”
I pull Gabby into my hip. “Sounds to me like he doesn’t have a home right now, Gabby, like the woman we see outside the sub shop. Reid did a good deed by taking him a meal.”
My heart hammers with something it shouldn’t. Giving affection hasn’t come easy in the last decade unless it was for Gabby. Now my heart beats in sync with a guy, and my head says no way.
Leona saves me by jumping into the conversation. “Don’t set my porch on fire.”
“I swear, scout’s honor.” Reid lifts his hand in the air and peers around the kitchen. “How’s your food looking? No red dye?”
“Got that mess all cleaned up. I need about a half hour.”
“Well then, let’s go fry up a bird.”
“Ew.” Gabby wrinkles her nose.
“Come on, it’ll be fun.” Reid gives her head a noogie.
“Take a coat,” I call as the two of them head back outside with the bag presumably holding the turkey and supplies.
“What’s in there?” Leona points to the other bag, and I peek.
“Wine, a pie, and flowers.”
“Oh, Andi, time for you and your yoga pants to get back in the saddle. Or down dog, or whatever floats your boat. Good thing Gabbs likes to sleep at my place.”
I roll my eyes, but ask, “This look okay?” Suddenly, I feel burning hot in my sweater.
“It’s no date-night outfit, but it’ll do for now. How do I look?”
“Gorgeous, Leona.”
“Good, because I’m going to have some good dreams tonight.”
“Gross . . .”
Leona ignores me and goes back to the living area, and I see her looking out the window. I refuse to acknowledge her behavior, so I set about the finishing touches until I hear Gabby and Reid come back in.
“Get your hot turkey here!” they holler in unison.
That’s pretty much how the rest of the evening goes. Leona eyeing up Reid, Gabby assuming the role of faithful sidekick, and as for me, I’m fried.
“Thanks for tonight. I probably would’ve stuffed myself with food while watching football all alone if it weren’t for the invite,” Reid says at the end of the evening, leaning into the counter.
&
nbsp; Gabby is asleep on my bed after watching The Wizard of Oz. Leona is home, hopefully not dreaming of Reid. I’m in my kitchen, sitting on the counter, dishtowel thrown over my shoulder, a glass of wine next to my thigh—sexy, I know—with Reid.
“No family close by?” I ask, trying to eat up time with my words. I have no clue what the next move is—or what to do.
“None,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“What about work?”
“Everyone’s mostly got a family in tow. And then there’s my graduate student, Tim. He’s a real piece of geek. Oh boy, I needed a break from him.”
“Real piece of geek?”
“I teach statistics, Andi. Most of us are pretty big geeks. Hate to burst your bubble.”
Even though I try to keep it from happening, I feel my eyebrow rise.
“You disagree?” he asks, his eyebrow mirroring mine.
“You don’t look like a big piece of geek.” Desperate to hide my embarrassment, I grab my glass and gulp my wine.
“I don’t, do I now?” Reid hops down and comes closer.
“Not really. Except your glasses are geeky chic.”
“I like you, Andi.” He settles between my thighs, his lips whispering words along my cheekbone. “And your daughter. What I mean is . . . I know you’re a package deal. Right now, I like you a lot.”
“Is that a stats term, a lot?” I make light of the moment when Reid is obviously trying to be sincere.
“It is. It means I like you about ninety-nine point eight percent a lot.”
He’s careful not to use the word love but doesn’t allow me to ruin the moment, and I like this about him. Nothing ever comes of that type of bullshit.
He kisses me on the lips, a gentle, closed-mouth kiss. His hand slides up my back, takes the dish towel, and tosses it near the sink. The next round, he skims over my shirt, back down again, and then he makes his way underneath. The warmth of his palm feels electric against my skin.
“I like you too,” I mumble against his lips.
We stay like that for a while, kissing and exploring. My hands find a perch on his hips, but they itch to do more. Reason stops me.
“Gabby,” I whisper.
“Right, we should be more private,” he says, not needing me to explain.
I like this too. Maybe love it.
“Is that okay?” I ask. “I know it kind of puts a damper on us. But that’s my life, you know?”
He places a kiss on my forehead. “More than okay.”
“Thank you for coming and bringing half the meal.” I look deep into Reidville, and part of me wants to set up residence there. The rational part stays firmly in my duplex.
“I’m thankful you invited me. Now, I must mention, Leona cornered me when I came out of the bathroom—oh, I love the Hello Kitty shower curtain. Anyway, Leona made me promise to take her up on a night of babysitting. I think she sees me loofah-ing it up with Hello Kitty . . . or you.” The last part he says on a hush, meant for my ears only.
“Oh God. Leona. I can’t live without her. And I can’t live with her.” I jump down and put my glass in the sink.
“How’s this Saturday?”
“Really?”
“Really. I like Hello Kitty.”
I growl, but secretly, I love his joking. The way he infuses humor into my all-too-sarcastic and serious approach to life.
“Good night, Andi. Let me know.”
“Not this Saturday, but maybe the next. Night, Geeky Reid.”
“You’ll pay for that.” He winks and slips out into the night.
The UPS dude drops my Amazon packages at the door and hightails it to his next delivery, which is A-okay with me because my blog is waiting. I have Andrea to thank for the clarity, but my excitement is all Andi. She’s my muse.
Unpacking my latest apron, I smile to myself. Shit, I really am a geek.
Wearing a fitted white tee and my latest acquisition on top, I set up my camera and get to grilling.
I wonder if Andi will check out my blog today and see my GEEKS NEED TO EAT TOO apron. Does she even know what a blog is? Really is? Maybe she thinks the blog is even geekier than my day job?
I don’t know. Clearly, I’m manufacturing estrogen with all my emoting and wondering lately.
I’m making street tacos. After all, it’s Tuesday (after Thanksgiving), and Americans are sick of turkey and fixings. I say as much in the video portion of the post.
With my meat grilling, I set about mixing the toppings in the kitchen, snapping some pics, fearing I’m turning into Mrs. Doubtfire.
In need of some testosterone, I finish, quickly put up the post, and head to the gym.
I’m halfway secured in my manhood again when my phone pings with a text from Andi.
ANDI: I see you, Geeky Reid, in your apron.
She saw the post!
And I’m back to girly-obsessing Reid. For some reason, I’m fine with it. For years, I overcompensated with my manhood, feeling lesser-than as a stats geek. But with the blog booming and Andi’s attention, I’m at home with who I am.
Jesus, fuck. I need to get a grip.
I’m in the middle of sending a text when my phone rings. Hurrying up, I finish and swipe my phone.
“Hey—”
“Andonia, listen to me,” Delia says, her tone urgent.
“I am.”
“Because I’m crouched in the bathroom, on the toilet, whispering while the kids kill each other in the shower. Shampoo’s flying, and I’m going to have a royal mess on my hands.”
“I’m listening, Delia. Go on.”
Worrying more about her shower-entertaining tactics than what she’s about to say, I prop my foot on the chair across from me and glance at Gabby. She’s watching an episode of Hannah Montana on Netflix.
“James is back at it. With that blog. You have to do something. He’s going to make street tacos tomorrow, and I’m not going to be home. He says they’re for the kids, but I know someone’s coming over. Who the heck is he trying to impress? I have PTA . . . or else.”
I smile to myself. It’s a particularly good post, especially the apron. I can’t help but wonder if it’s for me. Desperate to see if Reid texted back, I want to put the phone on speakerphone but Gabby is in earshot.
“One sec,” I tell my sister.
“I don’t have time for this, Andi.”
I ignore her and look at my phone.
REID: Who you calling geek?
That’s what he texted back.
My smile is even bigger this time.
I think this is what they call modern-day flirting. Right?
“Okay, I’m back,” I tell Delia. “What’s wrong with him making dinner for the kids? They’ll probably like street tacos. They’re good. I bet even Gabbs would eat them.”
“He’s never made dinner for me. And street tacos? That’s a romantic dinner. Right?”
“Oh my God, Delia. You’re letting your imagination run wild. It’s tacos.”
Apparently, not only Americans were sick of turkey. My brother-in-law, James the Brit, was too. I just wish he would focus on a different blogger. Not mine.
“Cut it out,” she calls to her kids, and gets right back to me. “James doesn’t like tacos.”
“Maybe he does.”
“Maybe he doesn’t.”
“Listen, I have to tell you something. The craziest thing happened on Halloween. Gabby and her friend went trick-or-treating on a street we’d never been before, and you’ll never guess who answered the door . . . Reid, from said website.”
“What? Oh—shoot, one sec.” Water splashes in the background.
“Did you hear me? I said Reid. Anyway, we kind of kept running into each other. And, well, he made more out of it than it really is, but he forced the issue and we’ve hung out a few times. He thinks we’re dating; it’s probably a phase or something for him.”
“Hung out?” Her voice is slightly raised, and I don’t know if it’s because of the noise
in the background or if she’s pissed at me.
“A little. And he had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving, so he came here with Leona and me. And Gabby, of course.”
“And you’re just telling me this now? Sounds like more than a phase to me! After we chatted about the tacos like they were the end-all, be-all, and my husband’s philandering—”
“He’s not philandering, Delia.”
“Whatever. You’re just telling me now that you’re freaking dating the dude? What’s wrong with you?”
“I just wanted to put your mind to rest first.”
“Rest? This is making it worse. When James hears this, he’ll go crazy, and then how will we explain it all? Not to mention, he’s already obsessed with the guy.”
I sigh, knowing there won’t be any reasoning with my sister. Plus, I need to get back to my flirting . . . I mean, texting.
“I’ll call James tomorrow and fish around about the tacos and his motivation, okay?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Thanks, I have to go.”
“Let’s talk tomorrow, after you speak with James, and I also want to hear all about this Reid guy. ’Bye, babe.”
The good thing about being twins? I know exactly how to appease her.
I spend a moment or two crafting a response.
ANDI: If the apron fits . . .
REID: That’s how you’re going to play?
Is that what I want to do? Play? Honestly, I don’t know.Like a cat with its tail between its legs, I respond.
ANDI: JK. Those street tacos did look good, though.
REID: Want some? You relegated me to Saturday, but I could be bribed to bring some over. Or you could come here.
Oh, he’s still flirting. I’m in so far over my head, I don’t know what to do.
I glance over at Gabby. The credits are beginning to roll on her show. Her legs are tossed over the side of the couch, and her head’s pressed back into the cushion. I take a quick look down at myself in Lulu leggings, damp Nike running shirt, and wool socks I wore on my earlier run.
Hot For His Girl Page 8
