Puck Aholic: A Bad Motherpuckers Novel

by Lili Valente

  “It’s not a story,” Mandy says, gaze unwavering. “It’s what happened to my dad. I watched him become someone I didn’t know anymore. Someone I didn’t want to know, because his hopelessness destroyed everyone and everything he touched.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say, my frown deepening. I don’t remember much about Mandy’s dad—he was an every-other-weekend parent by the time we were in middle school and had all but disappeared by the time we graduated—but I’ve heard the horror stories.

  “Don’t be sorry,” she says. “Be better. Be tough. Jump into the deep end and swim like hell, and know that you have people who love you waiting to jump in and fish you out if the water gets too wild.”

  “How would pool water get wild?” I push away my third margarita, sensing that more hard liquor in my current fragile state would be a bad idea.

  “Hurricane,” Mandy offers. “Tornado. Earthquake. It doesn’t matter. You know what I mean, and that’s what I want you to think about tonight while we’re walking like an Egyptian and living on a prayer.”

  I sit up straighter with an excited squee, clapping my hands together. “Really? We’re going dancing? You’re going to dance with me for once in your shy-about-dancing-in-public life?”

  “Can’t ask you to go out on a limb without being willing to crawl out there myself, can I?” She winks over the rim of her margarita glass. “Just let me finish getting drunk enough not to care what a bad dancer I am, then we’ll go shake our groove thing.”

  “You’re an incredible dancer.” I wrap my arms around her, leaning my lightly spinning head on her shoulder. “And I love you so much.”

  “I love you, too, lightweight,” she says with a laugh.

  “Am not,” I say, wrinkling my nose. But by the time we get into the club, I’m feeling no pain. After another beer and an hour of dancing, the entire room is spinning. I dimly recall trying to fall asleep on a bench near the DJ booth and Amanda asking me if I mind if she stays out later—to spend time with some dude she met—and me agreeing that this was an excellent plan.

  There are flashes of Amanda settling me in a cab and threatening the cabbie with dismemberment if I don’t get home safely.

  Not long after, I stumble up the stairs to my brother’s house, where he and Laura laugh at me for being tipsy before ten o’clock on a Thursday and promise to get Amanda settled in the other guest room when she gets home.

  And then I’m falling into bed with sloppily brushed teeth, while angels and demons swoop in circles around my head, waiting to see which way the battle is going to turn.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  From the texts of Amanda Esposito

  and Diana Daniels

  *

  Diana: Amanda? Where are you?

  Please tell me you’re downstairs having breakfast with my brother and Laura, even though your car isn’t in the driveway…

  *

  Five minutes later…

  *

  Diana: Amanda, please text me. I’m worried, but incapable of going to look for you because I have the worst hangover headache in the entire world.

  This is why pot is so much better than booze.

  Pot never makes me feel like my brain is being sliced and diced by a rusty blender installed at the base of my skull.

  Also, my neck is probably broken.

  Or at least it feels broken.

  What did we do last night that could have resulted in a broken neck? I confess, it’s all fuzzy after we decided 80s night was a good idea.

  Please text me. ASAP.

  *

  Ten minutes later…

  *

  Diana: Dude, where are you? I dragged my pitiful, poisoned body downstairs to the kitchen, but you weren’t there.

  Nor are you anywhere else in the house, and no one saw your car pull out this morning, which I assume means you never came home. Did you go home with that hot guy you were staying to flirt with at the club?!

  Was it fun?

  Are you still asleep because you had so much fun?

  I hope you are just asleep somewhere, snoozing off the fun…

  *

  Six minutes later…

  *

  Diana: OMG WHERE ARE YOU? Text me!

  If you decided your trip to Portland wouldn’t be complete without a one-night stand with a sexy stranger, you know I’m not going to judge. I just need to be sure Stranger hasn’t chopped you into little pieces and buried you in his backyard.

  Please call me.

  Or text if you can’t call.

  I need to know you’re okay.

  *

  Three minutes later…

  *

  Diana: If I don’t hear from you by ten a.m., I’m calling the police.

  I would rather freak out and realize later that there was no need to lose my shit than wait too long and regret it for the rest of my life.

  If you end up getting hurt because you drove up here to cheer me up, I’m never going to forgive myself, Amanda.

  I’m so sorry.

  I never should have left you there alone.

  I should have insisted you get in the cab with me, no matter how much the world was spinning.

  *

  Amanda: Shh, quiet…

  Everything’s okay.

  Just hush for a second, all right?

  *

  Diana: You’re okay! Thank God!

  What do you mean hush for a second?

  *

  Amanda: Too much dinging…

  I’m trying to sneak out of this house without getting caught, but you’re making so much noise with the dinging. And more dinging. Ding, ding, ding.

  *

  Diana: Dude. Turn your phone to silent.

  Voila, no more dinging.

  *

  Amanda: Shit. Yeah.

  Okay. It’s off.

  *

  Diana: Are you still drunk?

  *

  Amanda: No! Ugh, I don’t know. I don’t think so.

  I think I’m just exhausted. I only slept an hour, maybe two at most.

  *

  Diana: Because you were up all night banging your sexy stranger?

  *

  Amanda: God… I’m so mortified…

  *

  Diana: Don’t be! There’s nothing wrong with two consenting adults having a good time. I assume he showed you a good time and wasn’t a selfish jerk who wouldn’t go down on you.

  *

  Amanda: You know I don’t like to talk gritty details.

  *

  Diana: But you will, as soon as you get back here and I can ply you with caffeine and sugar until you crack under my enhanced interrogation techniques.

  *

  Amanda: I won’t crack. Not this time.

  *

  Diana: That’s what they all say…

  warms up chocolate croissants

  makes French press coffee that smells so good it will give your nose an orgasm to rival all the orgasms Sexy Stranger gave you last night

  *

  Amanda: I can only remember about half the night, Diana.

  And even that is kind of fuzzy. I was way more wasted than I thought. If I didn’t know better, I would swear someone had put something in my drink.

  *

  Diana: I think those margaritas were just really, REALLY strong.

  I haven’t been this hungover since I was in college, and I only had two of them and one beer. I’m sorry you can’t remember if you had fun or not.

  sad face emoji

  And I’m sorry I abandoned you when you were in need of a keeper. I feel terrible.

  *

  Amanda: It’s not your fault. You were worse off than I was, and I’m the one who forced you into a cab and ran back into the club.

  And I don’t regret Sexy Stranger…

  What I can recall of my time with him was…most enjoyable.

  *

  Diana: So he went down on you?

  *

  Amanda: For hou
rs.

  Like an Olympic champion of cunnilingus.

  *

  Diana: Hell yeah, Sexy Stranger!

  *

  Amanda: I think he may actually be an Olympic athlete. I have vague memories of discussing something sports-related, and he has a hint of a Russian accent that’s sexy as math.

  *

  Diana: Not my first choice of sexy things, but whatever floats your boat, girl.

  *

  Amanda: He floated it. No doubt about that.

  Even with a hangover, I feel better this morning than I have in a long time.

  Just relaxed and happy and hopeful about a future with no Wonderdick in it.

  *

  Diana: Awesome! I’m so happy for you!

  And I knew I would get the sex scoop sooner or later…

  devil emoji

  *

  Amanda: Fine. You’re right. I always crack under pressure.

  But I still want coffee and pastries when I get there.

  *

  Diana: Are you going to see him again?

  Give him a chance to rock your world while you’re sober?

  *

  Amanda: Of course not! Are you crazy?

  I’m sneaking out while he’s still passed out cold, as the good Lord intended.

  *

  Diana: I know I’m a godless heathen, but I feel like I would know if “Thou shalt slink away in quiet shame post one-night stand” were actual scripture.

  *

  Amanda: It might as well be. There’s no way this guy and I are going to have anything in common in real life. He’s crazy athletic, dangerously gorgeous, and his house is big enough to fit ten of my apartment inside it and still have room left over. Not to mention that his driveway is so long I’m starting to have flashbacks to that time you made me hike for miles and miles into the woods with no food or water.

  *

  Diana: It was a mile-long trail, mostly flat.

  A baby trail that never hurt anyone in its life.

  *

  Amanda: It hurt me. It made me very thirsty.

  Oh, there’s my car! Thank God. He said he was going to have someone pick it up and bring it here, but I wasn’t sure if that promise ever became a legit plan.

  *

  Diana: So he’s gorgeous, athletic, wealthy, thoughtful, and a person who keeps promises, even after having had a few too many, but you’re still running out of there as fast as your hungover legs can carry you? Please tell me you at least got his number so you can call him when you come to your senses.

  *

  Amanda: No. I don’t have his, he doesn’t have mine, and that’s the way I like it.

  I enjoyed the fireworks, but now it’s morning and I have a friend to finish cheering up. Be there in fifteen, okay?

  *

  Diana: Okay. But at least write down his address? Pretty please?

  You never know when you might change your mind…

  *

  Amanda: Does this mean you’ve changed yours?

  *

  Diana: My head hurts too much to make serious decisions right now.

  But I’ve been thinking a lot about our talk.

  And thinking you might have made some solid points…

  *

  Amanda: OMG, he has a Russian nesting doll for a mailbox.

  *

  Diana: Really? That’s pretty adorable…

  *

  Amanda: It really is.

  *

  Diana: Are you writing down his address?

  *

  Amanda: No, I’m driving. Goodbye.

  *

  Diana: *crying face loudly crying face cat crying face*

  *

  Amanda: Your drama won’t work here, woman.

  I’ve made my call. Now it’s time to make yours.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Diana

  I manage to get down the stairs to the kitchen without crawling this time, so I figure it’s safe to consume liquids and grab a kombucha from the fridge then head out to the front porch. There my niece, Chloe, is playing with her pet hedgehog, Mr. Prickly Pants, in the shade while Brendan and Laura poke around in their raised vegetable beds on the far side of the front yard.

  “Hey, Squirt,” Chloe says, grinning up at me.

  “No,” I say for the thousandth time. “You do not get to call me Squirt. At least not until you’re taller than me, like everyone else.”

  “I’m already halfway there. Won’t be long now.” Chloe giggles as Mr. Prickly Pants noses the toilet paper roll she’s placed in front of him, sending it lolling across the porch. “Isn’t Prickly Pants the cutest?”

  “He is. I want to eat his face he’s so cute.” I take a sip of my drink and sag into the wicker loveseat. “Your dad giving you a break from being the designated weed puller today?”

  “Yeah,” Chloe says, tailing her pet on her hands and knees. “He and Mom are having romantic morning time, so I get to hang out with Prickly instead.”

  My eyes widen, but I’m careful to keep my tone casual as I ask, “So you’re calling Laura ‘Mom’ now?”

  “Yeah.” Chloe’s private grin is so sweet and happy it breaks my heart a little. “She said I could.”

  “That’s great, kiddo,” I say, throat tight. “Laura really loves you.”

  “I know,” she says matter of factly, making me think, not for the first time, that it must be nice to be Chloe.

  Even when I was a kid, I can’t remember trusting that I deserved good things the way she does. I was fearless with adventures of the body, but voyages of the heart were more carefully considered. I’ve always sort of assumed people weren’t interested in liking me until they proved otherwise, rather than vice versa.

  “Wonder why,” I murmur, kneading the sore, broken-feeling place in my neck with my thumb, beginning to recall some poorly executed head-banging to “Back in Black.”

  “Wonder why what?” Chloe catches the toilet paper before it tumbles off the edge of the porch and redirects her hedgehog on a return roll.

  “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

  “I wasn’t sure at first,” Chloe says, making my muddled brain work to follow the conversation. “But I talked to Dad, and he said my real mom wouldn’t mind. He said she loved me so much that anything that made me happy would make her happy. And calling Laura Mom makes me happy. So I decided to do it without waiting until after the wedding. Why wait for something you want, when you can have it right now?” Chloe reaches for a box of dominos by my feet, pinning me with those luminous, wiser-than-her-years green eyes. “Because you never know how long you’re going to get, Aunt Dee. There’s no time to waste. Especially for the good stuff.”

  I nod as the hairs lift on my arms and that “someone walked over my grave” sensation flutters through my bones. It’s crazy, but it feels like the universe dropped a truth bomb on me, right out of the mouth of this eight-year-old girl. This kid who has somehow managed to stay fearless even after losing her mother when she was practically a baby.

  “You’re one of the bravest people I know, Chloe,” I say softly.

  She shoots me a “what have you been smoking” look that makes me laugh.

  “Seriously,” I insist. “You’re brave and smart, and I want to be like you when I grow up.”

  “Thanks, I guess,” she says with a shrug. “But I’m super afraid of seagulls. Just thinking about them makes me get sweaty all over and feel like I’m going to be sick.” She studies me with a critical look. “And I’m pretty sure you’re already grown up.”

  I pat her red curls fondly. “I’m glad you’re only pretty sure.”

  “Well, you’re short. And you’re sillier than most grownups I know.”

  “True.” I nod. “This is solid evidence. Maybe you’ll be a lawyer when you grow up. Or a scientist. Or a therapist.”

  “I’m not sure I would be good at any of those things.”

  “You would be,” I assure her. “Trust me.”
>
  She grins. “Okay. But I think I’m going to be a hedgehog breeder and an artist and a professional bike rider.”

  “That sounds lovely.” I lean down, pressing an impulsive kiss to her cheek. “Thank you for the chat. Can you tell Amanda I’m upstairs when she gets here? I have something important I need to start working on right away.”

  “Sure. What is it? Can I help?”

  I start to say no, but then experience a lightning storm of creative inspiration and point an enthusiastic finger at Chloe’s chest. “Actually you can. You and Mr. Prickly Pants both. Meet me in your room by the costume trunk in ten minutes.”

  Chloe claps her hands. “Are we going to play dress-up?”

  “We are,” I say, chest fizzing with a potent mixture of hope and daring. “And make some art, too. And maybe a little magic while we’re at it.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Tanner

  The world can be a hard, ugly place filled with bitter, selfish people.

  But every once in a while, you get a reminder of how incredible life can be when someone is willing to go above and beyond the call of duty for a friend.

  Or an ex-boyfriend, in this case…

  I sent off my emails last night, assuming most of my old flames wouldn’t bother to write back, and those who did wouldn’t be in any hurry about it. Why should they when they have lives, spouses, careers, and/or kids making demands far higher on their priority list than a blast from the past?

  But to my surprise, I wake up Friday morning with five responses waiting in my inbox. A sixth pops up while I’m printing out the first batch, and by ten a.m. I’m in possession of seven letters of reference.

  Seven of the women I dated still like me enough to encourage the woman I’m falling in love now with to give me a chance at her heart.

  I’ve always tried to be a good boyfriend, a decent ex, and a forgiving person when someone I care about lets me down, and this feels like a sign that I’m on the right path. I’m living a life I can be proud of, and I’ve got hard evidence that I am who I say I am, someone whose strengths and weaknesses are laid out in plain sight, with no hidden agenda or evil master plan.

  I’m not like the losers Diana has dated, and I’m going to prove it to her.

  Today. Immediately, in fact.

  As soon as I can find a way to convince her to talk to me…

  I’m considering my options, wondering if sending flowers accompanied by an envelope containing my reference letters will be enough to convince Diana to read them, when Wanda squeals loudly from the patch of shade near the back gate. I sit up in the hammock and glance over my shoulder to see her trotting quickly around the side of the house, tail wiggling and a pink envelope in her mouth, which she carries past me to the pool and promptly drops into the sparkling blue water.