Wet

by Ruth Clampett

  “Hi, I’m Paul.” I reach out to shake her hand and notice she has that henna stuff painted from the top of her hand all the way up to her elbow.

  “Hi, Paul.”

  She doesn’t seem to have any make-up on and her wavy hair falls almost to her waist. What do you bet that she doesn’t shave her armpits? That’s just not okay in my book, but unless she starts wearing tank tops when she’s around us, it’s not my problem.

  Trisha clears her throat. “I’m the sister, Trisha.”

  As they shake hands, Skye nods. “Yes, I’ve heard all about you.”

  Heard about Trisha? Been warned about Trisha is probably more like it.

  Trisha gives Patrick a dubious look.

  Skye addresses Trisha again. “Hey, your husband’s a floral designer, right? That’s so awesome. I work in a flower shop in Silver Lake.”

  Trisha seems pleased that someone finally refers to Mikey with some regard. “Yes, his shop is in Burbank. He does a lot of work for the studios.”

  “Cool,” Skye replies before leaning into Patrick. He wraps his arm around her waist.

  “Let’s go meet Ma and Dad,” he says to her. She nods and gives us a little wave.

  “So this is the first time you guys are meeting her? I ask Trisha, wondering how Ma knew she was a hippy.

  “Yeah, a couple of weeks ago he showed us her Website that tells about her yearlong trip hitchhiking around Europe.”

  “Well that explains why Ma is spooked by the idea of her. So how in the world did those two meet?”

  “He was asking questions on some travel blog that she answered. They start having longer conversations and realized they live in the same area. Next thing we know he’s a vegan and won’t wear leather shoes or belts.”

  “Vegan? Ma must love that. And how does he keep his pants up?”

  “He’s wearing some kind of rope belt. I mean, what the hell is happening to him?”

  The high point of dinner is when Dad gets his portion of the casserole Ma baked for our meal. He has a repertoire of about twelve dishes that he prefers for dinner and he immediately discerns that this isn’t one of them. He pokes the goopy pile with his fork. “What the hell is this?”

  Ma narrows her eyes and purses her lips. “It’s vegetable casserole.”

  Dad keeps pushing the lumps around. “Where’s the beef?”

  “There isn’t any.”

  “We aren’t poor, woman! This isn’t the potato famine. I need my meat.”

  Patrick squares his shoulders. “Dad, Ma knows that you like your meat. But she made this especially for me and Skye. We’re vegans.”

  “What’s a vegan?” Dad asks.

  “We don’t eat any form of animal products,” Skye explains.

  His brows knit together. “No meat? You eat milk and cheese though, right?”

  Patrick shakes his head. “Nope. Milk and cheese are animal products, Dad. ”

  Dad turns to Trisha, and whispers. Since I’m next to them I can hear their conversation. “Is this a cult? Do we need to be worried?”

  “No. It’s not a cult, although it may as well be.”

  “There are several vegans at my work,” I say trying to lighten the mood.

  Trisha nods and turns to Patrick. “Between vegans and gluten-free people, you guys are trying to take over our food chain. It may just be an L.A. thing but half of the selections in my favorite bakery are now vegan or gluten free. What the hell?”

  Patrick jumps in. “It’s healthy. And Dad, you’re trying to cut down on your cholesterol. Eating vegan is a great way to go.”

  “I don’t think so,” he replies as he pushes his plate away.

  Trisha rolls her eyes, Ma growls, and I try a bit of the grub. I may not like it but I’m relieved that I don’t gag.

  Skye looks nonplussed.

  I turn toward her. “Sorry, we’re not trying to be rude, but we’re kind of traditional with our food.”

  She smiles. “That’s okay. I’m used to it. My parents don’t like it either, and Patrick warned me that you guys aren’t vegan.” She turns to Ma. “But I think it’s very sweet that you went to all this trouble for us.”

  Ma smiles. Points for Skye . . . obviously she’s clever. I’m sure you can’t survive hitchhiking around Europe without street smarts and people skills.

  “I reserved my tux,” I tell Elle the next day on our phone call.

  “You got black right?” she asks.

  “No, it’s white with an Elvis cape and rhinestones. What do you think? Of course it’s black.”

  She laughs. “Thanks for doing that. I bet you cut a fine figure in a tux.”

  “Yeah, I look all right. The saleslady that helped me was very enthusiastic. She took her time measuring my inseam.”

  “I bet she did. I would’ve too if I were her.”

  I imagine Elle on her knees measuring between my legs and I get flustered. My grip on my phone tightens as I try to focus on something else.

  “So what are you wearing? I never asked if you were a bridesmaid.”

  “No, I’m not because of the awkward situation with my ex being best man. She’s having her sister stand up for her.”

  “That’s good. So that means you get to wear whatever you want. Wear something sexy.”

  “Is that a command or a request?”

  “A little of both,” I admit.

  “Hey, I’ve got bad news. I may not be coming home Sunday. Mom’s having a reaction to the medication and I’m taking her to the doctor this afternoon. Depending on what he says, I may have to extend my trip. Thank God she has Internet, at least I’ve been able to keep up with all of my work while taking care of her.”

  “No!” I say with more force than intended.

  “What? Is something wrong?” she asks.

  “It’s just that I miss you.”

  “Really? I miss you too.”

  “And I’ve been working on our fairytale.”

  “Ooo. Are they still in the shower?”

  “No, they’ve moved into the bedroom.”

  She sighs. “I can’t wait to hear it.”

  “Well, hurry home.”

  “I promise I’ll do my best.”

  “Oh before I forget, Patrick and his new girlfriend have invited us to a concert.”

  Her voice goes up an octave. “His girlfriend? When did this happen?”

  “I’m not sure but he’s all in, and it appears that she is, too.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Skye.”

  “Really? Like clouds in the sky, Skye?”

  “Yup, and as Ma pointed out to me privately before they showed up, she’s a hippy. I didn’t really need the explanation. It was evident the second I saw her.”

  “Ha! Well that explains the name. I’m looking forward to meeting her. Where are we all going?”

  “Some kind of tribal drum performance. She’s turned him into a vegan and everything. The sex must be phenomenal to be willing to stop eating meat for this girl.”

  “You know, I’ve got to say, I always suspected your brother had it in him to be wild. He just needed to find the right person to bring it out of him. Sounds like she’s it.”

  The next day the tone of our conversation is completely different.

  “You okay?” I ask when she answers my call with a subdued voice.

  “It’s a hard day,” she says.

  “Your mom?”

  “She’s wearing me out, but it’s not that. I was putting in upcoming event dates on my calendar this morning and saw something upsetting. I still haven’t stopped crying.”

  My mind races to wonder what could upset her so much. I didn’t miss her birthday, did I? “What was on your calendar?”

  “I saw the doctor’s appointment where we would have heard the baby’s heartbeat. I forgot to take it off my calendar after, well, you know . . .”

  The pain in her voice takes my breath away—it’s a kick in the gut.

  “Oh, Elle.”<
br />
  “I wasn’t fully awake when I looked and for a moment I was confused, like I was still pregnant. Why didn’t I erase that appointment? I’m hurting so bad right now.”

  I can picture the tears running down her face as she cries and it twists me up. It pisses me off that she’s so far away when she needs me.

  “Maybe you weren’t meant to erase it. Maybe it’s part of the grieving process. Life can kind of suck that way. Like Ma cries every Mother’s Day that she lost her mom.”

  “Oh no, I didn’t even think about Mother’s Day. How will I get through that?”

  “I don’t know. All I can promise is that I’ll be there with you.”

  Almost a week passes before I’m finally winding through the Westside neighborhoods trying to get to LAX at rush hour so that I can pick up Elle on her return home. I’ve got it for this girl bad because I sure as hell wouldn’t go to LAX this time of day for anyone but her.

  It was hot today and the heat still shimmers off the asphalt. I’ve got my windows all open, so depending how you embrace the sounds of L.A., at every stoplight I’m either serenaded or assaulted with mariachi or rap music from nearby cars. My favorite is when the base is so loud that my car literally throbs with each beat. I bob my head mindlessly.

  I’m on the final stretch of La Tijera Boulevard when my phone chimes.

  “Where are you?” she asks with a wicked teasing tone. I’m surprised how much just knowing she’s close gets to me.

  “Exactly where I should be. Where are you?” I reply.

  “I’m about to hitchhike up Century Boulevard. We got in thirty minutes early.”

  “How did that happen? Isn’t the flight like thirty minutes?”

  “Yeah, something like that. By the time I got my Bloody Mary and pretzels there was a flight attendant, right behind the one who served me, asking for my empty glass.”

  “That’s messed up.”

  “I know, right? I’ve got to warn you, I drank it really fast and now I’m loopy. So don’t hold anything I say in this conversation against me.”

  “Okay.”

  There’s a long pause.

  “Did you miss me?” I ask.

  She groans. “Sooo much.”

  “What do you miss the most?”

  “Well, in a perfect world I’d say your anaconda. But you don’t let me play with it, so I’ll say your story telling.”

  “And I’ve got more stories to tell, but right now I’m heading up Century and I don’t see you hitchhiking.”

  “Okay, I was joking. I’m standing in front of the United terminal and fending off an army of suspicious indie drivers with tinted windows. You better get here quick before one of them sweeps me off my feet.”

  “I’m pulling into the airport from hell right now. I may never forgive you for this rush hour crap and not flying into Burbank.”

  “Well I come bearing gifts so don’t write me off yet.”

  She’s not hard to spot, being a gorgeous woman in a sea of forgettable people. She’s also the sexiest woman I’ve seen since she left town. As a result my inner sexy radar, which is still finely tuned from my hook-up days, spots her a terminal away. She’s barricaded herself behind a sea of baggage. What is it with women and their poor packing skills?

  When I pull up to the curb she drops her folded arms and pulls her sunglasses lower to peek over the top. She gives me a big grin.

  “Well, it’s about time.”

  I grin back. “Don’t you start . . .”

  I get out of the car, and before I can even get to her she propels herself off the curb and into my arms. I grab onto her tight, completely overwhelmed to be holding her again.

  “Welcome home,” I say with my lips pressed against her neck and just loud enough to be heard over the airport din.

  She settles into my embrace. “Glad to be back.”

  We load up the bags and we haven’t even gotten out of the airport when she rolls up her window, gestures for me to do the same, and then turns on the air.

  I arch my brow at her. Bossy woman. “You want to drive, too?”

  She slides down in her seat and kicks her shoes off. “Nope.”

  “Was your mom sad to see you leave?”

  “Hardly. There’s no apartment big enough to house our two personalities. I’m sure she’ll miss me taking care of everything for her, but she definitely won’t miss my sass.”

  “I don’t know. I missed your sass. By the way, my family misses you too. Ma asked if you’d come for dinner Thursday.”

  She smiles and looks out the window. “Sure. I have a new dessert recipe I want to try.”

  “And Sunday I thought maybe we could go to Descanso Gardens.”

  She makes a face. “From Friday on, my life is not my own. Stella’s wedding stuff goes full force then.”

  “But I thought the wedding was a week from Saturday?”

  “It is, but women don’t just show up at a wedding, and although I’m technically not part of the wedding party, I’m still her best friend. There are many rituals we must act out leading up to it.”

  “Like what?”

  “There’s the spa day, then make-up and hair trial runs, the special wedding shower for the out-of-town relatives that missed the official shower . . . shall I go on?”

  I shake my head. “Did you do all that crap when you got married?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Yeah. I didn’t want to but Bridezilla Stella made me. And since I’ve been a total bestie-fail with her wedding, I really need to step up this week.”

  “Damn. I’m so glad I’m a dude.”

  “I’m glad for that too.” She nods and winks.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE CHALLENGE

  “What’s in the big bowl?” I ask Thursday evening when I pick up Elle before driving us to my parent’s place. She’s holding it in her lap like it’s something precious.

  “You’ll see. It’s a surprise.”

  “You’re such a tease,” I say.

  “And this is news to you?”

  When we step into the kitchen Ma approaches us with a big grin.

  “Ah, we’ve missed you, lass. I’m so glad you came tonight.”

  “Me too,” Elle replies as they hug.

  “Did you hear that our Patrick met a girl and he’s a hippy now?”

  “I did indeed.”

  “They’re up in his room meditating,” Ma tells us with a roll of her eyes.

  “Meditating?” I snicker. “Sure they are. You keep telling yourself that, Ma.”

  “Believe me, I’d rather he was shagging her. Whenever they meditate they burn that God-awful incense stuff that stinks up the entire upstairs. As a matter of fact, Paulie, can you go up and get them? Dinner is almost ready.”

  Before heading upstairs I hold up the bowl full of Elle’s mystery dessert. I’m tempted to rip a hole in the foil cover to see what it is. “Where does this go?”

  “Let’s put it in the refrigerator until it’s ready to be served,” she says.

  Ma’s eyes grow wide. “What did you make this time, lass?”

  “Irish cream and berry trifle—and I put extra strawberries in it just for you, Millie.”

  Ma’s hands fly up to her cheeks as she lets out a joyful cry. “You did not!”

  “I did so,” Elle says with a grin.

  Ma wraps her arm around Elle’s waist and squeezes her before looking up at me. “Paulie, I love this girl!”

  A warm feeling shoots through me as my heart silently agrees, I do too, Ma. I do too.

  Based on the ‘What, no meat!’ drama with Dad from our last dinner, Skye brought stuffed potatoes for her and Patrick, along with extras in case we aren’t too freaked out by the tofu gravy. All of us but Elle politely pass on the travesty that looks like a potato that ate its vegetable neighbors and then threw up on itself. I may want Skye to feel welcome, but even I have my culinary limits.

  Ma serves beef stew, knowing that it’s a favorite of Elle’s. Ma is
n’t too subtle as to which of the two girls she prefers.

  “So Paulie says that between your job being busy and taking care of your mom that you’ve been working hard, Elle,” Dad says before taking a roll from the basket and passing it on.

  I watch her pretty smile fade to a serious look. “Yes, it’s helped to be busy.”

  “Of course,” Ma replies.

  “I think it’s important not to be busy,” hippy girl chimes in. “We have a tendency to fill every working hour with business to prevent really feeling all the deep thoughts that fill our soul.”

  Patrick nods like the zombie hippy he’s become.

  Trisha turns to Patrick. “What in the hell is she talking about?”

  Skye leans forward. “Feeling, Trisha. Feeling everything and living every day like it may be your last.”

  Trisha turns to Patrick. “Are you guys high?”

  Patrick turns pale as an unbalanced spreadsheet. “Don’t be rude, Trisha! Of course we aren’t high.”

  “Not now at least,” Skye says with an expression so neutral I can’t fully tell how much she’s fucking with us. She turns to Elle. “Don’t fill your days with work, Elle. It sucks the life from your soul. Ask yourself why you are so unhappy that you have to fill your emptiness in such a way.”

  The entire room goes silent.

  Elle’s devastated look should say everything to hippy girl, if she’d just pay fucking attention.

  Patrick leans over and whispers something in Skye’s ear. I watch her cheeks redden as she looks down and folds her hands in her lap. She closes her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opens them she looks over at Elle.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says softly.

  “It’s okay. You didn’t know,” Elle replies.

  Dad makes a feeble attempt to pass the rolls again. I can’t help it . . . I’m mad enough that I wish Skye would take one and then choke on it. I’m not as forgiving as Elle is.

  Elle stands up. “Dessert, anyone?”

  We all chime in and I rise to help Elle gather stuff.

  She slides the trifle bowl out of the fridge as I watch. I then step up to her, take the bowl out of her hands, and set it on the counter before pulling her into my arms. I kiss the top of her head and hug her tightly, swaying slightly side to side.