“Here. I’ll cook. You show up and look pretty.”
“I think I can handle that,” she says. “What time?”
“Seven. And be on time for once. I have a surprise for you.”
“It’s not your penis again, is it?”
I laugh. “No. But he will be there, too. I can’t exactly leave him home alone, you know?”
“Oh, I know.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow at seven?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll be there.”
“Great,” I say, smiling. “So, what are you wearing?”
Melanie scoffs. “Goodnight, Rob.”
“Goodnight, Mel.”
She hangs up.
Fuck yeah.
Twenty-Eight
Melanie
I chuckle into my phone as I trudge up the stairs of Robbie’s building. I’d meant for this call to end long before I even got here, but once Francie Rose gets going, it’s hard to make her stop.
“Sounds like you and Dad are having a wonderful time,” I say.
“And we haven’t even made port yet!” she says, laughing. “Can you hear me? Make port. I’m like a sailor!”
I reach Robbie’s floor. I exhale, happy not to have to climb any more stairs. “Okay, well, I will let you go, then. Go have more fun — but not too much!”
“Is something wrong, honey?” she asks, not taking the hint. “You sound winded.”
“Just climbed some stairs, that’s all.”
“Doesn’t your condo have an elevator?”
“Right, yeah, but…” A door down the hall swings open and Val steps out. “I’ve been making an effort to get more exercise lately.”
Val sees me and waves. I wave back, expecting to pass her by, but we both step toward Robbie’s door.
“Oh, honey, you don’t need exercise,” my mother chirps in my ear. “You’re far too thin as it is.”
Val and I stop next to each other. I squint as she smiles and knocks twice on Robbie’s door.
“Mom, I need to go now,” I say. “Lots of words to write.”
“Take care, dear! Love you.”
“Love you. Bye.” I hang up and Val chuckles.
“Clingy parents?” she asks.
“A little, yeah,” I answer.
She winks. “I know the feeling.”
Robbie’s door opens. He instantly makes eye contact with me and smiles. “Hey, Melanie,” he says, purposefully giving me his attention over the barely legal teenager standing beside me.
I open my mouth to greet him, but my words catch in my throat. I look down, blissfully aware of his outfit. Shiny black shoes. Black pants. A white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up because of-fucking-course they are.
“Hey,” I finally say.
He steps to the side. “Come on in.”
I step forward, and he nods at Val.
“What’s up, Val?” he asks.
“I was just stopping by to see if you had any rope,” she says.
I pause a few steps into the living room. The lights are low. Several candles are lit on the center of the dinner table. My nose twitches with sweet, delicious smells of garlic and baked bread.
Okay, then.
“Rope?” Robbie repeats.
“Yep!” she says. “Some regular everyday rope.”
Robbie chuckles. “No, I don’t have rope.”
“A few old ties, maybe?” she suggests. “I’ll take the zip variety, if you got ‘em.”
He begins closing the door. “No, sorry, Val. Gotta run.”
“Okay, then. Have a good night—”
The door latches, and Robbie deflates.
“Sorry about that,” he says. “She must have Roger over tonight.”
I chuckle, playing cool at the mention of his name. “Whatever happened to the days when the most a neighbor ever asked for was a cup of sugar?” I ask.
“Good question.” He steps toward me. “Your coat?”
“Oh, uh…” I slide it off and he takes it. “Sorry about the jeans,” I say, gesturing at my casual outfit. “Am I under-dressed?”
“No.” Robbie chuckles as he hangs my coat on the hook on the back of the door. “No, I mostly just threw this on because I was happy to put away my utility belt for a while. Want a drink? I’ve got cherry soda.”
He walks into the kitchenette. I follow.
“Sure,” I say, taking another look around. “So…”
Robbie grabs a liter bottle from the refrigerator door and twists the cap off before setting it on the counter. “So…?”
“What’s going on here?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
He fills a glass halfway and hands it to me.
“This all seems very…” I think of the right word, “fancy.”
“Fancy?” he parrots back.
“The candles. The place settings.” I raise my glass. “Cherry soda in a glass.”
Robbie chuckles. “It’s nice.”
“It’s a date,” I say.
“No, it’s not.”
“You tucked in your shirt. This is a date.”
“I thought it’d be fun!” he says, smiling. “That’s what we do now, right?”
The oven chimes, and he turns before I can reply. He sleeves a mitt and opens the oven, grabbing a tray of fresh, golden breadsticks off the top rack.
“And…” Robbie says as he sets them down on the stove. “I don’t know about you, but to me, nothing in this world says fun quite like garlic bread.”
I grin as my mouth waters. “Well, you’ve got me there.”
He tosses the mitt aside and sidles over to me, hovering a respectable foot away with his own glass. “Now, will you please calm those wonderful, ample tits of yours long enough to enjoy a fun night of delicious pasta goodness with me?”
“What kind of pasta?” I ask.
“Your favorite.”
“That doesn’t smell like Gorgonzola Alfredo.”
“Your real favorite,” he says. “Not the one you claim is your favorite to look cultured at dinner parties. No, you like plain, old, boring baked spaghetti just like Mama used to make. In fact, it is the one your mother used to make. I swiped the recipe from her at the Christmas party.”
My stomach growls. “You did?”
He clinks our glasses together. “Are we having fun yet?” he asks.
I take another look around, my senses buzzing on overload. The pleasant atmosphere, the delicious smells. Handsome, perfect Robbie. Is this really who he is now? Is this what life could be like from now on? Or, at least, for the time being?
What so wrong about that?
“Yes,” I answer before taking a sip.
I twirl my fork around a few limp, saucy noodles, stabbing a fair amount of melted mozzarella before shoveling it in my mouth. “Oh, my god,” I say
