“Shut up. And get your nasty feet off me!” I swat at his hairy toes. “Gross!” I yell, jumping from the couch when his big toe almost goes in my mouth. “You are so disgusting!”
“My feet aren’t gross. I got my first pedicure yesterday.”
“You’re so whipped.”
“What? Who says it’s against the law for a guy to have well-groomed feet?”
“You’d never get a pedicure if Deirdre didn’t make you.”
“She got me in the door,” he admits, “but it was nice, once I stopped thinking about it too much.”
“In case you’re wondering, your spine is hanging up in Deirdre’s coat closet in the house where you’ll eventually be living, when she gets her way and makes you sell this place.” I point smugly at him. “Mark my words.”
With a stubborn shake of his head, he says, “Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“But you don’t; that’s the point.”
“No, seriously. We’re going to put both houses on the market, and we’ll let go of whichever one sells first. Hers will sell first. Guaranteed.”
I blink rapidly at his overconfidence. “What have you done to this place?”
He smiles slyly. “None of your business. I don’t trust you not to run to Deirdre and tell her.”
That hurts, but I pretend it doesn’t. “Idiot. You’re both stubborn asses.”
“I love this house! I’ve put a ton of sweat and money into it. C’mere.” He leads me to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the backyard and points. “Right there, I’ll build the playset for the kids. I’ve already installed the privacy fence for the dog Deirdre and I are going to get after we’ve been married a few months. A Yorkie or a Chihuahua. We haven’t settled on which one yet. Still need to do some more research. But I have it all planned out.”
“Imagine that.”
“Make fun all you want, but there’s nothing wrong with knowing what you want and making it happen. That’s what normal people do. They plan.”
He plucks our beer bottles from the table and pads into the kitchen, where he rinses our empties before placing them carefully in their appropriate recycling container. Keeping his back to me, he says, “Adulthood isn’t as scary as you think it is, you know. It’s just life.” Now he turns around and looks beseechingly at me. “It happens, whether you have a plan or not. But the plan makes it easier and gives it direction and purpose.”
“My life has purpose, thank you very much!” I say hotly.
He tilts his head at me, and his eyes light up. “Great! Tell me all about it.”
“Well… I— I— My job is important. I help people find work, which isn’t an easy thing to do sometimes.” I raise my chin, daring him to contradict me, since he and I both know the economy—especially the job market—isn’t as bad as it was when I first graduated. When he says nothing, I continue more confidently, “Just because I’m not married with a bunch of kids and pets doesn’t mean I’m not a valuable member of society. I contribute to the local economy. I pay taxes, damn it! I own a home, even if it’s not an eff-off mansion like yours.”
“You bought half of a duplex, and only because Mom and Dad gave you the down payment as a college graduation gift with the stipulation that you buy your own place rather than continue to throw money away on rent,” he points out.
“So? I could have given them their money back and said, ‘No thanks.’”
Which I was tempted to do. I didn’t want to tie myself down to this area when I was sure I wouldn’t be here long. Well, not sure. But hopeful. Then the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t know where I wanted to be or what I wanted to do, so I caved.
“That would have been stupid,” he says. “At least you made the right decision there.”
“Oh, yes. At least I made the right decision there, unlike every other decision in my life, right? Isn’t that what you’re implying?”
He puts his hands on his hips. “No. I’m not. Because you haven’t made any other decisions. You’re perpetually on pause.”
“And you’re perpetually a pompous prick. I can do tongue-twisters, too.” My eyes sting, but I refuse to cry. No way. That would indicate I give a damn what he thinks.
“Now, don’t get mad, Mo. What I’m trying to say is—”
“Screw you. Screw you and Deirdre and Mom and Dad. I bet you guys get together all the time to lament the hopelessness that is my life. Well, save your energy.”
He points sternly at me. “Hey! Leave Mom and Dad out of this. They’re always defending you. You’ll be fifty, and they’ll still be saying, ‘Oh, leave her alone; she’s young and trying to figure things out.’ It’s ridiculous. It’s why you are the way you are.”
“Which is…? Useless? Immature? Aimless?”
He merely shrugs, as if to say, Take your pick.
“You’re a sanctimonious asshole,” I spit, blinking away tears as I whirl away from him and head for the foyer, where my coat hangs neatly on a peg next to the front door.
“Mo! Come back. I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re useless. Under-utilized, maybe, but—”
I refuse to take the time to put on my coat, hat, and gloves, despite an awaiting outside temperature in the teens. “Forget it, Greg. It’s good to know how you feel, finally. I’ve always suspected, but now I know exactly where I stand.”
I grab the doorknob and twist fiercely. It comes off in my hand. After looking at it for a few seconds, I pitch it at him. The throw, a bullet, would probably make Jet proud. Greg catches it against his chest, then turns and follows my progress as I walk to the back door.
“A little obvious, don’t you think?” I ask snidely about his childish sabotage. “But maybe Deirdre won’t notice, since she’s so preoccupied with adding pedicure clauses to your marriage contract. Effing nutjobs,” I mutter on my
