“Pass. I’ll figure things out,” Winnie says. “Worst-case scenario, I’ll bunk with Chevy and work on building my business. Unless I get another offer.”
And by offer, we all know she means a proposal. As much as Val and I aren’t terribly enthusiastic about Dale, it’s shocking he hasn’t locked Winnie down. We expect it any day now. I think she said he wanted to make sure his savings account was at a certain place before taking the next step. Which only further illustrates my point about him. Responsible? Yes. Romantic? No.
“You and Chevy would kill each other,” I tell her.
Winnie smiles. “Yeah, but then I’m the beneficiary of his house, so I just have to make sure I’m the last one standing.”
“You can always move in with me,” Val says. A lovely offer, except that her garage apartment at Mari’s is one room. Plus, her tendency toward what she calls creative chaos is what Winnie calls a filthy mess no human should have to inhabit.
I’d offer my place, but the place is full with Pat there. Too full. Claustrophobia-inducing full.
“I’ll figure it out,” Winnie says, taking a long sip of her milkshake. “Don’t you worry about me.”
Val takes a loud sip and then gives me a pointed look. “So, are we going to head back to your house or what?”
“Why would you come by my house?”
“Why don’t you want us to come by?” Val counters.
Ever since Pat and I did the thing at the courthouse—the whole marriage thing—my friends have been pestering me about all of it. I feel like a zoo animal they want to stare at through the bars. Forgive me for not wanting to be examined. I wouldn’t like it under normal circumstances, and I definitely don’t—not now that I have something to hide. Namely, the electric chemistry that ignites whenever Pat and I are together. It gets worse each day I have to share the house and my life with him.
Almost a week together, and I’m ready to crack.
“We could take a scenic drive?” I suggest. “Or … go shopping? Get a car wash?”
“Maybe stop in CVS for a flu shot?” Val suggests. “Or an enema?”
“What’s an enema?” Jo asks, slurping down the last of her shake.
I glare at Val. “Nothing you need to worry about, Jojo. But if the time ever comes, I’ll be sure your Auntie Val explains it.”
Val swivels in her seat and turns to face Winnie and Jo in the back seat. “What’s the scoop, Jojo? How are things with Pat living there?”
“Val,” I grumble.
But Jo is done with her shake, pumped full of sugar, and her mouth is already off and running. “Pat is the best. He’s fixing a lot of stuff even though Lindy keeps yelling at him to stop. And he takes his shirt off a lot.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “Aunt Lindy complains, but I know she likes it. I saw her watching him from the window.”
I quietly die as the sound of Winnie and Val’s laughter fills the car. “The two of you need to get out of my car,” I tell them.
“Okay. But we’ll meet you at your place,” Val says. “Please?”
“Pretty please?” Winnie begs, and I glare.
“Come on, Aunt Lindy,” Jo says. “Maybe Pat will make us all dinner!”
Val presses a hand over her heart. “He’s cooking for you too?”
“I don’t even know if he's there,” I tell them.
“He’s always there,” Jo says, and she’s right.
Pat is ALWAYS THERE. He’s unavoidable. Most days, he feels inevitable. And dang it if I don’t feel the slightest hop and skip in my heart thinking about going home right now to see him.
“Fine,” I grumble. “You can come by.”
Winnie and Val practically leap out of the car, anticipating that I might change my mind at any given second. Which I might.
“See you there!” Val calls as they hop into her car.
I don’t bother with a reply.
We’re approaching the driveway when I realize something is up. Cars—Pat’s, Chevy’s, and another I don’t recognize—are parked along the road past the mailbox. But it’s not until the driveway itself comes into view that I realize what has happened. Though, admittedly, it’s a complete shock. One that has steam whistling through my ears like I’m a little teapot, about to be tipped over and poured out.
“Wow!” Jo says, pressing her face to the glass as I pull up and park in front of Chevy’s Mustang. “Look at our new driveway!”
“I see it,” I say through gritted teeth.
This morning there was only a potholed, mostly dirt stretch of driveway. Now there is a black ribbon of asphalt stretching all the way to the house. There’s even a new, circular drive in front of the house, and it extends all the way back to the barn.
Pat and I are going to have words. Or more than words, whatever that would be. I told him not to do big stuff, and I’ve tried to ignore the little things he’s done around the house, mostly because I’m so happy to have two toilets and a new oven. But a new driveway? This must have cost THOUSANDS.
I smell it when I get out of the car, the strangely pleasant scent of hot, fresh tar. Jo bounds across the lawn, where the dogs are frolicking with Pat and Tank. James and Chevy are sitting on the porch. Pat jogs our way, meeting Jo halfway. As Val and Winnie park behind me, Pat picks Jo up, swinging her around until she squeals with delight. I hope he shakes the milkshake loose and she pukes all over him.
“Whoa,” Val says, clutching her hands to her chest. “He paved your driveway. That’s so sweet!”
“It’s not sweet,” I say, slamming my door.
“It isn’t?” Winnie asks.
“No. It’s presumptuous. Among other things.”
“Your driveway was a public safety hazard,” Winnie says. “I applaud this decision and think you’re out of your mind if you’re complaining about this.”
“It was my safety hazard. And he shouldn’t be spending money on me.”
“Newsflash,” Winnie says. “You married him. You are now sharing your life with him and that includes your driveway. Didn’t you tell me he broke some fancy car in one of the potholes?”
That shuts me up.