I nearly fall off my chair when mental images of George and Nan getting down and dirty spring into my mind.
‘What’s so funny?’ George asks, throwing frowns around the kitchen. ‘I knew that.’ He huffs, plunging his finger back into the lemon cake in a strop. Nan doesn’t scorn him this time. She’s too busy howling across the kitchen.
‘I might wear my hot pants,’ she giggles, sending Gregory and me delirious with laughter.
‘Oh, those little short thingies?’ George’s eyes sparkle. ‘Yes, please!’
‘George!’ Nan shrieks.
‘Oh, please stop!’ Gregory grabs me for support, falling all over the place, taking me with him. We’re crying, shaking with hysterics. ‘Will they be sparkly?’
‘No, leather.’ She grins. ‘And crotchless.’
I choke on nothing, coughing all over the dinner table, and George looks like he’s about to have a seizure. He gathers himself and picks up his newspaper, using it to fan his face. ‘You have a wicked mind, Josephine Taylor.’
‘She does,’ Gregory chuckles, giving me a little wink.
Everyone pulls themselves together and I sigh, starting to poke at my cake again. Then I worry because I hear Nan draw breath – the long kind, the kind that means I’m not going to like what she says. ‘Why don’t you let Gregory take you out?’
I sink into my chair, feeling three sets of eyes all on me again. The misery returns, too.
‘Yeah, come on, Livy,’ my friend interjects, giving me a light knock on my arm with his fist. ‘We’ll go to a straight bar.’
‘See!’ Nan chirps. ‘How kind. He’s even willing to sacrifice a night of passion for your benefit.’
I gasp. Gregory laughs and George snorts. He loves Gregory, but he refuses to acknowledge his sexual preference. I think it’s an age thing, not that it bothers Gregory. In fact, he plays on it too much, and when he takes a deep inhale of air, I know immediately that he’s about to do just that.
‘Yes’ – he leans back in his chair – ‘I’ll pass up the opportunity to roll around with a naked, sweaty man if it means you’ll come out.’
I bite my lip, stopping myself from laughing out loud at the awkward fidgeting coming from George’s direction. Nan doesn’t, though. No, she’s in pieces, her body jiggling with laughter as George continues to shift and mutter under his breath.
‘You’re all wicked,’ he grumbles. ‘Wicked minds.’
‘How very good of you, Gregory.’ Nan titters. ‘Now that’s a good friend.’
George’s old face frowns at Gregory across the table. ‘I thought you were bisexual.’
‘Oh’ – Gregory grins – ‘I’ll be whatever they want me to be, George.’
Nan’s companion fails to prevent his disgusted snort and Nan fails to prevent her continued amusement.
This is good. The diversion in conversation to Gregory’s sexual antics has saved me from further pressure to go out and my struggle to appear fine. I study him for a few moments, watching his shoulders jump up and down as he continues to wind up poor George, and Nan eggs him on with hoots of glee. Their happy banter suddenly only seems to remind me that I’m not happy and no amount of pretending or distraction will remedy it. Things can divert me momentarily, but it soon returns, seeming more painful when it does, like it’s making up for its brief absence every time I break a smile.
My chews slow and so do my swallows. My turning stomach is fast, though, executing a spin that sends me dashing from the kitchen to the bathroom, where I retch over the toilet for no purpose at all. There’s nothing to bring up except acidy bile, making the taste in my mouth even worse.
Hopeless.
The soft knock at the door forces me to lift my head and look blankly at the wood. ‘Baby girl?’ Gregory pushes the door open and slips in, not bothering to warn me first in case I’m on the toilet. His handsome face tries to smile some ease into me but fails miserably. I know he feels as hopeless as I do. He pops a Polo mint past my lips and pulls me to my feet before brushing my hair from my face and scanning me worriedly.
‘Livy, you’re wasting away.’ His eyes drop to my skinnier-than-usual body. ‘Come on.’
Pulling me across the landing to my bedroom, he shuts the door softly behind us and guides me to the bed, tugging me down next to him and slipping his arm around me. I snuggle into his side but get no comfort from his embrace. This isn’t the thing I had with Miller. This isn’t warming me to the core or sending my mind into a blissful peace. There’s no humming or gentle lips pushing into the top of my head now and then.