“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Conrad called this morning. He was a dick to me, but reading between the lines, something’s up with him and Martine and he’s taking that out on me,” I told him.
“Fuck,” he growled.
“More importantly, Mrs. McMurphy died last night.”
“Babe,” he whispered.
Then it happened. Like it had happened the time I talked to him when my kids came back to me.
And as a repeat, my sob was audible.
Mickey heard it. “Amy, baby.”
“I haven’t cried yet,” I sniffed.
“Have at it, then,” he offered.
It was a lovely offer, so very Mickey, but I didn’t “have at it.”
I wiped my face, took a deep breath and said, “Maybe it’s good that tonight I just hang at home, watch a movie…”
I trailed off, thinking of myself clutching Mrs. McMurphy’s umbrella and watching Cocoon.
Maybe I should mope with Ash at Mickey’s.
Mickey spoke my thoughts. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”
“I won’t be good company, Mickey. I’ll be okay and I’ll come over another night.”
“Amy—”
“I’ll be okay.”
He didn’t respond immediately and when he did, it was, “Hang on.”
I hung on.
He came back. “Shit, got a patch job that’s come through. After work, gotta go see to that.”
“See?” I asked. “This is not our night.”
“Right,” he replied. “Touch base with you later.”
“Okay, Mickey.”
“Keep your chin up ’til then.”
“I will, honey.”
“Later, babe.”
“’Bye, Mickey.”
We hung up and I pulled myself together, getting some hummus and tortilla chips and camping out in front of the TV not watching Cocoon (or The Notebook or Fried Green Tomatoes). Instead I watched Rock of Ages and did it hoping Cillian didn’t see it because emulating Tom Cruise from that movie might make Mickey’s head explode.
I was channel surfing after the movie when I jerked and lifted up, looking over the back of the couch toward the door because the bell rang.
I didn’t have the best view but I still could see it was Mickey through the stained glass.
“Touching base,” I mumbled to myself, liking that I had a guy who would do that in person after I got really bad news that ruined my day.
I rolled off the couch, went to the door, unlocked it and tipped my head back.
“Hey,” I greeted.
“Hey back,” he replied then pushed a handled, glossy bag my way. “That the right shit?”
I stared at him, brows drawn, before I took the bag, opened it and saw inside a bottle of my cleanser and another of my moisturizer. These were rattling around with a toothbrush in its plastic.
I didn’t use stuff you got at Walgreen’s.
My stuff was expensive and you got it direct from the salon or at the mall.
He’d gone to the mall for me.
Slowly, I lifted my head and, not knowing what else to say, said, “Yes.”
“Right,” he replied, pushed past me, walked to the kitchen, nabbed my purse, snatched up my phone then came right back to me. “Keys in your purse?”
“Yes,” I repeated.
He handed my purse to me. “Get ’em out.”
“Mickey, I—”
“Let’s go, babe. I’m starved and Ash has dinner ready.” My mouth dropped open as his eyes moved to the TV. “Fuck. That’s on. I’ll get that.”
He then sauntered to the TV, turned it off and then turned off all the lamps I had lit.
After that, he came back to me.
“Keys?” he prompted.
“Are you saying…am I…am I spending the night at your place?” I stammered.
“You had a shit day,” he replied. “You lost someone you knew. Don’t know how tight you were with her. Do know it fucked with you. So you’re not gonna sit over here alone and you’re not gonna sleep alone. You’re comin’ over. Broke the news to the kids that we lost Mrs. McMurphy today. They’re not feelin’ good about it, just like you. So we’re gonna have dinner and hang and then you’re gonna sleep beside me, mostly so I can sleep beside you and know you’re okay. The kids know you’re spendin’ the night. They get why in more ways than one. And they want you over. So, keys out, Amy, so we can lock up and get home so I can eat.”
I felt tears hit my eyes again.
“Babe,” he said impatiently, “cry over at my place. We’ll hole up in my room. But at least after I get you through that, all I gotta do is walk to my kitchen so I can stuff my face.”
I licked my lips, rolled them and took a breath through my nose.
Then I bent my head, dug out my keys and walked out the door.
Mickey followed me.
I locked my door.
Mickey grabbed my hand and walked us to his place.
We didn’t hole up in his room.
By the time we got there, I’d pulled myself together.
So when we got there, there was no delay in Mickey stuffing his face.
*
Like Mickey did with my kids, but with more practice, me and the Donovans cleaned up the kitchen after dinner.
Through dinner, I could tell the kids were a bit stunned by the news, but since they’d only met her a couple of times, mostly they were cautious and watchful over me.