“Alright everyone, listen up.” I clap my hands together and lean down, ignoring Monica as she clutches her red coat in front of herself and frowns. Her lipstick's this weird dark brown color that looks like dog crap. Huh. “This is Brooke's Aunt Monica, okay? You guys can call her whatever you want, but you need to behave. You got that? Anyone that steps out of line has to help me clean chihuahua poop out of the backyard.”
“Can we call her poop face?” Kinzie asks and sends all the kids into a giggling fit. I roll my eyes as I stand up straight and glance over at Brooke again. To be honest with y'all, it's hard for me to pull my gaze away for even an instant. The kid cleans up good, that's for sure. Her makeup is clean and fresh, not heavy like it is when she's on her way to the club. That long chocolate mane is straight and shiny and gleaming, and her outfit is ballin', baby. Smart chick. She choose a short black skirt and a flouncy pink top, paired it with a pair of old brown boots and called it done. It's the weirdest thing I've ever seen in my life and I'm totally digging it.
“No more poop or fart jokes, okay? I'm starting to wonder if you need to see a therapist or something.” I ruffle Kinzie's curls and pass over a couple twenties to Monica. “Order 'em pizza or something, okay? Oh, and I left instructions for the baby on the counter. You've taken care of babies before, right?”
“I have two kids,” Monica says, blinking at the chaos in the living room like she's never seen this much activity in once place before. Sort of looks like she might be close to having a heart attack. Hopefully she can just hold off until we get back. She does and I'll buy her casket myself.
“Ready, Brooke?” I ask as I head to the front door and open it for her, waving good-bye to the kids before I step outside into the cool darkness of a Eureka evening.
“She … actually showed up. The most selfish woman on the entire planet,” Brooke mumbles as we head over to the van and I dance a few steps ahead to open her door. She raises a brow at me but climbs in anyway, getting control of my iPod before I do. Within seconds, we're listening to some crazy loud screeching song about pain and death. Ech. Eww. I so hate rock and metal music. Buuuut, I so love to see Brooke's face as the music washes over her and she smiles. “I haven't been to Arts Alive since I was seventeen.”
“'bout the same here. Since I was eighteen. It's totally hippie chic from what I remember. Lots of live music, art, people smoking pot.” I grin as I back out of the driveway and head towards Old Town with some tortured soul screeching out of the van's speakers. “I don't know if you can tell, but, like, I am flipping excited as fuck.”
“We're not really going to have sex there, right?” Brooke asks, but not like she wants me to agree with her.
“Listen up, Smarty-Pants, I don't joke about sex in public places, okay? This shit's a serious art form and you, my dear, are about to get an introduction by a master.”
Brooke leans against the window and studies with me her pale brown eyes, sweeping long hair away from her face.
“What's the weirdest place you've ever done it?” she asks, and I have to chew my bottom lip and think really hard for a minute. I snap my fingers as it comes to me.
“One time, I fucked this chick at a hotel.”
“Um …” Brooke starts, but I'm not done.
“No, like I was there for this comic convention thing—”
“Nerd,” Brooke whispers under her breath as I reach out and push her shoulder playfully.
“—and there was this romance readers convention happening in the other ballroom.”
“You screwed a romance reader?” Brooke asks with an incredulous expression. “In a hotel. I'm still not seeing the big deal here.”
“Because you're not letting me finish the story. I didn't screw a reader; I screwed an author. Right in the back of the room, behind some banners of half-naked guys during the book signing. Like, with people everywhere and all that. Most of the attendees thought I was a cover model.”
“You're a weird person, you know that?” she says, but she sounds like she's half-laughing and half … jealous? Is Brooke jealous? I can't tell if I want her to be or not. “You know, we forgot to tell my aunt that you have a weird hairless cat wearing a pink glittery sweater.”
“Hey, that sweater is not pink. It's a pale red.”
“Which, by definition, is pink,” Brooke shoots back as the song changes to yet another brain pummeling metal song. “She might seriously have an aneurism and die if she sees him.”
“Oh, come on. Hubs isn't that scary lookin', is he?” I glance over at Brooke as we pause at a red light. Now that I think about it, the cat actually lets her touch him which is a good sign; Hubs kind of hated that pink haired girl, Kitty. Kind of ironic, huh, considering the name and all?
“He's cute in his own gross, weird sort of way,” Brooke admits as we accelerate through several different layers of suburbia. That's kind of all this town is: neighborhoods on top of neighborhoods on top of neighborhoods. There's no real city center so to speak. The area we're heading to, Old Town, is right on the bay, just a few blocks of local shops and a fountain with some pigeons. Not all that exciting, although the vibe is kind of hot. Very artsy and eclectic. “Which ex was this one from? The homeless one?”