Forcing thoughts of Max back in that locked box, I went outside, kicked my broken car in frustration, and called an Uber to take me to Mimi’s. I saw her every Monday afternoon before work, and a ruined car wasn’t going to stop me.
I arrived at her assisted living apartment complex and walked to the back where the pool and hot tub were. She waved me over from a patio table, shoulder-length dyed blond hair blowing in the wind. At sixty-five, she was spry and had piercing gray eyes that could cut right through you. Laser eyeballs, I called them. The residents vied for her attention, and according to her, she’d had “relations” with several of the single men.
I plopped down next to her and stretched out my legs. “You’ll never believe what happened today, Mimi.”
“I hope you won the lottery.” She showed me her flip-flops. “I need to add to my collection. Mrs. Barnes in 2B has been bragging she has more pairs than me.”
“Well, we can’t let that happen.” I pulled out the cushy flip-flops I’d picked up last week at Wal-Mart. “Check these out. They have bumble bees on the straps and the bottoms are made from a yoga mat.”
“Well done, grasshopper.” She tucked them down next to her and poured me a glass of tea from the pitcher on the table.
“I don’t know why you love those so much,” I said, nudging my head at the ones she already had on.
“’Cause Mr. Wallis said I have beautiful feet, and I should show them off.”
Mr. Wallis was an old boyfriend in the apartment complex who was currently dating Mimi’s archenemy, Mrs. Barnes in 2B.
“Isn’t he the one with the foot fetish?”
“Maybe.” Her eyes flashed to a tan gentleman in a red speedo who was at least eighty. She nudged her head at him, her voice low and conspiratorial. “Ricky’s my latest. He’s from New York City—darn liberal, of course. He snores loud enough to wake a bear from hibernation, but his pecker still works—at least for two minutes. He’s a frisky one, that one. Maybe a keeper.”
I bit back a grin. “I can’t keep up with you. I thought you were dating Mr. Sully in 3A? You said he brought you flowers every day. And he has a nice vacation house in Boca.”
She waved that idea away. “Meh. He got too attached—and sometimes he’d get on these long tangents about sailing. The man is crazier than a dog in a hub-cap factory when it comes to boats. All he talks about is rudders and nautical miles. The only rudder I wanted was the one in his pants. Plus, I do not want to spend the rest of my life floating on some ocean in the middle of nowhere. There’s sharks there, and I can’t even swim!” She took a breath. “Tell me about your news, hon.”
I inhaled a deep breath, preparing for the crazy storm that was about to land on my head. “I have a boyfriend too . . . Max Kent.”
She slammed down the glass of tea that had been on its way to her mouth, and she bounced in her chair like a kid. “The Max Kent, the football player from LU?”
I grimaced. “None other.”
Her palm pressed her chest like Fred in Sanford and Son when he’d fake a heart attack. “I can’t believe it. You waltzed in here all cool and calm like you didn’t have a care in the world. Why wasn’t that the first thing you told me! Lordy, you did win the lottery.” She settled back down, her chest rising rapidly. “You’re not pulling my leg, are ya?”
I threw my arms up. “I swear you love football more than you do me.”
“He’s hotter than a red jalapeno, Sunny!” She fanned herself. “He moves like lightning, and not all quarterbacks can run, let me tell you. Some just stand there like grumps and throw the ball—but not him. Nope, he’s got some speed on him. He’s the whole package. I’d like to know the size of his rudder . . .”
“Mimi,” I shook my head. “Don’t even go there.”
She giggled.
“This calls for a celebration.” She reached in her beach bag she’d brought down and pulled out a flask. I watched her pour a healthy amount into both our glasses. Mimi was a bit of a hippy and a free thinker when it came to me. If she had a beer, she offered me one. If she was having sex, she didn’t hide it from me. Truthfully, she was more of a friend than a parent figure, but by the time I’d arrived at her doorstep three years ago I’d been done with anything that had to do with the word parent.
She sat back. “Go on. Take a sip. And then I want all the details on how you met.”
I sputtered at the taste, getting a whiff of strong alcohol. “Um, it’s . . . good.”
“It’s a Long Island Iced Tea. Got the recipe off the internet. I googled it.” She lifted her glass as if to say cheers. “The internet has nothing on this old woman.”
I giggled. “You always know exactly what I need, Mimi.”
Her face changed, the lines around her mouth deepening as she frowned.
I set the drink down carefully. “What’s wrong?”
“Your father called.”
A breeze fluttered, cooling us off in the September humidity. Laughter came from the people playing checkers at a nearby table, and somewhere from one of the open windows I heard the drone of a gameshow. The Price is Right? Family Feud?