Eight days ago he’d caught me, awake in the middle of the night, re-washing the pots and pans he’d done after dinner. We’d argued. He’d worn a pot on his head and pretended to be a robot. I’d laughed. He’d kissed me. I’d instructed him regarding the appropriate method for cleaning the Dutch oven and seasoning cast iron skillets. He was very patient and receptive to my instruction, so we had sex afterward.
Four days ago I stuffed his pillowcase full of the dirty socks he’d left around the house. We’d argued. We’d argued some more. We’d whisper-yelled at each other until 11:30 p.m. The next morning I apologized for my passive-aggressive actions. He apologized for leaving his socks around the house. We made out in our bedroom closet while the kids watched Big Hero 6 in the other room.
Earlier in the day he’d received a call from his contract supervisor at Nautical Oil. He let the call go to voicemail, then returned it later in the day out of my earshot. We hadn’t had a moment to discuss it.
As well, I’d received a call from Quinn. He’d offered me a job. He wanted me to consult on his corporate contracts, to work full-time. Greg wasn’t aware of the job offer yet because we hadn’t had a moment to discuss that either.
I didn’t know what Greg wanted to do about Nautical Oil—whether he was planning on eventually leaving for another assignment or turning them down and looking elsewhere—but one thing was for certain: no matter what he wanted or had planned, I would be vocal about it. I would be vocal about my feelings regardless of whether the feelings were convenient or timely.
Or at least I would try my best.
“Finding things.” Elizabeth poked her husband with her elbow. “Nico does a pretty good job with the dishes, but he can’t find things even when they’re right in front of him. I once sent him to the Asian market to pick up soba noodles. He called me three times from the store, asking if ramen would suffice. Finally, I had to send him a picture and it turns out there were seven different kinds, and he was standing right in front of them.”
He smirked and nodded. “This is true. The same thing happens when I go to the hardware store.”
“At least Nicoletta can admit it,” Ashley said. She’d joined us from Tennessee via Skype and her image, on Elizabeth’s laptop, was sitting on the side table next to me. “If Drew goes to the hardware store without me, it takes him four hours of screwing around to find what he’s looking for. But if I’m with him, he’s in and out in ten minutes.”
“That’s probably because he’d rather be doing a different kind of screwing when you’re around.” Marie wagged her eyebrows and sipped her lemon drop cocktail.
“Is this what you ladies do during knit night?” Greg frowned at the room. “You corrupt my wife with your drinking, gossiping, and double entendre?”
Janie blinked at him then looked to Ashley. Ashley set her knitting down and glanced at Elizabeth. Elizabeth swapped a stare with Kat while Nico smirked at the baby blanket he was making. Marie and I exchanged a quick grin.
“Basically? Yes,” Nico answered . . . for all of us.
Greg shoved a handful of popcorn in his mouth and proceeded to talk around it, his words hilariously garbled, a few kernels spewing forth for added grossness and drama. “Why didn’t you tell me this was so much fun? I’ve always wanted to learn how to make lace—for collars and such—and here I could have been tatting whilst championing lewd comments and imbibing girl-drinks.”
Kat, Marie, Sandra, and Elizabeth were giggling by the time he’d finished.
“Tatting?” Janie frowned at my husband, like the strangest thing he’d referenced during his tirade was tatting.
“Lemon drops aren’t girl-drinks, Mr. Fiona.” Sandra wrinkled her nose at him. “Not the way I make them.”
“No offense implied, Sandra. I equate girl-drinks to anything that tastes good, like a woman’s lady closet. Whereas man-drinks taste of sweat and toe jam, like a man’s cock.”
Marie made a gagging sound while Nico and Elizabeth outright guffawed.
Nico took out a little notebook and began jotting something down. “I’m stealing that for my show, Greg.”
“Feel free. You can send the royalty payments to my lawyer.” Greg lifted his chin toward Marie, and Marie lifted her glass in response.
Janie was still frowning in confusion. “What is tatting?”
“According to Wikipedia, tatting is a technique for handcrafting a particularly durable lace from a series of knots and loops. One uses an implement called a shuttle for the construction.” Greg shoved another handful of popcorn into his mouth, smiling and munching.
Janie’s frown deepened. “I did not know that.”
We all took a moment to be appropriately shocked someone knew a random factoid unknown to Janie. It was a momentous occasion.
Sandra broke the stunted silence. “If Greg joins us he’ll need a new name, like Nicoletta.” She addressed this statement to me. “Gregwina?”
“Gregarious?” Marie offered.
“No. Auntie Gregina,” I said with a smile aimed at my husband. “Think of him as a girl in a man’s body. He’s got the brain of a woman.”
He nodded, returning my smile and remembering our private joke from our pre-dating college days. “That’s right: shrewd, calculating, resilient, ruthless.”