Page 44 of Lost in Love

Taking a dish towel soaked in what smells like bleach, Kate wipes down the counter she had just chopped the vegetables on. She’s a bit of a clean freak. Maybe that’s why she’s not together with Jason anymore? I’m so curious now as to why they split. Had their problems been worse than mine and Noah’s?

“How is it with him still living here?” I dare to ask as I sip my wine.

“It’s better than when we were married. We fought constantly when we were married, and now it’s more like we’re roommates raising kids together.” She looks over her shoulder at her dad walking into the kitchen, his walker sliding against their barn-wood floors with a screech. “If we’re honest, most marriages end up like that anyway when you’re raising kids. Not all marriages, but most.”

She has a point. Sadly. I definitely feel more like Noah’s roommate than wife some days.

Kate’s dad stops when he notices Oliver walking up to him and then points to Jagger. “Who’s your friend?”

He’s talking to Oliver.

Kate groans. “Dad, Jesus Christ. That’s Jagger. Your grandson.”

The boys laugh and run out of the house, and her dad screeches his way back to his room like nothing happened. I’d say it was weird, but nothing is when it comes to Kate’s dad. He was in a car accident years ago and in a coma for months. When he woke up, he only remembered Kate. Not his wife or their son. Just Kate.

“This is why I drink so much wine,” Kate mumbles.

The party moves along nicely in the beginning. Kids laughing, parents mingling, and me and Kate drinking wine.

“Please tell me those are plastic arrows you gave them?” Kate asks when she realizes Gretchen was in charge of bringing party favors. All of us, including Charlee, who finally showed up a minute ago, glance at the boys in the backyard.

I, for one, hope like hell they are plastic because I don’t feel like making any more trips to the ER this week.

“They’re real,” Gretchen adds. “Jason didn’t think it would be very cool for a boy’s birthday party if they were plastic.”

It takes exactly ten minutes and thirty-six seconds for Bonner to get one of those arrows stuck in his thigh.

“I knew there would be blood, but I thought it would be from the little street brawler, Jagger,” Jason says, handing Bonner a towel for his leg

“Hey, my boy can defend himself,” Kate defends. “Matter of fact…” She reaches for the plastic fork on the birthday boy’s plate. “…let’s go ahead and give the little gangster a spoon.”

“If anyone could shank someone with a spoon, it would be Jagger Ford,” I point out. Last week I saw him make a slingshot with a straw and a chicken bone.

Gretchen and Charlee stare at my face, both curious as to where the black eye came from. It’s then I realize I haven’t told them what happened or that we thought it’d be a good idea to make a sex tape. By the way, I never thought it was a good idea. I blame the wine.

When we’re alone in the kitchen, I finally spill the beans on what happened. “Noah accidentally hit me in the face when we were making a sex tape.” I’m thinking the truth is best, but maybe not in all situations because the looks of confusion and amusement I receive in the wake of that confession are giving me all kinds of doubts.

Gretchen asks, “What in the world would possess you to make a sex tape?”

“Bonner,” I reply flatly, unimpressed with our neighbor. Why couldn’t we live next to Steve and Charlee. Then we’d probably just be naked and not making sex tapes.

Charlee giggles. “Seriously? You actually made a real sex tape?”

I nod, my cheeks warming.

And those questions are followed by Kate, who eyes me carefully as if she’s trying to burn me with her eyes and then grins. “I really want to see it.”

“Noah deleted it,” I’m quick to add. “Immediately.”

“Yeah, right. That’s what they all say.” Charlee giggles, sipping on her wine Kate forces upon her with the assurance that everyone drinks at kids’ birthday parties. It’s okay. “I bet you a hundred bucks he kept it.”

Kate rolls her eyes. “You’re spending too much time around Jason.”

Just about the time dinner is being served, Kate refills my glass with wine. She’s absolutely right. No judgment here, but I need lots and lots of wine.

It’s about halfway into the bottle of wine—Kate has her own bottle by the way—that she develops this plan to steal Noah’s cell phone that’s in his pocket. All because she insists she needs to see the video of us fucking. She even draws me a picture with stick figures to show me what my part in the plan is. I’m not sure looking at it if I’m supposed to murder him or tackle him. I stare at the blob of red near his head. “What’s with all the red? Am I supposed to stab him?”

Kate frowns and looks at the paper. Snorting, she wipes away the red. “Sorry. I’m drooling.”

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