Page 163 of Consummation

I open the box and it’s a crystal shot glass, etched with the name “Lambo.”

“Ry got himself one engraved with ‘Captain’ so you two can sit out on the patio like lovebirds, watch the sunset together, and drink your new tequila.” She rolls her eyes. “Ryan’s truly talented at giving gifts to others which actually turn out to be gifts to himself, isn’t he?” She grabs a gift bag off the counter. “And this one is from me. Just a little trinket.”

“This is all too much, Lou,” I say. “Really.”

“Oh, no. This is just a little nothing. Hardly anything at all. I saw it and thought of you.”

Gracie bats me in the face so I shift her in my arms and pull out the contents of the gift bag. A lump rises in my throat at the sight of my gift—a coffee mug, emblazoned with the phrase, “World’s Greatest Son-in-Law.”

“Thank you,” I say, hugging Louise with my free arm.

“Whenever you have a cup of coffee, you’ll be reminded how much you’re loved, honey.”

I bite my lip. “Thank you.”

Louise waves her hand. “You’re impossible to buy presents for, you know that, Josh? What do you get the guy who has everything?”

I motion to everything I just opened. “All this.”

“We all just wanted you to know how much you’re loved, that’s all.”

“Thank you. I feel it. I love all of you, too.”

Louise wipes her eyes. “So, enough of that. You never intended to spend your birthday hanging out with your boring mother-in-law. Gimme that baby.” She grabs Gracie from me and hands me an envelope off the counter. “Here you go. Kat asked me to deliver this to you exactly at six.”

I look at the clock on the kitchen wall. Six on the button.

I open the sealed envelope and immediately smile from ear toear. There’s a poker chip inside—and a typewritten note: “Happy Birthday, my darling, beloved Playboy with a Heart of Gold!” the note reads. “Sorry-not-sorry, but our romantic dinner-for-two-and-a-half has been cancelled and donated to a very good cause (namely, getting Colby laid by the hot physical therapist he’s been drooling over for the past two months). The Playboy and The Party Girl with a Hyphen can’t stay home like old farts on the Playboy’s thirty-fucking-first birthday! Hell no, old man! We can sleep when we’re dead! Go big or go home! YOLO! It’s time to party like it’s 1999! (Well, until about midnight, that is, since that’s when Gracie’s been waking up lately for a feeding.) So get into your fancy new Ferrari and get your YOLO’d ass to this address, PB.” It’s an address in nearby Kent. “Because, Playboy, I feel the need—the need for speed! XOXOXOXOX Mrs. Katherine Ulla Faraday. P.S. I’ve always wanted to fuck the winner of the Indy 500!”

I look up from reading the note, my cheeks hot, my dick tingling.

“Well?” Louise asks. “Good news?”

“Great news.” I pull my phone out of my pocket and Google the address on the note and quickly discover it’s a professional-grade racetrack about forty minutes outside of Seattle, exactly as I figured. “Fantasticnews,” I say. I kiss Louise and Gracie on their cheeks and gather my car keys off the counter. “Thanks for watching Gracie. We’ll be home around midnight, if not before.”

“Don’t rush home. Kat pumped before she left—we’ve got plenty of milk to tide us over.”

“Thank you so much.” I kiss Gracie again. “Bye, Little G. I love you, honey.”

“Guh,” Gracie says.

I sprint toward the exit of the kitchen.

“Hey, wait, honey,” Louise calls to my back. “Aren’t you hungry? Maybe you should take a little something to nibble on?”

“Good point.” I say. Quickly, I make a couple orgasm-inducing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches—one for me and one for my wife—and throw them into a bag with some apples and chips and bottles of water. “A meal fit for a king and queen,” I say. I wink at Louise. “Thanks again for watching Little G.”

“Have fun, honey,” Louise calls to my back.

“Oh, I will,” I yell back.

I race outside, hop into my fucking awesome new car, and peel out of the driveway of my fucking awesome house, my dick throbbing, my heart racing, my skin buzzing; and, once I’m driving smoothly on the highway, I press the button to call Kat through my wireless connection.

“Hey, Playboy,” Kat purrs into the phone. “Did you get my note?”

“I sure did,” I say. “I’m on my way.”

“Are you mad about dinner being cancelled?”

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