Page 93 of Now That It's You
“Not there! I mean, I don’t use it or anything.”
“Okay—”
“But I wasn’t sure what to do with it after we broke up. I mean, it’s not the sort of thing you just stuff into the kitchen trash can and wheel out to the curb.”
“It’s not?”
“So I stuck it in a shoebox and forgot all about it until a couple weeks ago when I tore my house apart looking for proof of what I’d paid to Matt so far, and then I thought I really can’t just toss it in the trash at this point. Now that he’s gone, that seems like a terrible thing to do.”
“I can see that,” Kyle said slowly, trying not to get hung up on the image of his brother creating a mold of his dick. Christ, how did that even work?
“The thing is,” Meg said, “I’d like to get rid of it, but I don’t know how. A trash can seems so disrespectful of the deceased, but it’s not like I’m going to pack it up and take it down to Goodwill. So what does that leave me with?”
Kyle shook his head, not sure whether to feel horrified or amused or jealous or some mix of the three.
But he did know exactly what to do with Meg’s problem.
“Come on,” he said, setting his mug on the nightstand and turning back to her so he could squeeze her knee. “We’re going to shower—together—and then I’m taking you out for breakfast.”
“Okay,” she said, looking wary. “Don’t forget I have to finish the food for the bachelorette party and drop it off by noon.”
“No problem,” he said. “I’ll help. Then after that, we’re picking up your mother and going to my gallery. I have a plan for all of us.”
Meg put her hand on her mother’s shoulder as they stood together in Kyle’s studio, the heat from his forge warming their faces. They all wore protective goggles, but she could still feel her eyes watering.
It probably wasn’t just the heat.
“You ready, Patti?” Kyle asked.
Meg watched him adjust the face shield he’d flipped on top of his head. He wore a heavy black apron over his clothes and thick gloves that made his hands look even larger as he held one palm out in front of him.
Meg’s mom nodded and lifted her closed fist, then unclenched her fingers to drop the silver charm bracelet into Kyle’s hand.
“There’s even a new charm on it,” Patti said, wiping her hand down the leg of her jeans like she’d touched something unclean. “The one he brought me last night to apologize.”
“Because nothing says, ‘Sorry I cheated’ like a silver corn cob,” Kyle muttered.
Patti gave a lopsided half-smile, and Meg squeezed her mother’s shoulder. “You sure about this, Mom? You’ve had that bracelet forever.”
“I know I have,” she murmured. “That’s why I’m sure.”
Meg felt Kyle’s gaze shift to her as his fingers closed around her mother’s bracelet. “I’ll let you handle yours on your own,” he told her.
He picked up a large graphite crucible with one hand and dropped the bracelet into it. Then he held the vessel out to her. Meg reached into her purse and pulled out the purple velvet bag with a ribbon drawstring cinching the top closed. She started to tug the ribbon, but Kyle stopped her.
“You can go ahead and leave it in the bag.”
“You sure? It’ll burn okay like that?”
“Pretty sure. I’ve never melted latex in my forge, but I can say with relative certainty that the melting point for plastics isn’t very high.”
Meg nodded and stuffed the velvet bag and its contents into the crucible on top of her mother’s bracelet. Kyle set it on the edge of his worktable, used his teeth to pry off one glove. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. Meg watched as he unhooked the keychain at the silver ring at the center of the cluster.
“You don’t have to do that, you know, Meg said. “It’s an antique, and I know you like it a lot.”
Kyle shook his head. “Not that much. Besides, it’s important to the symbolism. The idea of letting things go, moving on, sending them up into smoke?—”
“Melting a dildo in a steel forge,” Patti supplied.
