Page 97 of If Not for My Baby
He looks delighted to be eating pizza, and fairly engaged in the game at hand, and all the fight fizzles out of me. While Mike and Tom Halloran playing Monopoly together is likely an actual nightmare I’ve had and repressed, I haven’t seen Tom this at peace before with other people. And I’ve missed home, and game night, and Willow, and my mom. Seeing her doing this well is worth every ounce of my own social discomfort. I kick my boots off and cross my legs up under me.
“I want my attorney,” I say, grabbing a slice. Nothing gets your stomach grumbling like witnessing a fistfight, outrunning a herd of grown men, and carjacking your best friend.
After her next turn, my mom wanders into our blue-and-white-tiled kitchen, mouth still full as she says, “Coffee, you two?”
“Mom, it’s nearly one.”
“Beth’s been plying me with Pinot. I need to wake up a bit if I have any hope of defeating the reigning champ.”
Beth’s sly smile confirms to Tom what we all already know to be true—she’s a Monopoly fiend.
“I’ll take a tea,” Tom says. “If you have one.”
“We don’t have any Barry’s,” I say. When he raises his brows in my direction, heat sweeps up my neck. “I did some snooping on the bus. Found your stash.”
“Dirty, dirty snooper.” Tom grins right at me and it’s nearly enough to knock me from my chair.
“You’re nothing like I expected from a rock star.” Mike counts his dwindling play money. “Your secret stash is some fancy tea?”
“Barry’s is the tea of the people,” I say, and Tom looks like he could propose.
“Whatever,” Mike says. “You know what I mean.” He seems kind of annoyed.
“Broken nose not cliché enough for you?”
“It helps,” Mike admits.
“His whole soft-spoken, humble thing is just an act,” I say. “He’s actually a degenerate.”
“I’ve got six lines of cocaine waiting to be railed soon as I’m left to my own devices,” Tom adds. “I’ll be tryin’ to pay a brasser with this here Monopoly money before you know it. End up spendin’ the night in the Cherry Grove slammer.”
The whole thing is so ridiculous to imagine I begin to laugh.
Tom smiles, too, but as I look at him, nose bandaged, hand cupping colorful playing dice, I find I cannot stop.
“Jesus, Clem,” Tom says, smirking.
I try to rein it in, but I’m delirious after the night we’ve had. It’s just so funny—Thomas Patrick Halloran, international music sensation, is in my house, with a broken nose, hanging out with my mom and my ex-boyfriend, eating lukewarm delivery pizza talking about paying a hooker with Monopoly money. I know his favorite tea and we’resleeping together.
“I’m—” I can’t get the thought out. Tears are pricking behind my eyes. The more I try to contain myself the worse it gets. “—fine, I just—”
“Shh.” Tom’s laugh is tinged with a bit of concern. “Take a breath.”
Mike’s lips purse. “It wasn’t that funny.”
“No,” Tom agrees, still chuckling at me. “It really wasn’t.”
But I am having trouble staying upright, I’m laughing so hard.
“Church giggles,” my mom says. “That’s what we called them when I was young.”
“Me, too,” Tom says, eyes still on me with warm amusement. “You knew you shouldn’ta been laughin’ but that’s why you couldn’t stop.”
“Oh, God,” I wheeze, finally winding down. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” My mom is grinning at me when I wipe the tears from my eyes. “I love to see you so happy. Coffee or tea?”
I stand, still smiling. “I can make myself a cup.”
