Page 77 of Intoxicated
I shrug. Can he blame me for being surprised? This is the Pacific Northwest. People don’t expect rich white boys to have black homesteading grandmas. Least of all me. I can’t think of a single ex of mine who did except, you know, the ones who were black themselves.
“She’s surprised I’m black, Drew!”
I almost spit out the pea I’ve snuck into my mouth. Drew puts his hands on his hips, exasperated. “What has she been telling you about me, huh?” he shouts into the kitchen. “She tell you I’m trouble?”
“Oh, nothing but! I hear she’s trouble, too!”
“You really have no idea,” he mouths in my direction.
We eat dinner half an hour later. Although I offer to get up and help Irene serve the ribs and peas, she insists that I am her guest and I should stay seated. Drew, however, is recruited to help before he has the chance to sit down. Grandma and grandson bicker about what a lazy ass he probably is (although he isn’t, says the subtext.) I brush pea remnants off the table. By the time I’m served dinner, I’m hungry enough to eat my hand.
Drew sits next to me. He shoots me a glance as I help myself to the iced tea with lemon.
“You know,” Irene shakes a spoon full of peas in our direction, “you two ain’t so bad looking together. Almost as nice to look at as my ex-husband and me.”
“Do you mean Mr. Benton?” I say.
“Mr. Benton! Ain’t nobody calling him that around here. I called him Charlie. So that’s all I know him as.” She takes a bite of her ribs. Sauce dribbles from her fingers as she nods andhumsat how grand of a cook she is. “Anyway, no. I had another husband before him. Nowthatwas a nice looking fella. Married him for his looks, though. Turns out that’s a terrible reason to marry somebody. Looks fade, kids.”
“Marrying my granddad for his money worked out great?” Drew dryly asks.
“Who said I married him for his money? I was in it for the big dick.”
Drew spews his iced tea across the table. As I fall into a fit laughter, Irene says, ignoring her grandson’s mess in favor of her own cooking, “The money was a bonus, especially in that divorce. At some point, a woman realizes the dick ain’t worth it.”
I’m still laughing, although Irene says that while looking in my direction. Oh, come on. She can’t know this about us. Was the quip about marrying for looks directed at Drew? Is that why we’re together? This whole time, I thought it was about his money. And his dick. Guess I’m not better than Irene, although she clearly wanted the respectability of marriage to go along with her pursuits. I think I’d be better off jumping into the Willamette like my ex-boyfriend Preston’s current woman, but whatever.
We all have our reasons for doing what we do. Some are less glamorous than others. Some make our grandsons spew tea onto the dinner table and exclaim, “Oh, come on!”
“Never underestimate the power of good dick,” Irene says before another chomp of ribs. “By the way, do you think these need a little more salt? You know what, I’ll go get it.”
Drew has completely lost his appetite by the time his grandmother leaves. I’m still snickering in my seat when he turns to me and says, “Glad you think it’s so funny. That’s my grandpa she’s talking about.”
“What? I don’t know your grandpa.” My chuckles finally die down as he continues to glare at me. “At least I know where you get it from, though.”
“Getwhat?”
He instantly regrets asking that. For good reason. “Your big dick,” I mouth at him.
“Come thefuckon.” That’s what greets Irene when she returns to the table. Things don’t get much better for Drew after that.
You know what? Irene’s fun. I like her. Think she likes me, too, because we spend most of dinner and the dish cleanup afterward making light fun of Drew and his “tragic” taste in women. Irene regales me with tails of his high school and college girlfriends, one “floozy” after another who were either too stupid to realize they never stood a chance in his family or were onlytoofamiliar with who he was. When she asks me which one I take myself for, I honestly tell her, “Not sure why I can’t be both. I’m a pretty big floozy, but I’m smart at it.” For a moment, Irene looks like she’s about to kick me out of her house. Then she erupts into uproarious laughter, like there’s nothing else so funny.
“Woo, Drew, I think this one might be a keeper!” That’s what Irene says as she heads upstairs later in the evening. “Although that doesn’t mean I condone you two having premarital sleep in my guest room. Drew, you take the couch tonight. Guest gets the guest room, that’s how it works.”
Drew is already half passed out on the couch in the living room. He drags the afghan down and acts like he’s about to fall asleep. I know better, of course. He’s simply avoiding me.
“So, uh…” I lean over the back, strands of my hair falling down and tickling his cheek. He doesn’t move. “Your grandma’s fun. Best kept secret in Washington.”
“Best kept secret of the Bentons, you mean?” he shoots back.
“Hmph. I wouldn’t know about that.”
His gaze lingers on mine. “Why are youreallyhere, Cher?”
While I understand his doubt, I can’t help but be mildly offended by his tone. “I told you the truth. I wanted to know more about you. Meet this mysterious grandmother of yours you like to talk about. Does she know what you do for a living?”
“No, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her.”
