Page 15 of Man Hands
Sadie grabs theotherlink.
Motherfucker!
It’s a good thing there’s an entire pan of bacon too, and they’ve left alone the quiche and home fries that are just calling my name. I grab my own plate before they can attackagain.
Ash really does look like she’s ready to attack, and she probably would, if her phonedoesn’tring.
She takes a look at the screen. “It’s Douchebag,” she says. Sadie and I nod. We know who she’s talking about. She answers with, “Hi, Douchebag. What doyouwant?”
Then she walks out of the room. Sadie and I hear hermumbling.
I cut a nice slice of quiche for Sadie, scoop up some extra crispy home fries sprinkled lavishly with herbs and sea salt, and top it all with three pieces of thick-cut bacon, hot fromtheoven.
Ash can get her own plate. I’m madather.
We sit down at my little vintage 1950s metallic kitchen table—the one I bought ten seconds after Steve agreed to a divorce. He always said that vintage was just another wordforcrap.
I never should havemarriedhim.
“How’s Decker?” I ask Sadie. I have to wait until she stops moaning for her to answer. She’s just taken a big bite of the quiche. It is moanable. I have to say. Basically it’s eggs, cream, and cheese. What isn’t moanableaboutthat?
“He’s good,” she finally says. Then she goes back to her plate. There’s this weird awkward scraping sound of her fork on the plate. Sadie is usually the one who can read all of us. I’m not as intuitive, but looking at her now, I can feel sadness pouringoffher.
“Are you okay?”Iask.
She nods. “Fine. I’m just, I don’t know. Tired. Decker...” Sadie’s tone is upbeat, but it strikes me as false somehow. Something’s…off. I’m not sure how she meant to finish that sentence, but surely it can’t be bad. They have sex like every night. Sometimes more than one time a night. That’s got to be a sign of a healthy relationship, doesn’t it? But then again, that was before they had two little girls to look after. Sadie really does look tired. Usually she’s all golden-like, but right now she’s a little…tarnished. A little dull. Something isdefinitelyup.
I want to respond to her, I do, but Ash walks back into the room saying, “Okay, fuckwad. I already said okay. Seven p.m. I heard you the first time. Fuck off.” That’s how she says goodbye. I can feel Braht’s lovesick sigh even through the phone. She sits down at the table with us. “That wasBraht.”
“You don’t say?” I ask, and Sadiesnorts.
Ash fixes herself a plate. And all the while she takes sneaky little looksatme.
“What?” I finally demand after the fourth orfifthone.
She gives me a shrug. “Let’s talk about this gardener ofyours.”
“There’s really no more to say.” I’d already spilled the whole story. The kissing and the “May I” and the energetic fucking. The whole thing was so out of character for me I don’t think they’d have believed me if they hadn’t witnessed the leaping kiss that started the wholeevent.
“I know how we can find him,” Ash says now. Her eyes are sly, and it makes menervous.
“It wouldn’t even be difficult,” Sadie says. “We could stake out Braht’s house until the landscaper comes by. His phone number will be right on histruck.”
I hate this idea. “Who needs the phone number?” I quip. “I could just climb into the truck and do him rightthere.”
“That works for me,” Sadieagrees.
“No!” I argue. “It doesn’t work at all. I had my fun. I can leave the poor gardener inpeace,now.”
Ash snickers to herself. “What if he wasn’t really thegardener?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, cutting off a giant bite of sausage. If only I could stop thinking about sausage. “His profession isn’t theproblem.”
“Then what is?” Ash asks, sitting upstraighter.
“Whrtifhngd?” I try. My mouth is full of sausage. So I make her wait. “What if he’s not a good dude? Like—I find my prince again and he’s kind of a dick.” I have a sneaking suspicion that most men are. “Right now he’s perfect, okay? I want him to staythatway.”
For a moment, Ash looks troubled. She plays with the teaspoon I’ve set at her place. This lasts a second or maybe two. Then she brightens up again. “It’s fine,”shesays.
