Page 96 of Man Cuffed
“Dude,” Lance says. “You think you’re like Hemingway, with your short, choppy sentences and your manly wisdom. But he knew some things you need to learn.”
“Like what?” I’m so groggy all of a sudden.
“Dude got married three, four times, right? He loved women and he loved falling in love.”
Fucking Lance. Always psychoanalyzing me. “Sorry I woke you up,” I grunt.
I set down the phone on the coffee table, stumble toward my bedroom, crawl under the sheets, and close my eyes.
* * *
The next timeI regain consciousness, my sister Rosie is sitting on the bed, poking me in the side. “Mac, wake up. Everyone is worried about you. Lance says you’ve fallen into a pit of despair.”
“I have not,” I grumble into my pillow. “Men don’t fall into pits of despair. They get up and go to work and…” Oh shit. I sit up really fast. “What time is it?”
My sister blinks. “It’s Saturday o’clock.”
“Oh!” I fall back down onto the pillow.
“No, Mac. Get up.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
I’m sure we had more sophisticated arguments in grade school.
“Take a shower,” she orders.
“No.”
“I’ll make coffee.”
I waver. Because coffee sounds pretty good right now. My head is pounding.
“And there are doughnuts.”
Well that’s a game changer. I open one eye.
“Come on. You know I’m not going to give up on you. I never do.”
Aw. I sit up. “See? You can catch more flies with honey.”
“Coffee, coming up!” She bounces from the room, and I consider going back to sleep. But it will never work. So I drag my sorry carcass into the shower instead. The hot water pounds on my aching head. Why did I drink? What a lousy idea that was.
Eventually I’m showered and dressed. I scarf down a donut at the kitchen sink and gulp coffee out of a giant mug that Rosie has handed me.
Meanwhile, she’s buzzing around my apartment, fluffing the pillows. Meg loves those pillows.
Whoops. I’ve been awake about twelve whole minutes before my mind goes straight to Meg. What wouldCosmosay?
Rosie even goes into my room and makes the bed. “Now Mac, come here!” she calls.
With my coffee for support, I enter the bedroom where my sister is sitting cross-legged on the freshly made bed.
“Sit. We need to talk.”
I was afraid of that. But I sit down anyway.
