Page 46 of Finally Mine
“Never wear it!” The woman sounded like a foghorn proudly proclaiming her commando status.
She should have brought the cookies up with her. And wine. She could use some right about now. A gallon of it.
“Okay.” Gloria took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the task at hand rather than the absurdity. “Let’s start with comfortable clothing. You don’t want to be sitting in a hospital room in stilettos and leather pants.”
Mrs. Moretta guffawed. “So you’re funny then?”
Gloria gave a little shrug and pulled a cardigan sweater with a dozen cats embroidered on it. “I guess so. Let’s do some layers in case the hospital is cold.”
“Do you plan to have babies with my son?” Mrs. Moretta demanded when Gloria folded up a pink t-shirt with rhinestones inexplicably covering only the breast region.
“Babies aren’t really on my radar right now,” Gloria said slowly. And one kiss wasn’t exactly a marriage proposal. One mind-melting, bone-warming, remember-for-a-lifetime kiss. But still.
Mrs. Moretta hurled a mud-brown turtleneck sweater at her.
“Huh,” she harrumphed. “Well, I suppose in your situation—being new to relationships that aren’t complete shitstorms and all—it’s smart to take it slow.”
Was that a compliment? Gloria couldn’t tell. She folded the turtleneck and stuffed it in the suitcase.
“How about marriage?” Mrs. Moretta demanded. “You’re not one of those broads who thinks she’s too good to wear a ring, are you? Because I won’t like that.” She shook a metal clothes hanger at Gloria.
“No, I like marriage. At least the idea of it. It would have to be a very special man.”
“You mean to deal with all your baggage?” Mrs. Moretta shouted.
“That, and he’d have to be special for me to deal with his baggage.”
Still wielding the clothes hanger, Mrs. Moretta frowned for a moment. “That’s smart. So you’re funny and smart. And your cookies are okay. As long as you’re not some kind of crazy bridezilla or an alcoholic asshole or some horny one-night stand kinda gal, you have my blessing to date my Aldo.”
Gloria gave up all pretense of being calm and collected. She flopped down on the pink satin bedspread, nearly sliding back off. “What makes you think Aldo would even be interested?” she asked. He’d shown some very definite interest before he left, but what if he came home different? What if everything was different?
“That weird, perky, sunshine and puppy dogs, little blonde downstairs says so,” Mrs. Moretta announced as if Harper Wilde held the keys to all the secrets of the universe. Maybe she did. Gloria could hope, couldn’t she?
“How is he?” Gloria blurted out. She’d had nothing but fourth-hand information. She needed something.
“I spoke to some combat surgeon. The mouth on that woman,” Mrs. Moretta whistled. It sounded more like a compliment than a complaint. “She said he was more concerned with the rest of his guys and gals than he was himself. And he made her promise to call me.” The woman’s eyes watered up in the first show of real emotion. “I can’t wait to talk to that stupid son of a bitch and find out how he got himself blown up.”
Mrs. Moretta hiccupped. Gloria wanted to reach out, offer a comforting hand squeeze, but felt like Mrs. Moretta wasn’t the affectionate type.
A pair of purple corduroy pants hit her in the face.
“Let’s hurry it up,” Mrs. Moretta sniffled. “They might want me to fly to Germany or Guam. I’ll need you to water the plants, feed the birds, clean the curtains, do a little light weeding out front and in the garden. Oh, and maybe run the vacuum upstairs and down. The dusting polish is in the closet. You could start when I leave, or maybe you should come by to help out now since I’m so bereaved.”
25
To: Aldo Moretta
From: Gloria Parker
Subject: Just hi!
Hi Aldo!
I bumped into Harper at Remo’s last night, and she gave me your email address. I thought I’d say hi. Okay, I’m lying. I don’t feel right starting off our email relationship with a lie.
I went to Remo’s with the sole purpose of forcing Harper to give me your email address. I hope you don’t mind. I know you didn’t want to have some long-distance thing going. But I missed you. Is that okay? I mean, I know it’s weird to miss someone that I don’t know well…
Anyway, if it’s not okay, ignore this whole thing and pretend it’s a spam message from an erectile dysfunction supplement company…wait, that’s weird. Don’t do that. Good news! I’m as awkward in email as I am in person! #consistency.
