Page 16 of A Leaner Meaner Midlife

“Word,” Jennifer crowed. “Ain’t that the truth!”

“Okiedokey,” Candy Vargo announced. “I’ve got one.”

We waited in terrified silence. She removed her toothpick then spoke. “Sexual tension should be re-termed bangxiety.”

Even Gideon chuckled at that one. Candy preened and accepted high fives from all the gals in the minivan.

“A driveway should be a parkway and a parkway should be a driveway,” Jennifer said.

“Bingo,” I agreed. “And the snooze button on the alarm clock should be renamed five more minutes of denial.”

“Winning! Daisy is winning!” Jolly Sue called out from the third row.

“Not so fuckin’ fast,” Candy argued. “Boob sweat should be called humidititties.”

“I take it back,” Jolly Sue said with a belly laugh. “Candy Vargo is winning!”

“I can’t take this,” Gideon muttered under his breath. “I have one.”

“Spit it out, motherfucker,” Candy encouraged him in the way only Candy could get away with.

“The term Dad Bod should henceforth be called Father Figure,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

“Gideon is winning!” Jolly Sue squealed. “I LOVE this game. Gabe, do you have one?”

All eyes went to the silent and brooding Gabe. My brother glanced back at Jolly Sue. Her smile was so wide and innocent, he sighed. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on,” Dimple said, patting his back. “You need to release the anger. It won’t help you.”

“Darn tootin’” Lura Belle agreed. “We know that for a fact. We’ve lived our whole lives as angry as bawdy, crook-plated hussies. Made for a yeasty barnacle of an existence. If you wanna be useful to Tory, you gotta ease up. You were not meant to be a dankish, mammering wagtail, Gabriel.”

“Oh yes!” Dimple chimed in. “You’re the Archangel Gabriel. You must stop behaving like a churlish, frothy giglet.”

Jolly Sue nodded. “I quite agree with my sisters. If you want to defeat Micky Muggles, the bat-fowling, clack-dish imbecile, you must rise above your ire. Fury makes on sloppy and not very well liked… I speak from experience. If you truly love Tory, you must love her enough to be the man you are meant to be.”

Again, Gabe sighed. He wasn’t an angry man. He was a good and wonderful person. I adored my brother. The Nephilim were right, he needed to tamp back the fury in order to be any good to any of us.

Jennifer reached over and squeezed Gabe’s hand. “It’s easy. I promise. Just give it a try.”

He looked down at her small hand in his and gave her a tight smile. “Fine. I shall oblige. A jet ski is an absurd name. It should be called a boatercycle.”

“Gabe is winning!” Jolly Sue announced.

Gabe smiled his first real smile I’d seen since Tory was abducted.

“And one more,” he said. “I believe that contractions should be called birthquakes.”

The cheers in the car were loud. Gabe had definitely won, and I could attest to the truth of his last statement.

“And the championship wine cooler goes to Gabe,” Jennifer announced, pulling out a bottle and presenting it to my brother. “You, sir, are the winner.”

Gabe cracked it open, took a sip and winced. “What the hell is this?”

“Peach,” Jennifer told him.

“Got it,” he replied, taking another small sip and tried not to gag. “Thank you.”

Candy Vargo clapped her hands. “I’ve got the final one. After that, we’re gonna pull over ‘cause I have to pee like a fuckin’ race horse and pissing in the minivan isn’t my idea of fun.”

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