Page 18 of Gifts

As of right now, my goal is to figure out what that’s all about.

I lower my voice. “Let’s go feed our kids, Keelie. It’s just pizza. Everyone needs to eat and I dragged Emma out of the house. I’ll feel better if I get some food in her.”

She sighs, her expression resigned as she takes a step back. “Fine. But I need to get ready.”

“Take your time.” I smirk. “But not too much time. They’re hungry and so am I.”

She glares at me before moving back to the house.

*****

Keelie

“So, wait. Mr. I Can Change a Tire is at your house?” Stephie screams.

I finish brushing and spit toothpaste into the sink.

“Stop yelling at me.” I glare at her on Facetime as I rinse my mouth and spit two more times.

I wrapped up my paintbrush for later and cleaned up my paint tray, then proceeded to take the quickest shower known to womankind. I had no choice but to wash my hair since it was sprinkled with a neutral eggshell latex. I can’t seem to do anything in this damn house without covering myself in a mess.

“How does he know where you live?”

After we did our finest job making fun of Stan’s outfit last Saturday night, I told her all about my tire-changing hunk-of-a-stranger who came to my rescue. I went on and on about how he saved my white blouse, fancy heels, got me out of the ditch, and away from the sweater vest. But I’ve been busy and haven’t had a chance to tell her that Asa showed up at school and ended up being a parent of two of my students.

I give her the condensed version as I slap some powder foundation on my face.

Silence fills my bathroom and when I look to the screen, she’s deep in thought.

“What?” I ask.

“So, you’re telling me the man who came to your aid in your hour of need, the man who you described as sex on legs—and after two glasses of wine, lectured me that if I ever set you up with anyone else, it needed to be a man like him—is the actual man who is at your house right now? That same man wants to take my sister and her kids for pizza?”

“Yes,” I confirm before arguing. “But I didn’t mean I actually wanted to go out with him. I don’t want to go out with anyone.”

“But you did say that if you had to go out with anyone, it would need to be someone like him. And if my memory serves, your exact words were, ‘I need a real man who can change a tire without making a fucking phone call or looking it up online. That’s the kind of man I need in my life.’”

“Yes, but—”

“And you’re telling me that exact man—whom you compared all other men to—is outside right now hanging out with those damned goats?”

I drop my mascara and look at myself in the mirror, realizing what Stephie is saying. “And Jasmine.”

“Oh yeah. I didn’t mean to leave out the fucking donkey. Of course, he’s hanging out with Jasmine.” She raises her voice. “He must be fucking perfect if he’s hanging out with your donkey. Fuck me.” My sister’s language is worse than mine, especially when she’s throwing her trademark sarcasm around. “No, not fuck me. Fuck you! This is your chance, Keelie. Please, tell me you shaved your legs.”

Staring at myself in the mirror, my face is filled with horror at the thought of fucking anyone. As I stand here in my panties and bra with my hair rolled up in a towel, I bring my hands up to my body and really look at myself.

“Oh shit, Stephie. I have a mom-body.” Frowning, I push my boobs up a little, squishing them together, wishing they’d stay that way. Running my hands down my stomach that isn’t flabby, but it sure isn’t firm anymore, I think about how much I’ve changed since the last time I let a man touch me.

I never, ever officially work out. Who has the time with two kids, a house in constant disarray, and a shitload of animals to take care of? My workouts include climbing ladders, throwing a baseball, and literally, shoveling shit.

“Of course, you have a mom-body. You’re a mom, but a hot one. Why do you think Mr. Sexy-Arms stopped to change your tire to begin with? It damn well wasn’t because of Stan’s ill-fitted sweater vest.”

I look away from my boobs that nursed two babies to my sister on the screen. “I’m telling you, that sweater vest was the worst. It takes a special man to pull off a sweater vest. I’m not even sure I’ve ever seen it done in real life. Maybe only Ralph Lauren models on a horse.”

“Could this Asa pull off a sweater vest?”

I shake my head. “If Asa Hollingsworth has ever touched a sweater vest with a ten-foot pole, it’d surprise the shit out of me.”

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