Page 18 of Starts With a Bang

“She is absolutely flawless, and a kiss sounds like a damn good idea.” Smacking lips and giggles came through the phone, and I cringed.

“Okay, you two,” I said. “Save that for later.”

Mom giggled, and Dad cleared his throat. There was so much I respected about my folks, and their love for one another topped the list. They remained best friends and allies, no matter what life threw at them. They didn’t see eye to eye on everything—no couple would—but my parents remained respectful andlistened to one another’s point of view. In times of trouble, they turned toward each other instead of away from one another. Little moments like this twisted the screws on my shame for not being able to make my marriage work after the loving example they set for me. I knew it took two people to make or break a marriage, but I couldn’t help feeling that I could’ve—should’ve—tried harder. I didn’t miss my ex-husband, not with the way our marriage imploded in the end. I just regretted the cynical residue that lingered in the aftermath. It was like the glitter bomb from hell. Every time I thought the mess was gone, I’d find a shitty little reminder when I least expected it.

The curtains fluttered, and I wondered if Sven, the patron saint of pity fucks, picked up on my glum mood. Maybe I emitted those kinds of vibes instead of pheromones. Did Sven have a radar that detected the downtrodden and pitiful? I didn’t want to be a pet project, though I’d sacrifice many things, my dignity being the first to go, for another chance of sex with Sven. Damn, the man’s tongue and body did the wickedest things to me, and we’d barely passed second base.

“Dom, are you still there?” My mom’s voice cut through my fantasy like a chainsaw.

I cringed, then cleared my throat. “Yes, I’m still here. What are you guys doing for dinner?” I asked.

“A bunch of us are gathering at the community center for a potluck dinner,” Mom said.

They’d sold their spacious home when Dad retired and moved into a senior community. It sounded like a glorified nursing home when they first mentioned it to me, and I’d been skeptical about their enthusiasm. I quickly changed my mind once I’d thoroughly investigated the place. The community offered many accommodations, from single-resident dwellings to assisted-living care, meeting my parents’ needs for the rest of their lives. The younger residents formed a traveling group tovisit places all over the world, and I got tired just from reading the monthly activities available on the event calendar. These people ran circles around me, and I would’ve felt ashamed if I could muster the energy.

The conversation turned to the food everyone was bringing to the potluck, and my stomach growled. I’d had a bowl of cereal for dinner when I got home at eleven thirty the previous night. Dad shared his buffet strategies as if I didn’t already know them.

“You gotta get those high-demand items first,” he said. “Or else you get stuck with the food no one wants.”

“You didn’t come up with that idea on your own,” Mom said. “You copied that from Grace Adler.”

“Who?” Dad asked.

“The stunning redhead fromWill & Grace. We just watched a rerun of that episode a few nights ago.”

“I’ve been using this strategy for decades,” Dad countered. “I can’t wait to implement it today. I will not miss out on the sweet potato casserole this time.”

“You’re going to turn into a sweet potato,” Mom teased.

The middle-age spread was built into the Babb DNA, and I was a few years ahead of schedule. Too many drive-thru runs, eating fast food at the worst times of day, and too much sitting hadn’t been kind to my body. I was trying to do better, but some of my bad habits were hard to break when I spent too many hours investigating cases out of my van. One day, I’d have a proper office again and could be choosier about the clients I took on and the hours I worked. The referrals coming from Kerry’s attorney would help me achieve my goals faster.

“Dommy,” Dad said. “You there?”

The joys of being a junior meant not shedding juvenile nicknames at thirty-eight years old. My father rarely went by an abbreviated version of Dominic, so calling me Dom erased theconfusion of who someone had addressed. But the occasional Dommy still made an appearance.

“Sorry,” I said. “I zoned out a bit.”

“Goodness, I hope you’re not driving,” Mom replied.

“You shouldn’t be talking on the phone and driving,” Dad added. “Unless you have one of those blue bite thingies.”

“I don’t think it’s called that,” Mom said. “It’s something with teeth in it.”

“Biting involves teeth,” Dad countered.

They broke out into an animated debate while I smiled and shook my head. “I’m not driving, and it’s called Bluetooth.”

“I told you teeth were involved,” Mom said smugly.

“I’m actually parked in front of Kerry’s parents’ house. They invited me for dinner.” I didn’t mention that I’d been hunkered down for fifteen minutes as I hid from my attraction to Sven.

“Aww,” Mom said. “Lucinda and Steven. I haven’t chatted with them in a while. How are they?”

“They’re doing great. Pretty sure they have something extra special to celebrate. Kerry was supposed to propose to his boyfriend this morning.”

My parents embraced the news with noisy enthusiasm, talking over one another.

“Well, we better let you go. You don’t want to keep Lucinda waiting. Tell her I’ll call her soon, and please give our love to Kerry and his fiancé. What’s his name again?”

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