Page 23 of Pity Play

Her face flushes prettily. “Exactly.”

“What about last night?” I ask her.

“You climbed into bed with me, not the other way around!” She really was drunk if she thought that. The tube of biscuit dough drops onto the floor, but she doesn’t bother to pick it up.

That wasn’t what I was talking about, so I ask, “What about the prom?”

Panic etches across her features. “What prom? Neither one of us is in high school.”

It occurs to me that she might not remember the ride home and what happened after. She appears to have no recollection that she fawned all over me like a starstruck teenager. If that’s so, I might be able to stay here after all. I’ll just have to make sure I see Lorelai as infrequently as possible.

Trying to make light of the prom comment, I tell her, “I thought you said something about a school dance last night.”

Lorelai’s posture becomes rigid. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, go sit down because I’m going to make you a world-class breakfast this morning. It’s my turn.”

She’s not doing that with commercially bought biscuit dough, but the poor girl has really been through it, so I decide not to make things worse by telling her that. “Do you have any fresh coffee?” I ask.

She points to the coffee maker on the counter, “It’s coming down now. It should be ready in a few minutes.” She picks up the biscuits from the floor and pulls back the paper layer on the tube. Then she whacks it against the counter until it splits open.

I watch as Lorelai microwaves a stick of butter. She mixes it with cinnamon and brown sugar before pulling out a cookie sheet from a lower cabinet. She gets busy spacing the biscuits before flattening them with a drinking glass. Then she sprinkles the dough with the sugar mixture and folds them into what I’mguessing is meant to be some kind of cinnamon roll. I’ve never seen anything quite like it.

“What are your plans for today?” Lorelai asks.

“I’m going to go see my dad and then head over to the diner.” I’m not sure she remembers seeing me there and I don’t want to cause her anymore embarrassment, so I say, “I thought I might have spotted you there last night. Do you eat at Pop’s often?”

“As often as I can,” she responds without making eye contact.

“Well then, how about if in payment for letting me stay here, I open an account for you so you can eat there whenever you’d like. On the house.” I rethink this almost immediately as I don’t want to have to see my friend’s sister more often than I already will, so I add, “You can get meals to-go.”

“That’s so nice.” She seems genuinely pleased.

“Anything you want,” I tell her. Although I hope she won’t repeat her lemon drop indulgence.

As if reading my mind, she tells me, “I think I drank too much last night. I don’t normally do that, but my friend was spilling some significant tea. It was pretty heavy stuff.”

Not caring to know the details, I surmise, “I’m guessing you don’t get drunk often.”

She shakes her head slowly like she’s feeling nauseous. “Not since that frat party in college.” Before I can ask, she explains, “I got so hammered doing beer bongs, I spent the night in my dorm bathroom clinging to the toilet. It felt like I was hanging from the ceiling.” With a sigh, she adds, “I vowed to never put myself through that again.”

“Ah, college,” I commiserate. “We’ve all been there. It sounds like you learned your lesson before most.”

“I like being in control and I never want to do something that I’d regret.”

Like asking your brother’s best friend to kiss you and then proclaiming the chaste cheek kiss to be lackluster?But I don’t say that. “That’s very smart.”

Lorelai pours a cup of fresh coffee and stirs in one spoonful of sugar. Then she hands it to me. After taking a sip, I tell her, “Thank you.”

“It’s better than yesterday’s, right?”

I nod my head. Anything would be better than that sludge. Yet I still make a mental note to be the first one up so that I can make the coffee. Lorelai clearly didn’t see the gourmet beans in the refrigerator. “What are you planning to do today?” I ask her.

“My parents texted that they needed to speak with me. I suppose I’ll do some laundry after that.”

“How long do they stay in Florida?” Noah mentioned that his folks had started to snowbird a couple of years ago. I wish my parents would do the same thing. It’s time that they stopped working so hard and enjoyed some of the fruits of their labor.

“They leave right after Christmas and come back at the end of June.”

“And you take care of everything while they’re away?”

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