Page 20 of Your Every Wish
“Yeah, it’s a lot cheaper than eating out.”
“Doesn’t your boyfriend . . . what’s his name again? . . . make a butt load of money?”
“Dex. And yeah, he does well. But I like to pay my own way.”
“Why? I mean, if he can afford it, what’s the big deal?”
I shrug because it shouldn’t be a big deal. If the shoe were on the other foot, I wouldn’t hesitate to pick up the tab for him. But Dex isn’t built that way. “It’s the way we do things. No one wants to be beholden to someone else.”
“Okay,” she says but I can tell she’s not convinced.
“Why do you think Willy owned a trailer park?”
“Beats the hell out of me. For a business guy it seems like a pretty weak investment. Have you had a chance to look at the financials yet?”
“No, I had to write my column.”
“The sooner you look at them, the sooner we can make the decision to sell.” She grabs one of the chairs at the old dinette table and plops down in it. “Maybe we can ask Mr. Townsend if he would handle the paperwork.”
“I told you I don’t want to be rushed into anything,” I say, worried that in the end I’ll let her bully me into doing exactly what I don’t want to do. The thing about being an advice columnist is it helps you see your weaknesses. Mine is being a pushover. Unfortunately, knowing it and stopping it are two different things.
Before she can argue with me there’s a tap on the door. I start to get it, but Kennedy holds me back.
“Are you expecting anyone?”
“ No. ”
“Then let’s see who it is first.” She pushes the ruffled curtains back from the window over the sink and presses her face against the glass. “I can’t see anything from here.”
We both walk into the living room, where she fixes her eye on the front door peephole. “It’s him. The nerdy cute guy. He probably wants money for the window. We’re not opening it.”
“Let me see.” I trade places with her at the peephole. “He’s just standing there, waiting. He knows we’re here. All our lights are on, and your car is in the driveway.”
“So? Maybe we’re in the shower or on an important call. Or maybe we just don’t want to open our goddamned door.”
“That’s rude,” I say.
“What’s rude is showing up at someone’s house without calling first. That’s what’s rude.”
“I can hear you, you know?” he calls out.
“Shit,” I whisper. “What do we do now?”
Kennedy huffs out a breath, pushes me out of the way, and opens the door a crack, leaving just enough space for half her face. “Can I help you?”
“I just want to make sure you don’t open the new window until the caulking has had time to dry.”
I pull the door open all the way. “We were wondering if it was you. Thank you for fixing it. But you really didn’t have to do that. We could’ve hired someone.” I turn to find my purse. “How much do we owe you?”
“Nothing.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his feet. “Consider it a welcome-to-the-neighborhood gift. ”
“That’s very nice of you, isn’t it, Kennedy?” I poke her in the ribs.
“Uh, yes, thank you,” she says.
“No problem. It gets cold here at night. I’ll let you get back to your shower, or phone call. And next time I’ll call first.” He bobs his head at us while trying to smother a grin.
“She didn’t mean that,” I call to him as he walks away.
