Page 27 of Love Bank
Instead of a van, she opened the door to a little white sedan, reaching in the back seat and pulling out a plate with foil on top.
“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?” The smile vanished and her forehead wrinkled.
“No, no. Not allergic to food. Just cats.”
She whirled around, her mouth in a comical little “O.”
“That’s terrible! You must hate being next to Granny’s National Cat Protection Society.”
I couldn’t help myself. Every time someone said the full name out loud, I got amused. I mean, it was a pretty long and serious name for a tiny room that housed a bazillion cats and one crazy cat lady. Then again, a business woman who hadn’t even had sex opening up a sperm bank was a little bizarre too. I guess we all had our interests in life. Mine just happened to be penises. In a strictly clinical sense, of course.
“It’s actually fine. They don’t get out very often and my allergies aren’t super severe,” I lied.
The smile was back and I was supremely happy I fibbed. Hazel ripped open the foil on the plate to present what I think she thought were cookies. In reality, they looked a bit like lumpy hockey pucks.
“I hope you love carob!” She winked at me and I couldn’t say no despite the shiver of revulsion.
“Yum,” I responded, forcing a smile onto my face.
I grabbed a puck and put it to my mouth, begging my teeth not to crack under the pressure. Managing to chunk off a tiny piece, I chewed enthusiastically, desperately trying to keep the grimace off my face. When you sucked a lemon, you couldn’t really control the face you made and these pucks were no different. I finally swallowed it down, seeing her nearly vibrating with happiness, waiting for my reaction.
“So good!” I exclaimed, waving that sucker in the air, hoping it would suck up some of the humidity in the air and soften up before I had to put my teeth in danger once again.
Hazel’s eyes widened a split second before I felt a tug on my hand and wind across my cheek. Looking over, I saw a seagull flying off with my cookie-puck clutched in its pointy beak.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” Hazel clasped my arm in a vise grip, shaking me. “Here, have another one.”
I shook my head, recovering quickly. “No, no. You better save those for all your donors. I’m just happy it went to an animal in need.” Those mother truckers were on my last nerve. In need, my ass. They’d gotten half my damn lunch just a couple hours ago. I didn’t want to look a gift seagull in the mouth, but I was mighty thankful for their thieving ways just so I got out of eating that disgrace of a cookie.
It was the thought that counted, so after Hazel put the cookies back in the car, I surprised myself by giving her a hug. I wasn’t a hug person. I mean, if someone gave me one, I reciprocated well enough, but I wasn’t a hug initiator. There was just something about this kind woman with the boundless energy that made you want to be just as kind in return.
She had one foot in her car when she swiveled back, a twinkle in her eye that promised mischief.
“Lucille? You got any plans tomorrow?”
It was the twinkle that got me. It was always the twinkle that did me in. I was drawn to it like seagulls to anything remotely edible.
“Nope. Nothing. Why?”
That grin intensified and I wondered if I’d just screwed myself over. I actually had lots of plans for tomorrow. Sleeping in, staying in my pajamas until it was time to put them on again, eating whatever I could scrounge up in my cupboards. Jam-packed day.
Hazel’s gaze swept me from head to toe and back up again. It was assessing. Not over the line into judgmental. More like gauging or appraising. I’d seen squinty judgy eyes and these weren’t it.
“What do you say to making some new friends?”
“Uh…” It sounded repulsive, what with the putting on of clothes I’d have to do, but at the same time, it sounded heavenly. A chance to make actual girlfriends? Scary as hell and yet so enticing.
“Leave it to me. My two besties will come over with me. You’ll love them.” She whipped a phone out of the back pocket of her teeny tiny jean shorts. “What’s your number, sweet girl?”
I preened, feeling like a beauty queen being invited to hang out with girls I imagined were quite a bit younger than me. And calling me sweet girl? Couldn’t tell you the last time someone used a nickname for me. Well, other than my mom, but “Lucy, dear” didn’t exactly set my soul on fire, you know?
I gave her my number and her thumbs flew over the screen. She tucked it back in her pocket and slid into her car.
“Text me back with your address and we’ll be over around ten. Don’t do a thing. Don’t even get dressed. We’re gonna make you over so hard.” She squealed and I did too. For opposite reasons.
She had me with the “no dressing” thing and then she went and ruined it. Getting made over so hard? That didn’t sound like Sunday Funday. What was wrong with the way I looked? I looked exactly like a put-together professional business woman. Sure, I didn’t show a bunch of skin, but that didn’t make me a hot mess. When you worked in a clinic where lots of clothes came off, you didn’t want to be wearing something suggestive. I wanted the essential oil blend to rev their engines, not a flashy display of bosom.
Another squeal broke through my grumbly musings. Hazel peeled out of the parking lot and waved out the window as carefree as twenty-somethings can be when they have no spouse, no kids, no mortgage, and no highly realistic nightmares of being single the rest of their lives when they go to sleep at night.
