Page 65 of The Cadence
“I’m trying everything to make him like me more,” she said. “I’m not wearing any panties and I go down on him whenever he wants.”
“Oh…”
She angrily yanked a tissue free of the box and swabbed it around her face. “He should be following me around, drooling. But here I am at this grocery store looking for him instead!”
“I know he likes you.”
Her eyes widened and she stared at me hopefully. “You know that?”
“Well, didn’t he suggest moving in together?” I reminded her.
“Yes, but then he came over to meet my grandma and that was when he started acting strange. She was like, ‘In your newhouse, who’s going to pay for the utilities? Who will plow the driveway?’” Kirsten tossed her tissue and snatched another. “Cully and I went out afterwards and he was asking me the same things. I told him we’d actually be saving money because of property taxes, and he got all scared about having to pay those. Then he said he couldn’t go look at the next place with the real estate agent and he didn’t show up for the one today, either!” She sniffled. “I need to yank down his pants and go to town, and then we’ll be ok. I have a really agile tongue and my throat—”
“I don’t feel like this is a problem that a blowjob can solve,” I suggested, and she seemed a little shaken by that. “Kirsten, he has a point, and so does your grandmother. You should make a list of all the expenses that go along with a house. Not just the money you’d have to spend to buy it, but how much it will cost day to day, too.”
“That sounds really, really dull,” she told me.
I looked around the store, but things were quiet with only a few customers. I had more time to talk. “It is dull, but you have to do it. I didn’t know about budgeting and keeping track of money either,” I said earnestly. “I had to learn that from my grandma and now I’m learning even more stuff, like about how to register a business name and how to make spreadsheets, too!” I smiled in satisfaction. I was going to do things the right way so that no one could suddenly say, “We’re taking this house!” and I’d have to live in my car. I had been such a mess after the funeral that I hadn’t been making good decisions, but I was starting that now.
She looked at me and yawned. “Were you just talking? My brain does this thing to protect itself against extreme boredom,” sheexplained. “It’s like I’m physically here but mentally, I’m doing something interesting. It’s so helpful when you’re supposed to listen to professors.”
“Never mind!” I seethed. “I don’t know why I would have tried to help—”
“Miss? Excuse me, I have a complaint.”
I knew that voice and I crossed my arms as I stared down the man who had entered my checkout lane. “No,” I told him. “No, we are not doing the limp food game, not today! I know you’ve been bringing weird stuff into the store to play some trick, and it’s disgusting. Get out of here.”
“There’s nothing limp,” he said, and his face lit with a smug smile. “It’s firm and erect!”
“Ew, what is that?” Kirsten squealed as he held up a large, purple cylinder. “It looks like you lubed up an eggplant!”
“Holy Moses, did you?” I asked him. “Get out of this store!”
He didn’t. He lunged at me with the greasy, shiny vegetable and I jumped backwards. “Kirsten, run!” I yelled. “He’s crazy!”
“Back off, perv! Leave her alone!” she shouted at him, and I saw her aiming a bright pink canister in his direction.
“No, don’t spray that!” I ordered, but as I spoke, he lunged at me again and hit my face with the eggplant. Unfortunately, it was very, very firm. “Ow!”
She sprayed and I ducked as it hit the pervert full in the face. He howled just like an injured animal and clawed at his eyes with the hand that didn’t clutch the slippery vegetable. The storemanager came running and immediately coughed and blinked, waving her hands in front of her face to clear the air. “What happened out here?” she croaked.
Kirsten had the answer. “I maced him! Call nine-one-one!” she shrieked.
A little while later, I figured that I’d better let Will know what had happened, because word would get around to him somehow. But by the time a firefighter retrieved my pocketbook with my phone from the store, it was too late. As I sat on the curb and poured another bottle of water over my eyes, his car came screeching into the parking lot. The police were here and no other member of the public had been allowed so close to the grocery store, but this town was in Woodsmen territory. The officers parted like the Red Sea to let him pass. I scrambled to my feet as he approached, and I realized that one of his emotions was very, very obvious at the moment: fury.
“What the hell happened?” he boomed out.
Kirsten, who had been trying to worm her way into another interview with a local TV reporter, abandoned the effort and ran over to answer his question. “She got attacked by a pervert with a food fetish! But I saved her,” she said triumphantly.
“You got attacked?” He reached for me and I got folded into his big arms.
“I’m fine,” I told him, but I had been shaken up. It wasn’t every day that you got smacked with a frozen eggplant coated in personal lubricant, which was how the police had described the weapon.
“I should have known this would happen,” I heard Will mutter.
“How would you have guessed that I would get hit with a vegetable? No one could have,” I said.
He took my chin in his palm, cupping it carefully. “Is that what made the mark on your cheek? Someone hit you? Where is he?”
