Page 14 of The Homemaker
I scratched the back of my head. “Can I uh … ask what I did to be put on a high pedestal?”
She emptied the last drips of coffee into her mouth and rubbed her lips together. “Your vinyl record collection is flawless. Your fig tree is thriving. And the jar of local honey is chef’s kiss.”
“Well—”
“Don’t.” She held out a flat palm and cut me off. “Don’t say anything like your girlfriend picked everything out. Or the vinyl records are throwaways that used to belong to your grandfather. I really like what’s in my head right now. Ineedit. So just”—her nose wrinkled—“don’t ruin it for me.”
“You like,” I pointed to the door, “my oldies collection?”
She nodded slowly. “My dad inherited his parents’ collection, along with a wood console record player that was a turntable on one end and storage for vinyl records on the other end. My mom hated it because it was so big and ugly. The music was unlike anything I had ever heard before. The first time I listened to Brian Hyland’s ‘Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini’ I was hooked. Like, who sings songs like that anymore?” She grinned. “No one.”
I got down on one knee. “Will you marry me?”
Alice giggled. It was the perfect giggle. Innocent and sincere.
I stood, suddenly feeling like an imbecile. “It was, in fact, part of my grandfather’s massive collection, but nothing in it is a throwaway. If you so much as scratch one album, you will lose your deposit.”
“That’s harsh.”
I shrugged, sliding one hand into my back jeans pocket. “In all seriousness, if there is anything you need, please let me know.”
She nodded toward the cornhole game in the yard. “What if I need someone to play cornhole with me?”
“Well,” I glanced at my watch, “I have a quick errand to run. But when I get back, I’ll play with you.” I cleared my throat and shook my head. “That came out all wrong. I’ll play cornhole with you. Damn,” I pinched the bridge of my nose, “that might sound bad too.”
“I don’t expect you to do that. I’m sure you have things to do.”
“Nothing pressing.” That was a lie. I had a project due the next morning. And I had no errands to run. Yet, I told her I did because I didn’t want to seem too anxious. So I would run my fake errands, then play cornhole with her while I fell further behind on meeting the deadline that I acted like I didn’t have.
Good job, Murph. You’re an idiot.
“Well, you know where I’ll be.” She jabbed a thumb toward the door. “Inside, listening to your grandpa’s records and drinking wine.”
“Wine after coffee?” Again, I looked at my watch for a dramatic effect. “It’s not even ten.”
“And this isn’t my real life.” She stood and sauntered to the door. “So the rules don’t apply to me.”
Alice was mysterious and … trouble. But I was past due for a little trouble, so I drove around for forty-five minutes, stopping for a coffee before returning.
“Where is she, Palmer?” I asked, closing the garage door behind me.
He meowed.
I retrieved the bean bags from the sack and tossed a few, only hitting the hole once.
“Are you cheating?”
I turned toward Alice’s voice.
“Practicing to get a leg up?” she asked, descending the stairs from the deck to the yard while slipping on big black sunglasses. Her toned legs in her sleek shorts were almost as distracting as her fitted white T-shirt that said “Bite Me” with a fishhook.
Done. Whatever bait she dangled in front of me, Iwas already chasing.
“Be my guest. Practice as much as you want,” I said, collecting the bags and handing her the red ones.
“Nah. I’m good. Let’s just start.” Alice tossed one bag in the hole. Followed by another, and another. The fourth bag stopped just shy of the hole. She frowned. “Maybe I should have taken a few warm-up shots.”
I was screwed and should have stayed at my desk, pondering all the possible reasons she looked lost and lonely.
