Page 38 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Okay, good,” I sigh. “Water coming right up.” I turn toward the kitchen, then turn immediately back to her.
“Can I say—” We both start at the same time.
“You, go,” I laugh.
“No, you. Please.” She slides onto a stool as I pour the glass of water and place it in front of her.
I take a deep breath and dive in. “Alright. You’re an adult. I’m an adult. People have one-night stands all the time, and it’s perfectly fine. I just—I mean, maybe I was mistaken, but that didn’t feel like what we were doing. At all. I felt like we really connected.”
“I did too,” she says after a small sip.
She still seems so nervous.
“So? What went wrong?” I ask. “And why all the lies?”
She opens her mouth to speak.
“Before you answer that, let me make something really clear: Cookie or Colleen, New York or Fork Lick, publishing or teaching… it’s all great. Obviously. What stumped me is why lie at all? It all seemed so arbitrary. I mean, you’re not married, right?”
“Right. No. I mean, yes, I’m not married.” She rubs the crease between her eyebrows.
“Is lying about random things how you get your kicks, then?”
“No, not at all?—”
“Then what? Because?—”
“Dude, if you’d let me speak, I’ll explain everything to you!”
Her sass is back. A glimmer of that wild woman I met four months ago is showing her face again.
“My apologies.” I pull up the other stool and sit beside her. “I’m a talker.”
“It’s okay. I like that you’re a talker. So many guys are ‘the strong, silent types.’ Between my father, grandfather, and four brothers, I’ve had enough of the strong silent types to last me a lifetime, believe me.”
“Four brothers!” I say. “Wow! Any sisters?”
“Nope, I am the lone Bedd sister,” she says, and I’d have to be completely dense not to pick up on the layers of frustration lurking under that statement. But I don’t press for more information. It’s this talker’s turn to really listen.
“You know what? That’s actually a good place for me to start,” she says more to herself than to me. She takes a deep breath. “I was in a weird headspace when I met you that day. Life at home has been pretty topsy-turvy lately. And not because I am in a rocky relationship or anything like that. Relationships—of the romantic variety anyway—haven’t really ever been my thing. I’ve wanted them to be, but—ugh!” She chides herself. “You don’t need my whole emotional history.”
“I’m here. I’m listening. Why don’t you just take it slow?”
“I actually think it would help if I got it all out really fast. Like ripping off a bandage. Would that be okay?”
“Sure, whatever you?—”
She cuts me off and talks at warp speed. “My parents died when I was ten. Car crash. Hit by a runaway semi on their way home from celebrating their anniversary. They went on this romantic sightseeing trip—they were always doing something romantic—and we stayed with my grandparents while they were gone. We had no idea of course that they would stay gone and our grandparents would essentially become our parents from that moment forward. Needless to say, their death messed me up. My brothers too, but god forbid we ever talk about it, you know? Oh yeah, those four brothers I mentioned? They’re all incredibly sexy. I know, I know, that sounds bizarre hearing a woman admit that her brothers are sexy, but I have eyes, and lord knows I have ears—my whole town never shuts up about how attractive they are. ‘The Bedd brothers, the Bedd brothers!’ It’s all I hear. I swear I am just a vehicle for people to get to my hot-ass farmer brothers. Oh, right, I live on a farm. Did I mention that yet?”
“No, uh. Not yet, no,” I say. Wow, she’s a whirlwind right now.
“And guess what? We might lose that farm! Hahaha!” She laughs, though it’s not a particularly happy sound. “What a cliché, right? My grandad died this year and we found out he owed an insane amount of money. Thanks for the heads-up, Gramps! I’ve been living with my grandmother again, helping her grieve and trying like hell to dig the farm out of debt all while continuing to work as a kindergarten teacher basically for pennies and having no personal life whatsoever.”
Maybe you should take a breath?” I suggest. “It sounds like you’ve been dealing with a lot.”
“Don’t worry, I’m getting to my point. The morning I came into the city for your show, I’d hit my breaking point. I told myself I deserved one day to be wild. To not be me. When I saw you on the soundstage, something just… clicked. I don’t know how to explain it. Colleen would never scribble a provocative sign to a stranger, but Cookie would. I went for it, and I’m so sorry to say I didn’t concern myself with your feelings. That is, until we were full make-out city in that Town Car, and you said, ‘There’s nothing I hate more in this world than liars.’” She finally slows down and breathes deep. “When I promised I wouldn’t lie to you, I meant it. I kept my promise from that moment forward.”
“That night, when you said—and I quote—‘Your pork sword should be named the eighth wonder of the world…”
