Page 148 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Uncle Max, I need you to go check on Homer for me—”
“You mean the furry beast who just conned me out of my last donut hole?”
“He’s with you?” I sat up in bed and immediately regretted it.
“You don’t remember calling last night and leaving a voicemail singing about how much you love your Homie? Marley sang back-up.”
“I do not.”
“Don’t worry, I forwarded it to Lewis and your mom. Also your cousin. You did an enthusiastic version of Frankie Valli’s ‘Sherry,’ and you creatively changed Sherry to Homie.”
That explained the sore balls and throat.
“I’m never going to that party again,” I groaned.
“Well, take your time apologizing to the Ciceros for being an inconsiderate drunkard. Homer is farting all over Lewis’s armchair.”
“Did you walk him?”
“To the park where he flirted with some Maltipoo one-quarter his size.”
“Feed him?”
“Do donuts count?”
“No, they do not.”
“Relax. He had his ration of kibble before his donut.”
“Thanks, Uncle Max.”
“Thank you for the entertainment. I’ll forward you the voicemail,” he promised.
I said goodbye and hung up.
“Homer okay?” Marley asked over Vicky’s snoring.
“He’s farting up my uncles’ house.”
“I guess I should go explain this tableau to my parents,” she yawned.
“Marley, I’m not exaggerating when I say I would marry you for a Gatorade right now.”
She snorted, unimpressed with my profession of love. “I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
I’d never donethe walk of shame to the breakfast table in a woman’s parents’ house before. Then again, I’d never gotten caught in a girl’s room before.
Marley found sweats for me, so I didn’t have to make my appearance in Ned’s bike shorts. Unfortunately, her clothes weren’t much better. The sweatpants accentuated my junk in a creepy porn movie sort of way. The sweatshirt was so tight I worried I’d bust the seams if I coughed too hard.
“Good morning,” Jessica said chipperly. She made a valiant effort to ignore the inappropriate bulge in my pants.
“Morning, Mom,” Marley whispered, her voice gravelly. “Sorry for the unannounced guests.”
“It’s no problem,” Jessica said, attention stolen by Vicky stumbling into the kitchen.
“Please tell me there’s grease and coffee,” Vicky begged. She was clutching a pillow over her head and ears.
