Page 78 of Rock Bottom Girl
“Slow?” Gurgevich sat with an unlit cigarette dangling from her posy pink lips. “You? Ha!”
“Yes, me. Jesus, you guys make me sound like a manwhore or something,” I grumbled.
“I think you should invite her over tonight,” Uncle Max insisted.
“You’re just saying that because then you can tell Uncle Lew that you met her and he didn’t.”
“I see no problem with that,” he sniffed.
“She’s a cool gal,” Floyd said. “Seems like the kids are warming up to her a bit. I mean, except for when she got red eyes and a cloud of smoke came out of her nose at Hooper yesterday.”
“Are you protecting her from us or us from her?” Mrs. Gurgevich asked me.
“Fine. Geez. I’ll text her. Okay?” I yanked my phone out of my pocket.
Me: You don’t maybe want to come over so my asshole friends and nosy uncle will get off my back about why my girlfriend isn’t here at poker night, do you?
“There. I texted. Happy now? Can we please get back to playing?”
My phone dinged.
“What did she say?” Bill asked.
“Did you see me pick up my phone yet, genius?” I muttered. Having a girlfriend was turning out to be a pain in my ass.
Marley: What the hell kind of an invitation was that?
“What did she say?” Uncle Max asked.
“She wants to know what the hell kind of an invitation was that.”
“How did you say it?” Mrs. Gurgevich asked.
“I told her you guys wouldn’t get off my back and she could maybe come over so you’d shut the hell up.”
Uncle Max stroked a hand through his beard. “You’re not very good at this,” he observed.
“It’s my first relationship! What do you want from me? Jeez!”
Mrs. Gurgevich was shaking her head sadly. “I really thought you’d be better at this.”
“And I really thought I’d be playing poker tonight, not sitting through some hen-pecking party.”
Floyd let out a chicken squawk.
Me: Please come over and hang out with my stupid friends. I’d love to have you. There’s bourbon-flavored beef jerky.
“What did you say back to her?” Bill asked.
“Is she coming?” Floyd asked.
Marley: You’re lucky my only other option was laundering the bed linens for my parents’ next Airbnb guest. Be there in ten.
Me: Bless you. P.S. They all think this is real so, you know, dress sexy and get ready to French kiss the hell out of me.
She responded with a middle finger emoji.
“Well?” Uncle Max demanded.
