After you survive the clerk’s smirk, you drive home to your woman, who is on the couch wearing her “fat pants” (not my term, don’t blame me) and who greets you with eager anticipation and a quick kiss on the cheek.
She then makes love to the ice cream and you’re stuck watching some Nicholas Sparks novel adaptation on the Oprah channel while she sobs on your shoulder and begs you never to die.
I’ve been moved into new territory, I see, as seconds pass and she becomes impatient. I’m now expected to run Period Errands for Shannon’s entire female pack.
On some level, that means I’ve gained some kind of trust from all three women, but on another level I feel like my balls have shriveled to raisins that Ben & Jerry’s will put into their new flavor:
Emasculated Marshmallow (Pussy) Whip.
“Please, Declan? Please?” she begs.
I sigh. Heavy is my heart (among other body parts...). I want to see her, and Amanda and Amy are fun to hang out with. The day has been as crappy as I expected, and the idea of drinking a few beers and belting out a Queen or Beatles song sounds about right.
“Fine. Just place the order, and—”
“So, at the store,” she adds, the pleading tone long gone. Now that I’ve acquiesced, she shifts into take-him-for-granted mode. “I need you to get—”
“Ibuprofen and tampons,” I say.
“How’d you guess?” she whispers.
“Pure luck.”
We get off the phone and I buzz my driver, Lance. He rolls the divider down and looks at me via the rearview mirror.
“Change of plans, Mr. McCormick?”
“Yes. We need to go to Shannon’s place. And swing by the Thai place on Route 9.”
He smirks. “You need me to go to the grocery store on the way there, too?” Great. The smirk.
I smirk back. “Yes, Lance. Only this time, you can go in and buy what Shannon and her friends need.”
He pales.
I feel better.
* * *
We pull into Shannon’s driveway to find a picture of Marie plastered all over Amanda’s car. The Viagramobile. Amanda and Josh must have traded cars. Who has the Turdmobile? Carol? Poor Jeffrey and Tyler. It might be funny now, but wait until they hit middle school and their friends start calling them Turdboy.
I make a note to offer karate lessons as a birthday present. That’s what uncles do, right?
The thought dissolves as the front door opens.
“You are a God!” Amanda declares as I appear at their doorstep, Lance carrying everything for me. Amanda and Amy descend on him like hungry locusts and he takes in Amy like she’s eye candy.
“That’s my girlfriend’s little sister, Lance. Don’t even think about it.” I give him a good look. “Besides, she’s easily fifteen years younger than you.”
He backs off and goes out to the limo. Good man. Then again, Amy’s wearing one of those spaghetti-strap tank tops, no bra, and yoga pants that say “bootylicious” across her ass.
Not that I’m looking.
Something protective rises up in me, and I feel a need to grab Jason, a shotgun, and to start cleaning it. With my driver’s teeth.
I’ve never had a little sister before. Suddenly I get a glimpse into the future, my and Shannon’s daughter on her first date. I feel really sorry for her first love.
Amy’s red curls bounce along with, um, other parts that my driver shouldn’t be watching as she takes the food and scampers off to the safety of the couch. I walk in and Shannon greets me with a big kiss. It’s sweet and salty, her tongue bold and urgent. A guy could get used to being greeted like this.
“Thank you,” she murmurs against my jaw. Her hand reaches up and she scratches my neck. “Long day? You have stubble.”
“All men have stubble by ten o’clock.”
“Your stubble is thicker than most.”
“It’s the testosterone. It thickens everything.” I nudge my thigh against hers so she can feel how thick everything is. She just laughs. Great. I love it when she laughs at my hard on. Just love it.
She’s right, though. I generally have to shave a second time before late-day business meetings if I want to look more professional.
“I like it,” she says, nuzzling. Mixed signals. She’s sending me mixed signals. Why is she coming on to me in a room with Amanda and Amy?
There’s only one good reason: she wants something from me. And not sex. This would be so much easier if it were sex. But it’s never sex. When a woman you’ve been with for more than a year spontaneously comes on to you during her period, there’s an ulterior motive.
Chuckles approaches me like I am part of the Coast Guard and have a basket to lower from a helicopter to save him from drowning in the ocean. He begins to purr, a loud, rumbly noise that makes Amanda jump from across the room and stare at him. Chuckles never purrs. Only for me.
I pick him up and stroke his fur. We get each other. We’re the only men in the room. The testicled have to stick together.
Except he’s neutered, so...
“How was your day?” I ask Shannon in a fake voice.
She scowls. “Why do you ask?”
“Because I love you.” The only correct response when your testosterone is outweighed by a ratio of 3:1. Chuckles doesn’t count.
“This pad Thai is amazing. Thank you, Declan!” Amy calls out from the couch. She and Amanda are digging into a carton with separate forks. They don’t even bother with plates. Same with the pints of ice cream. It might say “four servings” on the side but what it should say is “get three different flavors together and four spoons and have at it.”