I held out my hand to her to settle the agreement. I could count on Gigi for several things, and good-spirited wagers was one of them. I'd wound up wearing a kilt to Sam's wedding when the Sox didn't make it to the World Series a couple of seasons ago, and then cutting my so-called hipster hair and beard when the Bruins lost the Stanley Cup this pastspring.
"Now start from the beginning with your Providence situation," Gigi said. "And give me the real story. Not the one you've sent through the spincycle."
I drained one beer and moved onto the next. "My crazy ex-girlfriend is going to be at RISD Weekend," I said. "I'm trying toavoidher."
"Come on, man," she said with a groan. "The crazy ex-girlfriend shit is ridiculous. Don't bethatguy."
"What guy?" I snapped, immediately annoyed. She knew I wasn'tthatguy.
"The guy who acts like it's a problem when a woman wants a relationship," she said as if it was painted across the Green Monster and I was too dim to see it for myself. "The guy who calls a woman's advances clingy and needy and annoying, but has no problem fucking her as often as he can. The one who calls an ex-girlfriend crazy because she didn't see it coming when he broke it off, and she tookithard."
Ah. I got it now. For the middle triplet flanked by two brothers, her experiences with men were alarmingly bad. It was like she just couldn't see the redflags.
"That's not the situation here, Gigi," I said evenly. "Remember when I told you about this scar?" I tapped the faded line running the length of my palm. "She's the one who insisted on bloodoaths."
"Ah ha," she said. "That one." She sipped her beer, nodding as if my request suddenly made sense. "Right. Okay. Sorry about thesermon."
I waved her off. "It's all good," I said, and I meant it. There was no reason to stay pissed at Gigi. "What d'you say? There's a bakery on Smith Street that has some of the bestzeppoles."
"That's just another form of donut, Walsh," she yelled. "My ass doesn't needdonuts."
"All right, so I'll eat the donuts and you'll watch," I said. The words weren't out and she was socking me in theshoulder.
"Bastard," shemurmured.
Before I could reply, she was shooting out of her seat and shouting at the umpire to get the dirt out of his eyes and make a decent call for once in his life. She peppered it with enough profanity to make the first baseman turn and stare at her, open-mouthed.
"Well done, bro," I said as shesatdown.
"So listen," she started, gesturing toward me with her cup. "I'd love nothing more than a tour of Providence guided by the king himself, but I don't think that's a good idea. For us.Rightnow."
"Would it be a good idea at a different time?" I asked, confused. "Or was 'for us' the operativeclause?"
She fidgeted—tugging at her ball cap, twisting her ponytail, shifting in her seat, crossing and then uncrossing her legs, passing her drink from hand to hand, chewing a fingernail—and waited a short, awkward eternity torespond.
Finally, after the better part of an inning had passed, she said, "I'm seeingsomeone."
I lifted an eyebrow. "Who?" I demanded. "Since when? Fromwhere?"
I hated to say it, but Gigi would've benefitted from an arranged marriage. Or the convent. Anything to keep her from finding the biggest scumbag in every room and falling ass-over-tea kettle in love with him.Again.
She pursed her lips and shook her head. "I don't want to getintoit."
"I swear to god and John Malkovich, Gigi," I said, jabbing a finger in her direction. "If it's that jackass who took Gronk the Dog, we're going to have words. You and me, we'll have words and they won't begoodones."
"No, it's not him,"shesaid.
Thank you, Peter, Paul, and Mary.I didn't intend to be a paternalistic son of a bitch, but really. With Magnolia, it was necessary. Someone had to do it, and her fucking brothers had this bizarre minding-their-own-business thing going on that I couldn't begin to comprehend. And she'd gone back to that dog-snatching dickhead too many times and ignored all offers of common sense when it came to badnewsboys.
"But I don't think it's a good idea for me to go away for a weekend with you. Obviously"—she waved between us as a grimace crossed her face—"nothing's happening here. But things are still new with Peter, and I don't want to make himuncomfortable."
"Peter," I repeated, and my back was all the way up now. She'd obviously been seeing him for a bit, and it wasn't like she made a habit of keeping her dating activities to herself. She'd chosen to withhold that information. "And where did we meetPeter?"
She sighed and stared into her beer. "On my penthouse project,"shesaid.
"Okay, so he's a general contractor? Trades? Designer?" I asked. She offered no response, and squinted at the field. "Architect? Are you dating my competition,Magnolia?"
"Not an architect," she said,laughing.
