I choked.Birthing hips?Am I livestock?
Karla glanced at the table. “That must be what I smelled.”
March’s mouth hung open.
I wasn’t sure which of us was more embarrassed—me or him.
She plopped into the seat I’d been in.
March pulled out another chair for me. “I was born Zane Ruppert March.”
“But we changed it legally to Ruppert Zane March,” Karla added, grabbing a slice. “For Grandpappy.”
“Without asking me,” Zane muttered as he sat.
“You were two,” she mumbled while chewing. “Your grandpappy threatened to cut us out of the will if we didn’t name a baby after him. And your father got cancer of the you-know-whats.” She gestured downward. “So we weren’t getting any more chances.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, blinking. Cancer was never fair, and testicular cancer was no joyride. I assumed that’s what she meant.
“You shouldn’t have bothered,” Zane said.
Karla shrugged. “How were we supposed to know the old coot, may he rest in peace, was going to leave it all to that hussy?” She turned to me. “Had a heart attack in bed two months after his wedding, and the fourth wife got it all.”
“Grandpappy married a Vegas showgirl,” Zane explained.
“The doctor said it was the sex that killed him,” Karla added through a mouthful of pizza. “I think that was her plan all along. You should’ve seen how she set up his basement.” She wiped a stringy piece of cheese from her chin. “Like something out of that book—what was it called?”
“Fifty Shades,” March said flatly.
“That’s the one. Hey before I forget, can you sign this birthday card for Nana? I’m asking again if I can come up.” She pulled a card from her purse.
“Sure,” March replied. “Do you think it’ll change anything?”
“I have to try.” Karla shrugged and looked my way. “Except for going to the zoo, my mother is a recluse who won’t talk to anyone.”
“I’m sorry.” I wished I had family. She took a deep breath. “You got any wine?”
March stood. “Sure.” He headed to the kitchen.
Karla leaned in. “So, how long have you two been together, Mayten? I didn’t even know he had a new girl.”
“I heard that,” March called.
“We’re not,” I said quickly. “And it’s Peyton.”
She eyed me skeptically. “There’s a suitcase by the door. Do you always bring luggage on your dinner dates?”
“It’s not a date,” March said from the kitchen.
“Quiet, Ruppie,” she snapped. “I’m talking to your girl.”
“I’m not his girl,” I confirmed. “My condo was burglarized today. The door’s broken. He insisted I come here tonight. It wouldn’t be safe at my building without a working lock.”
Karla nodded. “That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it next time I sneak off to a man’s place.”
“She’s here…” March’s voice was tight. “…because she got a concussion, and the doctor told me to keep an eye on her for two days.”
Karla squinted at me. “A concussion?”
