I feel bad for Klein.But notthatbad.
He and Paisley returned from their honeymoon in Switzerland last week. Dinner out to hear about their trip was only a front. I have waited a long time to watch people point at him and laugh at his T-shirt.
The patrons of this crowded restaurant did not disappoint. Our reservation was for nine on a Friday night, when I assumed the crowd would be sufficiently half in the bag. I requested a table at the far end of the restaurant so Klein would be viewable to everybody, including the rowdiest spot in the place: the bar.
"Ooh shit," some guy says, clapping Klein on the shoulders from behind. "I don't know if I would call you hotter than a hoochie's coochie, but you are handsome." He cackles and moves on.
I side-eye Klein's shirt, lips pursed to keep from laughing. There's a retro feel to the design, with a faded circle and the bold text saying Hotter Than A Hoochie's Coochie.
Klein glares at me. "I hate you."
I shrug. "Mild payback. I walked through Vegas in my shirt."
"I'm surprised they let you in here wearing that." Klein's older sister, Eden, pipes up from over the top of her menu. One of the many benefits to living in the valley again is spending time with Eden and her preteen son, Oliver. Tomorrow I'm meeting Klein at Oliver's soccer game.
"The bouncer found his shirt funny," Paisley adds, hand pressed to her mouth and shoulders shaking.
Cecily swipes a finger through the salted rim of her margarita. "I can't believe a restaurant needs a bouncer. This place is a slightly toned down version of a club." She opens her mouth and flattens her tongue, swiping the salt across it. A knot forms in my stomach. It doesn't matter how many times I've had my wife, I want her endlessly.
A woman in a bustier with a towering rose headband dances past our table, breathing fire. She breaks character when she reads Klein's shirt, a laugh bursting forth and sending the flame shooting sideways.
Paisley laughs so hard she snorts. "You made the fire dancer lose focus."
"It's a talent," Klein deadpans.
"Ok, ok," Eden says after we order platters of tacos. "Before my brother and my new sister-in-law"—she sends an elated grin at Paisley—"tell us about their honeymoon, I want to hear about how you two got together." Eden levels me and Cecily with a look that is downright parental. "I don't know where I was when you told this story at their wedding, but I missed it. Don't leave anything out. I am but a lonely single mother spending my days picking up dirty socks and subtly suggesting to an eleven-year-old boy that he bathe and wear deodorant."
"Who, Klein?" I point at my cousin.
"Fuck you very much," he announces, fielding yet another exuberant and probably drunken guffaw from a man passing by.
I press a kiss to my wife's hair. "Do you want to go first, Chestnut?"
"Sure," she says, squeezing my thigh. "We made plans to meet for a drink, and then I walked into Obstinate Daughter..."
We've told this story enough that I know exactly where Cecily will pause, or throw a look my way.
I love my wife. Love listening to her tell our story, the way she smirks and smiles and rolls her eyes, but it all has an undercurrent of happiness.
"She loathed me," I interject, when Cecily talks about the gummy I ate with Savage Grandma.
"I did," she confirms. "But only because my feelings were hurt."
Eden oohs and ahhs when Cecily tells her how we fell in love in the midst of familial chaos, how it stripped away the pretext that usually accompanies the beginning of a relationship.
When dinner is over, we head home to that huge house on the mountain I used to look at as a kid. For now we've made one of the guest rooms into our bedroom. We are slowly incorporating our personalities into the home. Cecily ripped up the teal carpeting the day after we moved in, revealing a beautiful wood floor beneath. "Grandma will definitely haunt me for that," Cecily had said, smacking the dust from her hands.
Growing up I did not have a pool, but I can say with absolute certainty, the best part of having your own pool is swimming in it naked.
"This is our third night this week skinny-dipping," Cecily says as she glides past, naked outline visible under the water. The back patio lights are out, and I set the pool light to low. Below us, the lights of the city twinkle. Above us, the city lights mute the stars, and in the distance airplanes blink red upon takeoff and landing at Sky Harbor International.
Living up here with Cecily has a dreamlike quality to it. Being with her at all has the same feeling. She is a dream come true.
The Phoenix branch of the Whitaker Literary Agency is officially up and running. Dee visited for the opening, but Sally stayed home. There were internal rumblings that Sally herself was the author of the western horror, writing under a pseudonym. I didn't have to care, or be involved in the drama. Working across the country is a blessing, for many reasons.
Cecily slices through the water and appears in front of me. "Your parents are coming over Sunday afternoon," she says, slicking her hair back from her face. She keeps her body below the waterline, only her shoulders and head showing. "I still can't believe you lied to them about my last name."
"The worst part was that I forgot I did that." I'd claimed I'd misspoke, but I think my mom knew better.
