"Ouch," he complains. "Those were her words. Not mine. I would never use that term."
"Do not use her words again. I don't care how well-adjusted she seems about the whole thing. I don't care that she has a death doula?—"
"Rainbow," Dom supplies unhelpfully. "Acid Rainbow."
Ok, how am I not supposed to laugh at that?
"Anyway," I say loudly. Forcefully. Enough to banish the part of me that wants to cackle. "There will be no using my grandmother's terms unless they are something you would say to your priest."
"Technically," Dom says, stuffing fries into his mouth, "You should be able to say anything to your priest. The confessional is sealed. You could describe your most recent murder and?—"
"That's enough," I talk over him. I grab a napkin from the center console and throw it at him. This is what I get for speaking to someone who isn't of sound mind, a person who is also highly intelligent.
I direct the Jeep onto Klein and Paisley's street. "Here we go," I announce, making sure Dom knows we are almost there. Do I have to come to a full stop? Slowing down and telling him to tuck his chin to his chest should be enough.
Turns out, I have to come to a stop. Obviously I would anyway, but I really, really have to now that Klein, Paisley, and Paloma are standing on the sidewalk. Why are they smiling like that? Their grins are too broad. Too excited. Shouldn't Paisley and Paloma be at the office? The only reason I'm here, and notat work like I should be, is because I took the day off for the emergency family meeting and the trip to the courthouse. Not that there will be an annulment today, because my husband is high.
I pull up to the curb, and shift into Park. "What's up?" I ask the small crowd on the sidewalk.
"What's up?" Dom echoes, turning to me and saying in the loudest whisper in the history of ever, "Don't tell them I'm high."
Behind Dom's head, Klein, Paisley, and Paloma dissolve. Like ice cream in the summer sun, they melt into obscenely loud laughter. Or at least, Paisley and Paloma are loud. Klein, bent over with his hands on his knees, laughs so hard he makes no sound.
Dom unbuckles himself. Climbs out. Then he does the most Dom thing I could imagine. He turns around and methodically cleans up behind himself. I haven't forgotten the comment he made last weekend about my dress puddled on the floor. Then he pulled it from the closet, where it hung neatly on a wooden hanger.
Heaving a beleaguered sigh, I unclasp my seat belt and make my way around the front of the car. "Any reason you aren't at work?" I direct the question to the still-crowing women.
Paisley answers. "Klein called and said you texted him something unbelievable, but then I said you don't make stuff up the way he does."
"They're called fiction books," he defends, delivering a smack to her backside.
I hurl an accusatory look at Klein. "I was trying to be nice and give you a heads-up."
"Yeah, well, thanks for that. Because then I told Paloma"—Paisley looks at Paloma, who nods in corroboration—"and we decided this wasn't something that could be missed. Mr. Straightand Narrow gets drunk, married, and high in the span of seventy-two hours? Jui-cy," she sings.
Dom looks at me, shocked and hurt. "You told them?"
I heave a second sigh. Gustier this time. I am just about done with this entire day. I'm going to go home and sleep until tomorrow. It's early afternoon, but this has already been the worst day I've had in a very long time. Here I was thinking waking up drunk-married in Vegas was the worst, but no.
"Who did you do this with?" Klein purses his lips, trying not to laugh.
Dom glances at me. Is there gloominess lurking behind the manufactured relaxed state he's in? I'm gloomy, too. Devastated, really, but I've compartmentalized it. I'm waiting until I get home, until I close the door on my one-bedroom apartment, to break down.
"Savage Grandma," Dom answers.
Shared looks of bewilderment pass between the three people who are not under the influence. Paloma asks, "Does High Dom make up stories, too? Or is Savage Grandma a real person?"
Dom's gaze bores into me. His questions, too. I feel them, pointy and pressing and unwelcome. "Why don't your friends know about Savage Grandma? She's so cool."
"Dominic," I say through clenched teeth. "Do not lecture me while you're high."
He ignores me. "It's weird, Cecily. You said your family doesn't know your friends, and it looks like your friends don't know anything about your family, either."
Paloma and Paisley know I don't get along with them, but I haven't provided all the dirty details.
"That's enough from you," I shout, losing my temper. My patience. My cool. "You got high with my grandma and as a result we can't get an annulment this afternoon. Now I have tospend another day married to you." A snarl inched its way onto my face as I spoke.
"Which is terrible, right? Theworst." Hurt and annoyance lace through the sarcasm in his tone. His silliness on our drive has disappeared.
