“Well—”
“Would you say Keme is your best friend?Or Bobby?Or BOTH?”That thought seemed to delight her so much that, for an instant, she was transported: her eyes shone with the potential of my having two besties, and the car began to drift toward the center line.As I reached for the wheel, though, she snapped back to reality with “It’s so CUTE that Bobby is staying at Hemlock House with you!Remember how I wanted Keme to be your roommate?But nowBobby’syour roommate!Isn’t he the most handsomest?Except you, Dash.And Keme.And my brothers.”Although this last part was offered with a dubious tone that suggested family obligation and a certain degree of strained loyalty.“And wasn’t it SAD how he and West broke up?I mean, weren’t they PERFECT?And now he’s single, and you’re single, and it’s just so SAD!”
I’d ordered industrial-grade ear protection, by the way.Stupid shipping delays always happen around the holidays.
Millie continued with “I just wish there was a way for both of you to find someone perfect and be HAPPY!”
That line of thinking seemed incredibly fraught—I had a vision of Millie maneuvering me and Bobby like dolls and insisting “NOW KISS!”, which would officially pull the plug on any chance of me ever having a healthy romantic relationship for the rest of my life—so I felt a rush of relief when Millie turned into the next driveway.
The Naught Home was a ranch with vertical siding painted—in the glow of the headlights—a shade between white and blue.It had a large deck built onto the front of the house and no fewer than six cars (three trucks and three sedans) parked in front of it.The garage door was up, and inside, the garage was stacked wall to wall with boxes, furniture, tools, and what appeared to be several generations’ worth of large, plastic toys (I recognized a pristine Crystal Castle).
“Oh my God,” Millie said as the car rolled to a stop.“Do you know what I JUST THOUGHT OF?”
I threw open the door and all but ran toward the house.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like spending time with Millie.She was such a lovely person, so kind and sweet and, in a beautiful way, innocent without being naïve.I didn’t even mind the volume.(I’d mind it even less when I got the same earmuffs they used for airport ground crews—you know, the ones who stood right under jet engines.) But there were some things I didn’t want to talk about.For that matter, there were some things I didn’t even want to think about.
The door swung open as I approached, and a woman who had to be Millie’s mother waved at me—with both hands.“Oh my goodness,” she said as I got closer, and then she swallowed me in a crushing hug.“You must be Dashiell!”
“Just Dash,” I wheezed.
“We are so happy to have you!I’m Christine, Millie’s mom.Millie has told useverythingabout you.Now look at those glasses—aren’t they cute?Millie says you moved here from the East Coast.Did you get those glasses on the East Coast?”A note of wonder entered her voice.“Did you get them in New York City?”
“Uh, I got them at Walmart—”
That was when she shouted, “MATTHEW!”
There it was, I decided through the ringing in my ears.The final piece to the puzzle.
Christine grabbed the arm of the man who appeared—thinning hair, sweater vest, and a stone-faced reserve that suggested he wanted a room of his own and, possibly, a pipe.“Matthew, this is Dashiell, Millie’s best friend!”
“Uh—” I recovered in time to say, as I shook his hand, “Dash.”
Matthew Naught grunted, released my hand, and left.
Well, who could blame him after all these years?
“Dash, I want you to explain something to me,” Christine said as she took my arm and led me into the house.My first impression was that it seemed comfortably lived in—clean, and relatively neat, but clearly home to a lot of people, and maybe the tiniest bit outdated.“I was watchingBlue Bloodslast night, and do you know, Donnie Wahlberg was so rude to his father?I didn’t like that, and I think you should say something to them.”
Aside from the fact that this didn’t seem to be a question, it took me a moment to realize she meant me.“To Donnie Wahlberg?”
“Mom,” Millie said, trying—unsuccessfully—to squeeze between me and her mother.“Mom, Dash isn’t a TV writer.He’s a MYSTERY writer.”
“Well, it’s all writing,” Christine Naught said with staggering surety.“I’m sure he knows somebody who can tell Donnie.”
Fortunately, before I had to respond, Millie’s brothers jumped into the hallway.Literally.I’d run into them a few times around town, and they shared a look: twentysomething guys who were blond, wiry, and had painfully bad attempts at facial hair.Paul was the taller of the two, although only by a few inches, and right then, he was wearing enormous toy boxing gloves.Ryan, the younger and shorter brother, was trying to strap on his headgear.
“Dash!”Paul’s volume didn’t quite reach Millie levels.“Do you want to see how strong we are?”
Ryan was already speaking over him.“Do you want to wrestle?”
“With boxing gloves?”I asked.
“Leave him ALONE,” Millie ordered.“He doesn’t want to wrestle!”
“Be quiet, Millie,” Paul said in the tone of the truly aggrieved.“God.”
“We’re asking Dash,” Ryan said.“Butt out.”
