“Does he know about it?”
She sighs, leans against the fridge, and sips her seltzer.
“What’s his middle name?”
“Hm?”
“Dr.Jacobson.What’s his middle name?”
“We haven’t even talked about that yet.Isn’t that cute?”
I don’t know why, but what jumps up in my head is the fact that Gray’s middle name is Alexander.And he doesn’t like it.I only know because one time, Foley saw his driver’s license and was giving him shit about it, and you could tell Gray didn’t think it was funny.
“What’s hisfirstname?”
“You are such a stick-in-the-mud, Sammy.Romantics don’t get bogged down in details.”
“So, you don’t know?”
“It’s Roger.Or Robert.Oh, you know, it might be Rodney?”
“Great.I hope the four of you have a fantastic time getting married in Thailand.”
Laughing, she comes into the living room and plays with my hair.“What’s got you in such a mood?”
“I’m not in a mood.I’m trying to make sure you don’t get your heart broken.”Somehow, I manage not to sayagain.
“What’s this?Purple music?Are you talking about Prince?”
“No, I’m trying to plan an important event.”And then all of it pours out of me, and Gran sits there drinking her seltzer.She’s wide-eyed and nodding, and there’s no sign she’s been up for close to twenty hours.When I finish, I say, “But I have no idea what this is supposed to be or how to do it and I can’t get anything done.I guess maybe a guest speaker?”
“Sammy, they’re boys in a fraternity.They don’t want a guest speaker.They want a party.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t know how that’s supposed to raise awareness.”
“Because you give them a little of what you want, and a little of what they want.It’s like any relationship, sweetheart: it’s all about compromise.Do you know, my friend Judy used to invite me to these lovely parties.Pink Parties, they were called.And they were all about raising money for breast cancer.And they had some tables set up, and people you could talk to.But they had a live band, and drinks, and dancing.And you put some money in a clear plastic box when you went in so everyone could see you donated.”
I’m not sure if that’s what Gray wants, so I text him.Could the event be casual?
It takes longer this time for a response to come back.In the silence, Gran asks, “Who’s this friend of yours?”
“A friend from work.”
“I know he’s a friend from work, Sammy.What’s his name?”
Gray Alexander Dulac, I think.But I say, “Gray.”And then I add, “He’s a detective.”I don’t mean to say it, and as soon as I do, my face is hot.
But fortunately, the phone buzzes, and it’s a message from Gray:Whatever you want.
I manage not to grind my teeth.I text back,Do you think that would be a good idea?
This time, the answer comes back almost immediately.It’s a photo, and it’s of Gray.He’s wearing a bro-cut tee, his hair is dark with sweat, and he’s in a gym.He’s giving me a thumbs-up, and he’s grinning—probably because he knows he’s not being very helpful, and that’s the kind of thing he’d think is funny.The way he’s holding the camera, you can see through the holes he’s cut in the sides of the shirt.His chest is flat, his belly smooth.One pink nipple is visible.
“Oh my,” Gran says.
With atone.
I lock the phone and put it away.
