Kat was speechless.“Whoa,” she finally breathed.
I nodded.
“Deets.Now.”
No.There were too many land mines in that story.“We have a bar to open.”
“Fuck the bar.This calls for… I don’t know what, butdamn, Allie?”
Then she folded in on herself.“And you.You didn’t get the fantasy.I’m so sorry.”
I let out a defeated breath.She was partially right.I didn’t “get” the fantasy.I dropped it like a volcanic internal temperature, 7-11-nuked, apple pie.Which was a great descriptor for my personal “he who shall not be named” dilemma.Johnny was barely a blip compared to?—
Mental nope.Blocked, deleted, wiped out of the database.
“Fill me in on the prep for the big holiday,” I begged.
She stared at me for a moment, and then at the bag sitting near the security panel.“When did you get off the plane?”
“Two coffees ago.”
Her face fell.“Oh honey, you need rest.”
“Can’t sleep, the clowns’ll eat me.”
Kat scanned me from head to toe.“Are those Allie’s jeggings?”
“That’s justoneof the issues.I lost my luggage.”
She knew that was a lie.
“Allie has my underwear bag.”
The snort that came out of her was unflattering.“Your four thousand dollar ‘it must be skimpy’ shopping spree landed with Allie?Shee-it.No wonder she’s married.”
That deserved another evil laugh.“I’m definitely going to be an aunt soon.”
“Gimme that phone again.”
“Why?”I handed it to her despite my fake protest.
She studied the photo.“Shoot.Those are going to be some pretty babies.‘Just saying.”
“Plural?”I was still wrapping my head around one.
Kat laughed.“She isn’t going to stop at one.You know your sister.She’ll get all wrapped up in baby fever and soon there will be three or four littleIt’s-a-me’sout there.”
Now,thatcheered me up.Kat giggled right along with me as I laid out the scene.
“He’s from ahugefamily in Sardinia.His grandfather has to be a hundred years old, and his father’s a big politician or something in finance.Nicely padded portfolio if you get my drift?”
“She deserves a little something after all the scrimping.Is she staying there?”
Probably.Although she did ask me to check on her house once I got settled.It was about a half mile northwest of the bar and tucked into a quiet little suburban pocket that clung to the 1970s something fierce.Postage-stamp lawn, three cramped bedrooms, detached one-car garage with a wonky door, and …paneling.It made me want to puke every time I visited.
With grandfather’s inheritance she could have remodeled it ten times over.Or bought something much newer.But she clung to it like a safety blanket because she’d worked for the money that bought it.
“They’re jet-setting.”
