 Photo by krakenimages on Unsplash  THELMA The town car pulls up out front of the modest, two-story home. It’s nothing like the luxurious condo between West Queen Anne and Uptown I grew up in. I love it on sight. The house is between the White Center and Highline neighborhoods and is only a fourteen-minute drive frown our Downtown condo. Jimmy slides out, holding the carrier bag full of fancy wine and whiskey that I insisted on bringing. His hand appears to help me out as I cradle the ridiculously huge bunch of flowers I got for his mother. The driver nods, pulling away from the curb as Jimmy tangles his fingers with mine, leading me up the paved driveway, past Trey’s truck and his parent’s Volvo wagon. So, this is where Jimmy grew up. It suits him. The front of the house on the ground level is a single-car garage, which is closed, so Jimmy leads me through a tall wooden gate, alongside the cream clapboard-sided house, to the front door, on the side near the back. Pulling open the decorated grill, he hammers on the blush pink wooden door, opening it before anyone can answer. We step directly into the kitchen, and Lucille, Jimmy’s mother, turns with a huge smile, wiping her hands on her flowered, ruffled apron. “You’re here!” she cheers, wrapping Jimmy into a tight hug. Releasing him, she accepts the carrier bag, sits it on the counter, and turns to me. “I’ll just blow kisses at you,” she laughs, kissing her hand and waving it at me, turning to use a damp cloth to wipe the flour off Jimmy’s shirt that transferred from her apron. Once he's clean, she drops the cloth into the sink, taking the flowers from me with a huge smile. “Oh, they’re gorgeous, Thelma! You didn’t have to. I love them!” “Hey, they’re from both of us!” Jimmy protests, earning a look of shade thrown his way. “Oh, hush. You are no more responsible for these flowers than your father is for your birth.” Jimmy smirks, holding up a finger. “An inch of credit is still credit.” He laughs, snatching a beer from the fridge and retreating out of the kitchen as she throws a tea towel after him. Stooping, I pick it up, hanging it on the towel rack over the cabinet door under the sink. “Is there anything I can help with?” I look awkwardly around. Mom caters these things. I’m not a useless cook, but a pumpkin pie from scratch or an enormous turkey like Lucille is basting is a little out of my expertise. “Not at all. I’ve got this. I only need to finish basting and pop it in the oven, and then I’ll be right through. Why don’t you pick a nice wine, pour us a glass and take them through to the living room? I’ll be in shortly.” Flashing a grateful smile, I unpack the wine carrier, selecting a nice Semillon and pouring two glasses. Lucille points her turkey baster at the archway Jimmy disappeared into, and I offer a smile as I steel myself and walk through. Five faces turn to me as I take another deep breath. Jimmy grins, holding out his arm from where he stands near the maroon leather couch, and I walk right under it, snuggling against his side. Trey vaults out of the matching maroon easy chair he is lounging in, relieving me of Lucille’s wine glass, which he sets down on a cute World’s Best Mom coaster near the easy chair. I wave to Hogan and Gayle Houston, Jimmy’s grandparents, and they beam back at me, Hogan turning his attention to the football game on the TV while Gayle continues to grin at me. Ed, Jimmy’s father, stands and kisses my cheek, turning to bellow at Trey, who has sunk into his fabric Lay-Z-Boy. “I paid for that chair. Get your sorry ass outta it, boy!” “I believe you’ll find that Jimmy and I bought you this as a Christmas gift five years ago, Dad. Find another seat.” Hogan shakes his head, striding into the kitchen, muttering about ungrateful brats and needing another drink. Gayle rolls her eyes, shuffling over on the couch until she’s seated in the middle, closer to Hogan, and pats the empty end spot. “You come and sit here, Thelma. I want to hear all about the trouble Jimmy has been getting himself into. I’m sure there’s lots of it.” Giggling, I leave Jimmy as his mouth drops open and cross, sitting beside Gayle as she pats my leg. Her eyes drop to my wine, and she laughs. “I owe Lucille twenty dollars. I was hoping for a happy holiday announcement, but she thought you’d still want to focus on your career for a little while.” Oh. Oh. My cheeks burn as my eyes meet Jimmy’s. He is also red with embarrassment, although he looks like he’s trying not to die from laughing. She’s talking about my getting pregnant. How mortifying. At least she’s being good-natured about it. “Yeah,” Trey pipes up, saluting Jimmy with his beer. “Why haven’t you knocked your wife up yet? You’ve been married for over six months. Get on with it.” Jimmy flips his brother off, but Trey winks at me while his grandmother glares at him. “It’s cute when a senile old lady like me asks. You just sound like an idiot,” she scolds him. I can’t help the giggles busting out of my lips. This is nothing like Thanksgiving with my family. We never have the football on. Dad and Artie usually sneak into the den to watch portions at a time while pretending to use the bathroom. And no one laughs and teases this much. It’s a much more somber affair. JIMMY
Shit. Thelma will never agree to come to a holiday event with my family again. They’re grilling her about babies, about work. She’s going to bail and refuse to come back. I meet her gaze across Pop’s head, my eyes stricken, but she’s giggling, pressing her fingers to her mouth to try to stifle the sound, and I relax. Thank goodness Mom and Dad come in to break the tension. Mom drops into her easy chair, snatching up the wine and saluting Thelma before taking a sip. Her eyes flutter closed as she smiles. “That is the best wine I have ever tasted,” she sighs happily. “You’ve been cooking. I’m glad you have a moment to sit and enjoy it,” Thelma offers, sounding nervous. “I’ll second that!” Dad agrees, shooting Trey a glare. “Last chance, boy.” Trey studiously stares at the TV, pretending not to have heard. Dad shakes his head, handing his beer to Mom and crossing to the Lay-Z-Boy. This is typical for when we all get together, but Thelma watches with wide eyes as Dad unceremoniously drops into Trey’s lap, squashing him into the chair. “Help!” Trey calls, his voice muffled by Dad’s back. “You were asking for it,” Pop calls back. “Now pipe down. I want to listen to the commentary.” Thelma giggles again, sipping her wine and turning back to Nanna. “We haven’t talked much about kids,” she admits. Mom is listening carefully now – so am I. “But I would like to keep focusing on my career for another few years. Maybe when I’m closer to thirty.” Nanna and Mom managed to hide their disappointment well, and I sag with relief. Thelma is twenty-eight in February. Thirty gives me two years to selfishly have her to myself before I have to share. I can live with that. Mom beams, holding out her hand to Nanna with a gimme gesture. “Pay up, Dolores.” Thelma blinks in surprise, a confused frown crossing her face as Nanna grumbles, digging into her purse at her feet and pulling out a crisp twenty, leaning forward over the coffee table to slap it in Mom’s hand. With a smile, Thelma stands, coming to stand beside me, slinging her arm around my waist. I lean my head down to hear what she is going to say. “I thought your grandmother’s name was Gayle?” she murmurs, taking another sip of wine. I bite back a grin. “It is. Mom calls her Dolores, and she calls Mom Alma. No one knows why.” Thelma nods. Whatever she was about to say is cut off when Trey gives another half-hearted yelp, and Dad finally gets off him. With an exaggerated gasp for breath, Trey stands, shuffling out of the way so Dad can claim his chair back. He moves toward us, grinning and waggling his eyebrows at me. Mom catches the look and speaks before either of us can. “No wrestling in the house. You take that outside!” Thelma’s head whips around, her eyes darting between Trey and me. “Wrestling?” she whispers. Trey grins cockily, cracking his knuckles. “Oh, it’s not wrestling. It’s Jimmy’s punishment.” I smirk back at him. Trey usually beats me. The man coaches a middle school wrestling team. But I have a secret weapon this year. I got Grady Quinn from the Rothwell Agency to show me some moves. Trey isn’t going to know what hit him. Dropping a kiss on Thelma’s cheek, I move to follow Trey outside. “You sit and enjoy your wine. Don’t let them give you a nickname!” Thelma sinks into the seat next to Nanna as we leave the room. I’m in the kitchen when I hear Mom’s bright exclamation. “What do you think of Beryl? I think it suits you.” The door to the backyard swings shut, cutting off Thelma’s giggles. Beryl? Ah, I can live with it. If it makes Thelma giggle, it’s okay in my book. Trey lets out a war cry, and I spin, ducking out of his grasp before he can take me to the ground. Right. Time to put these new moves to some use. I have a twin to wipe the floor with. THE END.  Photo by freestocks on Unsplash  PETE
“Where are the girls going for the bachelorette party?” Andy asks, squinting across at me. “A week in Napa. I got them a villa at a vineyard. Mel is so excited. She’s calling it her week with Bartle-Bee.” I smirk at the memory of how she rewarded my offer. “Wait!” Artie hangs over the back of my seat. “If they’re having a week, how come we’re only having a weekend?” “Yeah. I could have done a week,” Parker chimes in from in front of us. Beside him, Lance in nodding eagerly. Seriously? You would never know I’m the youngest of us all. I roll my eyes, craning back to look at Artie. “Because my boss isn’t as nice as Andy, and I need to bank vacation time for the honeymoon.” Andy snorts beside me, sipping on his bottle of water. Artie wrinkles his nose. “I’m so telling Dad and Uncle Ken you said that.” “Don’t be a rat,” Jimmy laughs, his fingers closing around the back of Artie’s shirt and tugging him back into his seat. “Why are you taking his side? You’re my brother-in-law,” Artie whines. Jimmy grins. “Pete’s paying for my weekend.” Artie’s eyes narrow, whipping around to meet mine where I’m smirking through the gap in the seats. “You’re not paying for my weekend.” “You can afford it.” “He can afford it. Do you know what his monthly membership fees are?” “I’ve seen him wrestle. I want to keep him onside.” Jimmy grins again, flexing his large, toned biceps at Artie, who flips him off. “I’m regretting the day I ever signed up for your fitness class,” he mutters. Jimmy grins again. “And the day Holly invited my sister.” “She would have found her way to me eventually,” Jimmy boasts. “We were meant to be.” Andy twists around, eyeing them off. “How did you hook up with Thelma?” Jimmy winks while Artie clears his throat, shooting him a glare. “I sense I may be about to hear some things about my sister I never need to know. I’m going to the bathroom.” Parker and Lance snort, leaning over the backs of their seats to hear the story as well. Thelma was remarkably tight-lipped about how she and Jimmy met, so we’re all as intrigued as Andy is. Jimmy respectfully waits until Artie is out of earshot before grinning and regaling Andy with how he was filling in for one of the trainers at the high-class gym he owns, and Holly brought Thelma to a group session. “I had her number after five minutes,” he boasts, “and my hand down her yoga pants ten minutes after class ended.” “Then you married her.” “Sometimes a hookup refuses to stay that way,” Jimmy reasons. Don’t I know it. The sun is setting as we touch down in New Orleans. Artie wanted Vegas, but it’s my party, so Andy backed up my choice. The twins were up for a weekend anywhere, as long as there was booze and women. New Orleans certainly has them covered on both fronts. We get a car to the hotel and agree to meet in the piano lounge after freshening up. I have no idea how the night will go, so I opt for a light suit, no tie. Artie and the twins are dressed similarly, with Jimmy drawing all the ladies’ eyes in his salmon pink, beautifully tailored shirt and tight cream trousers, no jacket. Andy is looking mutinous in a white button-down and dark slacks. “What happened to your jeans?” I didn’t even know the man owned slacks. He throws Artie a dark look. “I was overruled.” Chuckling, I sink into the lounge chair, accepting a glass of top-shelf whiskey from the waitress. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?” I glance at Andy, who smirks. “All your favorite things. Jazz, casino, beers at a brewery, and then Bourbon Street to get so drunk we can’t remember the name of our hotel.” “I’ll drink to that.” Artie, Jimmy, and the twins are laughing, leaning against the side of the tattoo parlor while I argue with Andy. “Look, it’s your fucking fault!” “How do you figure that?” Andy asks, his eyes wide. “If you hadn’t invited your fucking army of brothers, I wouldn’t have been talked into doing it!” “If memory serves, you dropped your pants of your own accord.” “You didn’t stop me!” “That is not a reason for me to get my dick tattooed!” “You should do it, man!” Jimmy calls while the others howl with laughter. “It’ll be a bonding thing. You’re about to lose him to Mel, but this way, you’ll be brothers in arms forever.” Artie has sunk to the ground now, tears leaking from his eyes as he laughs so hard he’s struggling to breathe. Andy is very drunk, and I can see he’s close to agreeing. “It can be a matching one!” I suggest. “Do it! Do it! Do it!” The four of them start chanting. A small crowd gathers, someone helping Artie to his feet, joining in the chant. Finally, Andy snaps. “Fine!” The crowd cheers loudly, moving on as we walk into the tattoo parlor. “What can I get for you boys tonight?” the tattoo artist asks, looking us over. “I’m here to get Super Mario tattooed on the side of my dick,” Andy sighs resignedly. The guy’s eyebrows shoot up. “Come again now?” “Super Mario. Side of my dick.” “Yeah, you’re gonna need to sign a release form.” “Fine. Give it here. I’ll sign it.” “You sure?” “Yeah, this is my lawyer.” He gestures to me. I flash the guy a thumbs up. He looks suspicious but pulls out the form, handing it to Andy. I read it over his shoulder. “Did I sign one of these?” “Yeah. You insisted on reading the whole thing first,” Andy snorts. He signs the bottom handing it back. Sighing, he climbs onto the bench, tugging down his trousers. “Like any Super Mario?” the guy asks, snapping on his gloves. “Like matching,” I suggest, getting my junk out. The tattoo artist smirks, snapping a photo of my dick with his phone and placing it down so he can see it. I tuck my junk away. The tattoo gun buzzes. “Oh, mother fucking son of a god damned whore!” Andy screams. I’d like to think I handled it better, but I’ve seen the video – which I made Andy delete – by this stage, I had moved from cursing to crying. Oh god. I don’t remember the last time I was this drunk. I swear, my fingers are having trouble hitting the letters on my phone as I text Mel. It’s supposed to read How’s Napa, Tinker Bell? PETE: Hiws napa tinkerbejke? TINKER BELL: Was that even English? Napa is fine. I’d ask how New Orleans is, but I’m worried your response would be a crime against language. Smirking, I start to tap a response, not looking where I’m walking. “Watch out!” The words process too late, and I look up, trying to do the most ungrateful ballet-style spin to get out of the way of a guy trying to carry too much band equipment out of a bar at the same time. Fuck. My foot lands awkwardly on a crack in the pavement. All I can think of is that I need to save my phone because it has Mel’s number in it. My arms windmill, still clutching my phone tightly as I fall. I’m saved from eating pavement by a white car, my hand gripping the side mirror. Unfortunately, I go down hard, and the fucking mirror comes with me. I wince as the bite of pain radiates through me, starting at my ass and rattling my teeth. Sitting on the ground, clutching my phone in one hand and the detached mirror in the other, glaring up at the guys, who are howling with laughter. Andy reaches down, taking the mirror off me as Jimmy hauls me to my feet. “They need to make stronger mirrors,” I comment, turning to see if I should leave a note. My eyes widen as I take in the NOPD markings. Fucking hell. “I can’t get arrested at my bachelor party. Mel would never agree to marry me.” “Drop it and run?” Lance suggests. “He can’t do that. He’s a lawyer,” Parker protests. Yeah, I’m torn between both options right now. “What’s happening here?” Fuck. It’s too late to run. The cop approaches us, his eyes darting between the place on his car where the mirror used to be and Andy, who is still holding the fucking thing. “Drop it, son, and put your hands behind your back.” Shit. “No. There’s been a misunderstanding.” “I’m sure there has, son. Out of the way.” “I slipped and grabbed it to break my fall,” Andy pipes up. What the fuck is he doing? “I’m sorry, officer.” “Sorry isn’t going to buy you a pass out of the holding cells. Put down the mirror and face the car, hands behind your back.” Jimmy and Parker grab me, dragging me back as Andy complies. Jesus. He’s cuffed, and the cop turns him to put him in the car. Andy’s eyes lock with mine. “Go back to the hotel. Sober up, and then come and get me the fuck out of there so we can go home.” The cop slams the door, and I scrub my face. There’s nothing to sober you up quite like your best friend getting arrested for something you stupidly did. “What’s the charge, officer?” I call over as the guy moves to get in the car. “What’s it to you?” “I’m his lawyer.” “Criminal damage.” Shit. He gets in the car and drives off, taking Andy with him. Jimmy and the twins drag me back to the hotel, Artie already on his phone trying to work out a space with the hotel we can work from tomorrow. I don’t need an office space. I’ll do my arguing at the NOPD precinct. Waving the boys off, I step into my room, where I shower, collapsing onto my bed. I need to get sober and get a night of good sleep. Then I need to figure out how the fuck to get Andy out of jail without indicting myself. At least it will be a memorable weekend. THE END |
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