Wet

“Like she knew something you didn’t.”

“What’s my smile like?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it.”

She folds her arms over her chest. “Oh I see. She’s mysterious and I’m forgettable.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“You may as well have said that.”

“Is this a hormone thing? Because you’re acting unusually nutty.”

“Unusually nutty? So I’m always nutty, but right now even more so.”

My brows knit together and I shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

“So do I amuse you with my nuttiness?”

“Usually you do, but not so much right now. But don’t worry about it. I was reading about pregnancy and I’m sure this is your hormones going haywire again.”

She doesn’t respond, and when I glance over I see a dark red flush ru

She points out her window. “Pull over!”

I swerve to the side and skid to a stop. If she’s going to upchuck di

But instead of leaning into the curb she pops out of the car, turns and slams the door shut.

Luckily the window is partially rolled down so she can hear me yell out, “Hey! What are you doing?”

“This nutjob is getting away from you, Mr. Critical.”

My mouth falls open. “What did I do?”

“Oh, you didn’t do a thing. It’s all me. And I’m sure it will be an incredible relief to get away from nutty me and take out the exquisite Miss Melanie with the perfect skin and ‘together life’.”

She does quote marks in the air to emphasize her point before continuing.

“I’m sure Melanie won’t be hormonal and demand massive In-N-Out meals because she accidently got knocked up. No! She’ll probably suggest the hippest new restaurants where they serve little aristocratic portions. And I can bet that Ms. Perfect won’t be feeling up her own boobs at inappropriate times, since unlike me, she has hot guys lined up that want to feel them for her.”

Oh man, she’s gone off the ledge. I better try to reason with her. It isn’t good for her to be this upset.

“What are you talking about? Those Tinder guys wanted to feel you up. I bet if you called them they’d be happy to do it again.”

She juts her hands on her hips and gives me a look so harsh that it makes me wither inside.

“Awesome response, Paul, to make me feel even better in my state of hysteria. That was epic. Thanks for the suggestion that I do Tinder hook-ups while pregnant. That’s so appreciated.”

Sheesh. “I didn’t mean you should do hook-ups!”

Holy mother of all hormones! Someone hand me a shovel, so I can dig myself deeper into this hole.

She’s riffling through her handbag and then pulls out her phone and starts tapping at the screen.

“What are you doing?” I yell. I’m losing my damn patience with this woman.

“Tinder.”

I can feel my fury burn all the way up to the tips of my ears. “Put your phone away, Elle,” I growl.

“No.”

She starts walking in the opposite direction so that I have to shut down the engine and jump out of the car.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“Get in the car!”

She takes several steps toward me with that diva walk she did when we first met, but rather than opening the door to get back in she points at me.

“I’ve changed my mind about you, Paul.”

I let out a long sigh. “Yeah?”

“You aren’t good.”

I freeze in place as she stares me down. Is she fucking serious with this? This feels like more than just hormones gone haywire. Her expression tells me that she’s beyond pissed off and ready to draw blood.

“You’re a bad man.”

“Really? So now I’m bad?”

She shrugs half-heartedly like she’s undecided but she’s also not taking it back. Doesn’t she know that she’s gone way too far? I’m pretty sure I deserve more than this hormone-driven shit show.

She may not really mean it but she’s hit my sore spot. She could’ve taken a dull knife and carved a hole in my chest and it would’ve hurt less. Is it my turn to get dramatic back because I feel like I can’t breathe? I’ve tried so hard to be what she’s needed me to be, so what the hell? She’s the last person I expected to knock me down, and bring into question what I’ve feared about myself all along.

I turn and look away, staring down the deserted street. Everything looks colorless and I shiver even though I’m not cold.

What can I possibly say to her? I glance back to see if she has any remorse for what she’s said, but she’s already halfway down the street. My heart sinks down low. It’s hard keeping it suspended in my chest when she’s taken part of it with her.

Her words echo over and over.

If I’m a bad man, then I do what a bad man would.

I let her go.

Chapter Twelve

THE WRAPAROUND

On Tuesday Ma calls and I steel myself as I pick up the phone. Ma’s got stellar skills for knowing when something’s up.

“Hey, Ma.”

“How’s my boy? Are you having a busy day?”

“Yeah, super busy.” So can we get off the phone now?

“And how’s our Elle?”

Our Elle? Oh, it’s more serious than I thought. They’re attached to Elle and her baby now, so how do I tell them that Elle went nuts and decided I’m not good enough to be an uncle anymore?

I can’t handle the onslaught, so I lie.

“She’s good. She really enjoyed di

“Yes, she was so sweet about it when she called the next day to thank me.”

I desperately want to ask how she sounded but it would give me away.

“She told me how kind you’ve been to her, and what a wonderful man you are. It made me proud, Paul.”

“She said that? Really?”

“Indeed she did. You sound surprised.”

“I guess I am. Sometimes I make her mad.”

“No! You?” she says in a highly exaggerated tone.

“Okay now,” I warn.

“You know what? She also said that she doesn’t know how you put up with her.”

“Sometimes it’s not so easy.”

“I know, but I still told her not to be so hard on herself. When you’re pregnant everything becomes emotional and dramatic. Things will calm down.”

“Will they?”

“Yes, they will.”

“So I’m wondering, how did Dad deal with this with you?”

“He just let me be, have my fits and then he would bring me flowers. Why don’t you take Elle some flowers tonight? Nothing like flowers to smooth out the rough edges.”

“I’m not her husband, or even her boyfriend.”

“I know that, but you’re her close friend, aren’t you?”

My mom is clairvoyant and I sense she knows Elle and I had a blow-out. It would be creepy if it weren’t so cool. Either she’s psychic or Elle told her so.

“Got it. Thanks, Ma.”

“You’re a good man, Paulie.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“I do.”

The florist seems to understand completely. I sense I’m not the first man asking for an apology bouquet.

“Let’s make this happy!” she says enthusiastically as she meanders, collecting stems from tub after tub of colorful flowers.

I nod absentmindedly when she shows me the assortment she’s gathered. I don’t even ask the price. If this warms up Elle to me, it’s priceless.

“So what did you do?” she asks as she winds ribbon around the wrapped flowers.

“I’m not sure,” I reply honestly.

“Well it can’t be that bad if you don’t know why. I bet this will fix it.”

“You really think so?”

“I do.”

When I arrive at Elle’s place her car is in the driveway but she doesn’t answer the door. Wondering if she’s napping again, I go through the side gate to check to see if the back French doors are open. To my surprise I find her kneeling on her lawn messing around with the sprinkler head. I’m immediately bothered. What? I’m not good enough to fix her sprinklers anymore?