“Or so the story goes,” Aunt Hilda adds hastily. “I don’t actually believe that bullhonky, do you?”
“What happened with Nick?” Maren asks. “You okay?”
“We’re fine,” I tell her.
One corner of her mouth twitches, and I realize she knows.
She knows his mother caught him going down on me.
Which, strangely, actually explains why she’s here. Felicity’s probably at Nick’s, which means Maren got the check on Kami task.
“Oh, good, you’re up.” Mom bustles into the kitchen in her usual khaki pants and simple blouse. She stifles a yawn and heads to the empty coffee pot, then gives a side eye to Muffy, who doesn’t notice, because she’s now double-fisting her coffee and alternating sips out of each mug like that’ll wake her up faster. “And you’re getting a ride home to change from your dear cousin, I see?”
“I’ll call you a Lyft,” Muffy mutters.
“We were just about to ask Kami about how Nick proposed,” Aunt Hilda declares.
“He didn’t propose,” I say over the rattle and thumps of coffee cans and mugs dropping all over the kitchen. “Go easy on him. He’s never had a real relationship before.”
My mom frowns. “He’s thirty years old.”
“He’s been in a relationship with himself for all of those years,” Maren offers helpfully. “He has some experience.”
“Not helping,” I tell her.
She wrinkles her nose. “It’s hard to help. I’ve known him too long.”
“People change.”
“Yeah, but…how much? Sure, he’s probably beginning to realize he can’t play hockey forever, but do you want to be the thing he stumbles into doing instead, because it’s easy, or do you want to be the one thing he’d actually give up hockey for?”
Considering how our whole relationship started—way back in February—the only honest answer is, “Both.”
I’m probably a complete and total idiot.
“Why didn’t you stay with him last night?” Aunt Hilda demands. “Oh, Sally, don’t make that face. Our girls are old enough to have responsible, protected sex. I know Muffy does it at least twice a month.”
Maren’s eyes bulge, but Muffy just sighs and goes back to sipping off both her coffees.
“Hilda,” my mom says pleasantly, “shut up.”
I have a sneaking suspicion Aunt Hilda is living vicariously through Muffy’s fantasies, but considering I ran away from a bar last night because the man I’ve secretly been in love with for years found out that I’d planned our Christmas wedding a year ago, I don’t have much room to talk.
Or to spill her secrets.
My dad walks in, phone in hand, earbuds tucked into his ears. “I don’t care what your book says, black holes will always be more interesting than quarks, and string theory is hypothetical.”
“Morning, Dad,” I say. “Tell Atticus hi for me.”
He waves, stops dead at the sight of the empty coffee pot, and shoots a scowl at Aunt Hilda and Muffy. “But the greatest curiosity in the cosmos,” he says, “is if we can send a person into a black hole.”
Maren rises from the table. “I need to get to work. Kami, you want a ride home?”
Muffy pops up like her body just got a jump from cables attached to her coffee mugs. “Yes. Yes, she does. And we need to talk about your profile.”
Your profile? I mouth to Maren.
“Bet your dogs need to go out,” she reminds me.
Oh, shit. She’s right.
I hug Mom around the shoulders and wave to Aunt Hilda and Dad, who’s arguing with Atticus now about astroparticles. My dad and my brother both love a good intellectual conversation to get themselves ready for their days.
“Your family is so weird,” Muffy mutters to me while we troop to Maren’s car.
“Says she whose mother has no filter,” Maren points out.
“It’s part of her way of getting attention since her divorce.”
“Wait. Aunt Hilda got married again?” I ask.
“What? No.”
“But—we weren’t even in high school yet when she divorced your dad.”
“Uh, yeah. You haven’t noticed she’s been like this for years?”
“She seems…worse.”
“Nope. Just branching out to let you share in the misery now. Or maybe it’s menopause making her realize she really isn’t going to have any more children.”
We all climb into the car, buckle up, and Maren points it toward my house. “What really happened to you in med school?” she asks Muffy.
“I got a tapeworm that made me hallucinate,” she answers promptly, which is definitely not the truth.
“Better than getting caught by your boyfriend’s mother while he’s going down on you in a garden shed, I guess,” Maren says.
“Oh my god,” I mutter. “I thought that was why you were here. Who told you?”
“Felicity. Apparently Nick’s no longer the favorite child.”
“What?”
“Yeah. I mean, you can’t get pregnant by oral sex, so…”
“What?” I gasp again.
“Kidding,” Maren assures me with a grin. “I just think that having Nick move back home with a cow might’ve finally opened Mrs. Murphy’s eyes to the fact that he’s not perfect.”
“That’s not—” I start, but I stop myself.
Because I don’t think Mrs. Murphy thinks Nick’s perfect.
Since he told me about being so small and picked on when he was little, certain things have started to click.
Like, I’ve never heard his mother say he’s perfect. But I’ve heard her say the announcers are way too hard on him for how much he tries. Or that Felicity shouldn’t mess with him before a game, because he needed all his concentration. Or that all those people on social media are judgmental assholes for saying he shouldn’t have gotten that endorsement deal from some sports clothing company because he didn’t have the right reputation.
I took Tiger home not just because she was adorable, but also because I heard three people laughing at her weird little howl. And if I’m that overprotective of a four-pound dog, I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for her to see her five-year-old son being bullied.
“I don’t think Mrs. Murphy intentionally plays favorites,” I say slowly. “But she has two uber-talented kids, and Nick’s spent a lot of his life defending and protecting Felicity for everything under the sun. Even when Felicity sometimes hates him, she still loves him, you know? His mother probably just feels it even bigger, because she’s his mom.”
“Do you really think he can learn to be a good boyfriend?” Maren asks.
“Have you ever seen him fail at anything he put his mind to?”
“I’ve only seen him put his mind to hockey, pranks, and defending Felicity.”
“God help whoever tries to insult you,” Muffy says on a yawn from the back seat. “The way he ran out of the bar after you last night—I got chills. Like holy shit he’s going to marry her at Christmas chills.”
And now I have chills. “We’re not getting married,” I tell her. “I mean, we’re not not getting married—we haven’t discussed it one way or another. We’re just…exploring doing this in a real relationship kind of way.”
“It was nice to see him win a game,” Maren says, “but if all you are to him is a lucky charm, I’m going to dismember him, starting with his favorite member. Just so you know.”
“I’m sure he knows there’ll be a line.”
She nods thoughtfully. “He’d have to truly be an idiot to not see that coming. And he’s definitely not an idiot. Not a total idiot, anyway.”
My phone dings, and I pull it out of my pocket to see a text from Nick.
“Aww, what did he send you?” Muffy’s angling over the back seat, looking at my phone. “It’s from him, right? I never see you smile like that for anyone else. Ever.”
“Man and cow,” I say.
“Is that code for a dick pic?” Maren asks.
“No. It’s Nick and Sugarbear. Having coffee.”
“Here. Let me selfie him back.” Muffy grabs my phone before I realize she’s serious, and when she hands it back, there’s a picture of her in my text message box with Nick.
She’s making duck lips and pushing her already curly, wild brown hair even higher. The top of her red footie pajamas are showing all the way to where Muffy is embroidered over her boob.
A new picture pops up from Nick.
It’s Felicity, Ares, Loki, and Duncan Lavoie all glaring at him on the Murphys’ patio.
Knowing Nick, he probably asked them all to turn around and moon him so he could send me a picture of the night sky.
A new text pops up from Felicity.
I don’t know what you see in him. He wanted us all to moon you.
I spend the rest of the ride to my house doubled over laughing. And when we pull up to my curb, I realize today’s present has arrived.
Muffy and Maren both climb out of the car, because whatever it is, it’s big enough that the pile of boxes is as big as two refrigerator boxes put together.
It’s entirely possible I don’t have a big enough house to date Nick.
“Is he still apologizing for missing your birthday?” Maren asks.
“Yep.”
“I might have underestimated him.”
“I thought you’d have known better by now.”
They help me carry the boxes in, and I hustle my puppies to the backyard. When they’ve all done their business and gotten fed, I return to the living room, where Maren and Muffy are still waiting.
“Are you sure you want to see this?” I ask them. “It could be naked miniature Nick dolls.”