“Let us pray,” said the minister.
* * *
THE RECEPTION WAS held at O’Rourke’s, as Joe had requested. There was a sign on the door: Closed for Private Function. Colleen’s cousins were manning the bar, but she was there, making sure things got done, giving directions, bustling in and out of the kitchen. She looked different, her hair pulled up into a sleek twist, a high-necked, sleeveless black dress.
She wasn’t smiling. More than anything, that was the difference.
He tried not to look at her. Visions of her kissing Bryce, pulling off Bryce’s shirt, underneath Bryce—no. He couldn’t go there. Not now. Last night, he hadn’t slept a minute, tormented by those same thoughts, but today was about Joe.
Drinks were flowing, toasts were made, food was served. Someone put the jukebox on, and it became festive as people told stories about Joe.
His uncle would’ve loved this.
Bryce looked happier, too. Lucas checked in on him from time to time, told him the eulogy was perfect. He had an arm around Paulie, who was attractively flushed. “Good to see you, Paulie,” Lucas said as Bryce listened to one of the college friends telling him about a prank Joe had pulled.
“Good to be seen,” she answered.
“Thanks for giving him a second chance.”
“It’s more like a fourteenth chance, but I think he could be worth it this time.”
Lucas smiled. “I hope you’re right. You deserve a great guy.”
“Are you hitting on me?”
“I don’t think I’m that smart.”
“Yeah,” she said, gesturing with her Genesee to Colleen, who was hefting a crate of glasses. “What are you gonna do about that?”
“I don’t know.” He felt his blood pressure rising.
“All I can say is,” Paulie continued, “she’s been a good friend. And in her own special way, she’s a ball of insecurities, Lucas, but so aren’t we all, right?”
“Right.” Seemed as if he was looking at Colleen again. And she was looking back. She nodded at something someone said, then started over, weaving her way through the crowd.
“Hey, Paulie,” she said, biting her thumbnail. Her eyes were on him, though.
“Hey, girlfriend.”
“Hi, Lucas. Bryce. Um...it was a lovely service.” She seemed on the cusp of saying more, but Didi shoved past her.
“Bryce,” Didi said, “I need a word with you.” She elbowed her way past Paulie and took her son’s arm.
“Sure, Ma.”
Didi whispered into Bryce’s ear.
Bryce jerked back. “No way, Mom. You have it backward.”
“I doubt it very much, Bryce.”
Bryce looked at Paulie. “No. You’re definitely wrong.”
“Bryce,” Didi said, her voice getting harder, “do you really want to be with someone called the Chicken Princess? You can do better.”
Paulie’s face went purple with embarrassment. “Excuse me,” she said with terrible dignity. She turned to leave.
“Don’t you move a muscle,” Bryce said, gently grabbing her arm and pulling her closer. He turned to his mother. “No, Mom, I can’t. Paulie is a great person. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Trust me, I do.”
“No, you don’t,” he said sharply. People were quieting down around him. “You judge everything on how much it cost or how it looks. Where have you been these past two weeks while Dad was dying? What kind of a wife leaves then, huh? Paulie has been a great friend to me, and if I want to date her, I will.”
“Don’t be like your father,” Didi said, her voice dripping with contempt. “Befriending every loser who comes along.”
Bryce stood up straighter. “You couldn’t give me a higher compliment, Ma. And you’re the one who’s losing.”
With that, Bryce took Paulie by the shoulders. “I’m sorry about that,” he said, and without further ado, he kissed her. Hard. Paulie’s hands flapped a little (like a chicken, Lucas couldn’t help thinking), then settled on Bryce’s waist. Bryce pulled back, then kissed her again, more gently this time.
Lucas looked at Colleen. She was smiling, just a little, at Bryce and Paulie, and for some reason, it sliced him in half.
It was time for him to go.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
COLLEEN WAS CLEANING the bar the next morning at ten, indulging in the healing powers of Clorox Clean-Up, when a knock came at the door.
It was Bryce.
She opened it. “Hey,” she said.
He looked...great.
And he was wearing the black Thneed.
In a weird way, it had a certain metrosexual charm on him, dangling over his tank-top T-shirt and gym shorts.
“Well, well, well,” she said. “Does that sweater mean what I think it means?”
He grinned. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”
“So ironic to hear you say that.”
He grimaced. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to apologize for ruining things with you and Lucas.”
She sighed. “No. I should’ve told him. But I figured it would only hurt him, and here we are, hurt anyway.”
“Can I fix that?”
“Can you? Because that would be great.”
“He left yesterday.”
Sphincter. She figured he would, but damn and blast, the words made her eyes well anyway.
“I also wanted to thank you for helping me notice Paulie. She told me about it last night.”
“Well. You’re a lucky guy, Bryce. She’s a really, really great person.”
“I know.”
“I like how you told off your mom, by the way. High time.”
“Yeah. It felt kinda good. I’m moving out, by the way.”
“Not into the Chicken Palace?”
“No, no,” he said. “Too early for that. I’m taking Lucas’s apartment in the opera house. Talked to the landlady this morning. Now that I have a job and stuff.”
Connor came in. “Hey, Bryce. Sorry again about Joe.”
“Thanks, man.” Bryce’s eyes filled, but he slapped the counter and stood up. “I should get going. Got Menopause Boot Camp in fifteen minutes.”
“Mom’s in that, by the way,” Colleen told her brother.
“You’re a saint, Bryce,” Connor said.
“Word, brother. Word.” With that, he smiled again and left, the Thneed tails flapping rakishly behind him.
“Don’t just stand there,” Connor said. “Get to work, you lazy whore.”
“Heard about Bryce, did you?”
“I’ve known for years.”
Her mouth wobbled. “Not one of my better moments.”
“How’s Lucas taking it?”
“He’s back in Chicago.”
“Ass.”
“Yeah. Well. I love that ass.”
“You need to get a life.”
“You need to get a life. Has anyone told you you’re unhealthily attached to me, brother mine? What’s today’s special, by the way?”
“Whatever my heartbroken sissy wants.”
She paused. “Just when I’m ready to put you up for adoption, you go and say something like that. Turkey club, crispy bacon, and that horseradish and basil mayonnaise I love. See? You are good for something.”
* * *
THE NEXT WEEK crawled by. Colleen went running with Rufus in the town conservation land where her pup could put his ridiculously long legs to use and gallop through the meadows, returning covered in pollen and happiness. She took Savannah for a private boxing lesson with Tom Barlow, and her sister was elated afterward. Then they watched Harry Potter and ate veggies and hummus, with just one small brownie each afterward. Gail had a point about how Colleen spoiled Savannah with food, and Colleen was trying to do better. Not to be a Nazi about it...just to be more aware.
Lucas didn’t call. Didn’t email. Didn’t text. Didn’t send flowers, didn’t send a dead squirrel in a box.
She started to write to him a dozen times. Stood in the shower, talking aloud, trying to find the words that would make everything right.
The words didn’t come.
Paulie came in for happy hour on Tuesday. She looked the same—love hadn’t changed anything about her on the outside, which was oddly reassuring. “So the whole Chicken King’s virgin daughter...” Colleen said.
“The title no longer applies,” Paulie said, holding her hand up for a high five.
Colleen laughed. “Think you guys will work out? Now that you’ve seen him up close and personal?”
Paulie pulled a protein drink from her gym bag, twisted off the cap and took a chug. “Pour a little vodka in that, what do you say?” she suggested.
With a wince, Colleen obliged. Worse than Mom’s 7-Up and white Zin.
Paulie took a sip and sighed with satisfaction. “Things are great,” she said. “Bryce is the sweetest man on earth. He cooked me a cheeseburger last night, heated up some French fries, and guess what? He inherited a shitload of money, and he’s donating a huge lump to the animal shelter. He could’ve bought a Maserati or Porsche, but no, he put some in a nice mutual fund. And he’s taking classes to become a real trainer.” She chugged some more of her unusual cocktail. “Seems like everyone kind of underestimated him.”
“Except you.”
“Except me.” She smiled proudly.
“He seems smitten.”
Paulie’s smile was so bright that it could power a good-sized car. “I’m doing my best. Got any sex tips for me?”
“Not me, sister. My advice days are over. But you know who would? Prudence Vanderbeek. She’s in the back booth there with Honor. Go on, ask her. You’ll make her day.”
* * *
WHEN SHE COULDN’T avoid it any longer, Colleen went to see her mom. Dear old Mother had been silent lately, not using her typical guilt-trip tactics of stopping by the bar looking homeless, or texting things like Have you been in an accident? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. Is this still your phone number?
The silence was not reassuring.
She pulled into the driveway, and woe unto her, saw Dad’s stupid Porsche Cayenne, meant to advertise his lowering testosterone levels and thinning hair. Well. She may as well face both parents at once.
She went inside. “Hi, Mom!”
“Don’t come in!” Mom said. “Your father’s naked.”
“Oh, come on! Haven’t I had enough psychological trauma for one summer?”
“I’m painting him,” Mom said. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. It’s safe now, come in, sweetheart.”
Feeling very much like Sisyphus shoving his rock, Colleen approached. “Hello, parents.”
“Hello, Colleen.”
“Dad. Nude modeling, huh? I would’ve thought the car and another divorce would cover your male menopause.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “She asked me to pose, and I wanted to make her happy.”
“Better late than never.”
“What can I do for you, Collie?” Mom asked. She wore a paint-smeared, oversize shirt, leggings and bare feet. Two inches of gray roots showed on her head. She looked relaxed, which wasn’t the typical case when Dad was around.
“So let’s cut to the chase,” Colleen said. “Are you guys really getting back together? Is Gail the Tail over?”
Dad didn’t answer.
“Would it be a bad thing, honey?” Mom asked carefully.
Colleen looked at her father a long minute. There was no going back to the vision of her father as some kind of rock star among fathers. He was a shallow, selfish man.
He always had been.