Page 87 of Ghost

She gave the Brownie salute. “Dead serious.”

“Oh. Wow. That’s pretty awesome.” I set my chopsticks aside. “Porter and I had been out a few times, and then he took me for a piece of pecan pie at some cute little town up north.”

“Julian Pie Company?” she asked.

“Yep, that’s it. Have you been there?”

She nodded. “We ride up there all the time. I love the pie. The Rhubarb is awesome. Add a scoop of cinnamon-vanilla ice cream and it’s scrumptious.”

“So, that Kimberly girl. What’s she like? Is she fun, too?”

“She is the best,” she said. “She doesn’t talk much at first, but once she starts, look out. She’s so funny. Her husband, Cash? His mother’s Irish. Like, Irish as F. She has this accent, it’s like she’s not even speaking English. She always says Irish sayings and stuff. They’re a riot to listen to. Kimberly and Cash arguing about flowers, which, by the way, he knows nothing about. And Erin, Cash’s mom, arguing about everything and sneaking drinks of whiskey from under the desk. It’s hilarious. You’ve got to go to the nursery.”

“I’d love to.”

“Seriously, we should go some time. It’s better than going to the movies.”

“OhmyGod,” I shouted. “Listen to this. We went to the movies, and there’s this guy, Luke Westham, and he--”

“The football player?” she asked.

“Yeah. He’s such a psycho,” I blurted. “So, anyway. He stalked me for a while, and I blocked him on Facebook, and on everything else sand--”

“Luke Westham is a stalker?”

“Yeah, but don’t tell anybody.”

She did the Brownie salute again. “I won’t.”

“Okay. So, we went in the movies, and that creep was in there. He looked at me and was like, oh my God, how have you been? And I was like, uhhm, go away, creep. So, he walked up and grabbed my arm. Porter punched him like ten times in two seconds and knocked him out cold. And everyone gathered around and said, oh my God, you knocked out Luke Westham. And Porter said, who the fuck’s Luke Westham? It was the best thing, ever.”

She laughed. “Baker pinched a guy’s throat in Target one night. At first, I didn’t know what to think, and then I decided it’s nice having a guy stick up for me.”

“Like, pinched his skin?” I wrinkled my nose. “I don’t get it.”

“No. He grabbed his windpipe or whatever. You know, pinched it. The guy was looking down my shirt. I had on this top that I loved, but I hated it too, because it creeps up in the back and down in the front, and it had creeped way down. In the front. The guy was staring into my cleavage. Baker made sure he knew not to do it again.”

Kelvin wouldn’t have hurt a fly, nor would he have stuck up for me in a similar situation. Having someone who was willing and able to do so, even if they didn’t ever do it, was a good feeling.

“I like these guys,” I said. “They’re all pretty nice.”

“They’re basically brothers,” she said. “They all moved here from Montana after high school. They’re inseparable.”

“I like it. It’s like a big family.”

“Exactly,” she said. “That’s exactly what it’s like. A huge family. Barbeques. Trips on the motorcycles together. Racing cars at the racetrack. Just hanging out. Now, you’re part of it. Do you like to ride?”

“On the motorcycle?”

“Uh huh.”

“I love it,” I said. “Love, love, love it.”

“Me, too.”

It was crazy. My life had gone from great to awesome after meeting Porter. I was in love, which I never thought was going to happen. I had a new girlfriend who wasn’t an attention whore, and the possibility of having another who had a nursery and a funny Irish mother-in-law.

I’d spoken to my parents about Porter, but not at length. I needed to do just that, and to schedule a time for Porter and I to go visit them.

“Have you met Baker’s parents?” I asked.

“They’re not alive any longer,” she said.

“Oh. Has he met yours?”

Her face went solemn. “They’re both deceased. I was raised by my aunt.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

She put on a slight smile. “Has Ghost met yours?”

I’d talked to my mother at length about Porter, but not my father. I suspected my mother may have mentioned him to my father, but she hadn’t said one way or another. I remained nervous about revealing the news to my father, as I knew he’d react unfavorably.

“Not yet,” I said. “But he’s going to.”

“They’ll like him,” she said. “He’s pretty to look at. Parents like pretty boys.”

I’d never really thought of him that way, but he was pretty. My mother would love him. My father? Well, that was a different story altogether.