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Chapter 22
ASHA
Randy wants me to spend Thanksgiving with him and his family. I’m nervous. He bought me a cuddly pet, now he wants me to meet a mother that even he hardly sees. These are clear indications that he’s getting serious and that’s exactly what I don’t want.
I took the day off from work today and I’m glad I did. The rain was hitting the pavement like a ton of bricks and the constant honking of the car horns outside indicated that the traffic was hell. I’m recuperating from another wild all-night sex-fest with Nick. I told Randy I stayed home because I felt a slight case of the sniffles. He said he’d be over later to check up on me. Great, I thought, now I have to waste real energy faking a fucking cold. I watched the Price Is Right and realized in disbelief that I was genuinely entertained. That is frightening and I am so glad I don’t do this every day. Just as I was cursing out a fat, hunched over, blue-haired old lady for winning a sports car, the doorman knocked.
“Yes?” I shouted.
“Delivery, Miss Mitchell.”
“Just a minute,” I responded, as I pulled my red satin robe together.
When I opened the door, he was balancing a long white box in his left hand and shoving a clipboard at me with his right.
“Sign here,” he said, pointing with his pen to the only free space on the page. I snatched the pen out of his hand. I hate when people instruct me on the obvious, like I don’t have eyes to see a big-ass red X in bold marker.
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing the box from his hand.
“No. Thank you,” he said eyeing my breasts that were spilling out of the Satih robe.
I closed the door without giving him a tip. Normally, I’ll give him five dollars for bringing something upstairs, but I only had a one hundred dollar bill in the house.
As I rushed toward the couch with the box, I managed to kick over the glass of grapefruit juice I had been sipping from all morning. That didn’t matter right now; I had to see what was inside. Flipping the top on the floor, I discovered two dozen yellow, long-stemmed roses resting neatly on top of one another. They were soft and fragrant. I picked up the accompanying note nestled between the leaves.
It read:
I hope these roses
brighten your gloomy day.
Get well soon.
Love, Randy
Shit. Now he was sending me flowers because of a cold. This was getting way out of hand. Something had to be done and fast. He would have to get cut off after Thanksgiving so he could heal in time for Christmas.
I ended up sleeping the rest of the day and only woke up when a cousin called. She wanted to know what my plans were for Thanksgiving. I told her I was going to Randy’s mother’s house for dinner. God, I hate the holidays; you have to sit in a scorching-hot living room with family members you don’t see at any other time of the year, a fake smile plastered on your face. Not only that, you have to deal with rambunctious male relatives whooping and hollering over the football game as they throw cans of beer down their throats. Thank goodness, the only family Randy has is his mother, sister, and niece. I definitely wouldn’t go if I had to be inspected by a house full of people just for a dried up piece of turkey.
Randy arrived at about ten P.M., while I was finishing a TV dinner. Peaches started to bark when he heard the doorman’s buzzer and I quickly began doing jumping jacks so I could get hot and flushed. I repeatedly rubbed my nose as hard as I could with the back of my hand so it would look red and bulbous. A couple of pieces of what appeared to be snotty tissues by the sofa was the grand finale. I told the doorman to let him up.
Randy knocked on my door three times and I got up on the fourth, to milk my “illness” for all it was worth.
“Hi, Bandy,” I said, faking a nasal voice.
“My poor baby. I bought you some chicken noodle soup and some saltine crackers,” he said, placing a brown paper bag in my hands.
“Dank you berry much. And danks for the blowers. Dey are bootiful.”
“No problem.”
Peaches ran to Randy with his tale wagging furiously back and forth in a friendly gesture.
“Hey, boy, how you doin?” he said, reaching down for his head.
After putting the bag down on the kitchen counter, I took his wet coat and umbrella and hung them up in the bathroom.
“Do you feel any better than you did this morning?”
