discover that I can’t mow my grass like they do on the Home Depot commercials. It’s too long. Instead, I have to do some circus-act routine where I lean backward so the front of the mower lifts up and then lower it onto a small section of grass slowly. I try the maneuver. It’s awkward and hard and my sorry excuse for arm muscles are aching like a bitch, but it works. Thank fucking sweet baby Jesus, it works.
An hour later, I’ve sweat out my brain—it’s totally possible—and even more of the stinky wet stuff is rolling down my face, my back, my generous-size thighs. It’s gross and miserable and all of that has to count for something, so with my last ounce of energy, I put the finishing touches on my message to the HOA, cut off the mower’s engine, collapse onto the section of still-to-be-mowed grass, and close my eyes.
If there are snakes slithering around in here, they can have me.
I am too damn tired to fight.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I’m not sure how long I lay in the hot sun, waiting for the snakes to attack.
Long enough for the foot-long grass to prick me through my clothes in every uncomfortable place imaginable.
Long enough for sweat to drip from every pore in my body.
More than long enough for me to wonder if I can hire a lawn service that takes sexual favors as payment. At this moment, I am happy to give as many blow jobs (condoms required) as necessary if it means I never have to do this again.
I’ve just begun contemplating whether I have the strength of will to crawl to the door in the back of the house or if I’m just going to die right here—not going to lie, the fact that dying on my front lawn is probably against HOA regulations makes the second option oh so much more appealing. I’m about to decide if I’m going to expire while flipping off the neighborhood or not when something moves between the burning sun and me.
“I’m impressed.” Nick’s warm, gravelly voice interrupts my final plan to stick it to the Huckleberry Hills HOA. “That had to take some effort.”
I open one eye (because two seems like too much investment) and look up. “It did. A lot of effort. And now I’m going to die.”
I close my eye again and would have totally tried for final death throes, but I’m afraid it will only make me sweat more.
“You are the strangest woman I have ever met,” he says with a bemused laugh.
“That’s not true.” This time I don’t even bother to open my eyes. “You knew Aunt Maggie, queen of the psychedelic vibrators.”
“True. But she left them to you, so you’ve inherited the title.” He doesn’t sound the least bit upset about the fact that I’m a little odd, not the way Karl would have been. Back when we were first married, he always complained when I danced a little in line at the post office or sang my favorite song while shopping in the produce aisle or wore my favorite red shoes anywhere.
At first, I stopped doing those things around him because I didn’t like making him feel uncomfortable. Eventually, I stopped doing them at all. It wasn’t a conscious decision to stop. I just got out of the habit of being happy.
Now, I realize as Nick takes hold of my hands and pulls me into a sitting position, I’m beginning to remember what happy feels like—so much so that when he lets go of my hands, I let myself fall backward onto the grass again just to make him laugh.
It works.
At least until he crouches down beside me and strokes a wayward, sweat-soaked curl out of my face. As the pads of his fingers graze my skin, we both stop laughing.
My eyes meet his warm brown ones, and suddenly I feel a little light-headed.
Heatstroke must be setting in, so I sit up abruptly. This time when Nick grabs on to my hands and starts to pull me to my feet, I let him.
“So what made you decide to go with SOS as your message?” he asks as we stand surveying my lawn and the three giant letters I mowed into it.
“The universe wasn’t answering my texts, so I went for something a little more in its face.”
He laughs again. “The universe really must not be paying attention, Mallory. Because everything about you is pretty much in your face.”
“Yeah, well, I’m taking that as a compliment.” I