“Because she raised a cheating asshole with an inferiority complex.”
I shake my head. “Not sure you can raise a cheater.” Some people just become cheaters, no matter how they were raised. In the South, your upbringing is what determines the trajectory of your life, or so people think. But I have always felt that we, as human beings, are made to build on our upbringing, and we become our most authentic selves while using bits of how we are raised, rather than because of it. We adopt some of the family customs, and we note the ones we can do without and work to eliminate those. It’s not your upbringing that defines you, it’s what you do with it.
“Well, she’s afraid she did raise a cheater, and she’s feeling mighty guilty about it.”
“She should be happy she’s getting a grandchild. Heaven knows I was never going to give her one.” And I was damn tired of hearing about it at every family event, every barbecue, every holiday party.
“You’ll make a good mother one day,” Gran says.
“I’m almost forty, Gran. If I don’t jump on it soon, it’ll be too late.”
I’ve never really thought much about kids. I’ve never dreamed of a nursery or pored over baby books, preparing for my life with kids. I never get dreamy-eyed when I see a baby at the mall. And I damn sure never volunteer to babysit my friends’ kids.
“Speaking of jumping on it,” Gran says slyly, “did you bring any pretty lingerie with you?”
“Gran, I didn’t even bring regular clothes. I bought t-shirts at the tackle shop on the corner.”
“You wore a t-shirt from the tackle shop on your date?”
“I sure did.” I smile to myself. “And it was the best date ever.”
“What made it so fantastic, Abigail?”
It’s hard to explain. “I don’t know,” I say slowly, taking the time to think. “We just talked, and we laughed, and we never ran out of things to say. I made that special chicken you taught me to make.”
“What did he think?”
He didn’t say. “He ate it all and then finished what was left on my plate.”
“See, he’ll be the man that’ll finish your party mix pickings. I’m telling you.”
I hear a knock on my front door and tell Gran really quickly, “Somebody’s at my door.”
“It’s him, and he’s come back to get that kiss he forgot.” She laughs. “Call me if you need me,” she says. Then she hangs up.
I pad on my bare feet to the front door. I’m wearing one of the tackle shop t-shirts and a pair of my old shorts I found in a drawer. They are about four inches too short, so I reach down and pull them out of my crotch. I open the door and find Ethan standing there.
“Hi again. Did you forget something?” I cross my arms in front of my chest because I’m not wearing a bra.
“I did. I forgot to say thank you,” he replies as he leans there in the threshold, one shoulder propped against the jamb. His eyes do a slow slide down my body that makes the hair on my arms stand up. “Thank you for dinner,” he says, and he grins. And he’s so damn cute that I lose my breath for a second.
“You’re very welcome,” I reply.
Wilbur waddles past him and into the living room, where he starts to wander around, quacking all the while. “Wilbur’s going to get himself a girlfriend tomorrow,” Ethan says.
“A girlfriend?” I look at Wilbur and back to Ethan.
“There’s a girl duck that’s hanging out in the lake. He was very interested in her today when I took him swimming.”
“Do you think he’ll throw you over to go get the girl duck?” That will break Ethan’s heart. I know he pretends like the duck is a nuisance, but he loves his little nuisance.
“I figure she can teach him to be a duck, since he seems to think he’s human.” He shrugs. “Plus, he needs to learn how to fly south or do whatever it is they do during the winter. I figure the duck can teach him better than I can. That is, if he can make friends with her. He might be socially awkward, go on a first date with her, and be too scared to kiss her before he leaves for the night.”
I grin, aware that we’re not talking about the duck. “You think he’s too scared?”