I closed my eyes and shoved my face into his throat.
“No, he doesn’t look like a man who bakes, but Roxie’s been here and she bakes,” Mom said.
“Yeah, like Roxie’s been floatin’ around makin’ cookies while that sum a’ bitch has been after her. Jesus, Trish.” I heard slamming cupboards
“There’s nothing in this house. Eggs. Bread. Milk. Lots of coffee and beer. I don’t understand. He looks like a healthy boy. It’s like he exists on coffee and beer. That can’t be.
What am I going to do?”
Good God.
My mother just cal ed Hank a “healthy boy”.
I shoved up closer to Hank’s warm, solid body, mortification overtaking mine.
Hank’s arm tightened.
“Make some f**kin’ coffee,” Dad answered as if that answer was obvious.
“Don’t take that tone with me, Herbert Logan,” Mom snapped.
“Don’t tel me what tone to take, woman,” Dad returned.
Mom ignored Dad’s reply.
“Go get some buttermilk. And bacon. And maple syrup,” I heard a cupboard slam. “No, wait, I found some syrup,” Mom said.
“Go where and get buttermilk?” Dad asked, his voice now incredulous.
“The grocery store,” Mom answered like Dad was a dim bulb.
“Please, God, shut up,” I whispered against Hank’s throat.
Hank rol ed me to my back and came with me, settling with him partial y on top of me and partial y up on an elbow.
I opened my eyes and saw his were lazy and amused and his lips were twitching.
“What grocery store? We’re in Denver. I have no idea where a grocery store is,” Dad returned.
“Wel , drive around. Denver’s a big city. There have to be hundreds of grocery stores. You’l run into one eventual y,” Mom replied.
I took in a deep breath and bit my lip.
Hank’s eyes were smiling and his body started shaking.
I scowled at him and his lips spread into a grin.
“Let me get this straight,” Dad clipped. “You want me to get in the car and drive around a city I’ve never been to in my f**kin’ life to buy buttermilk?”
“Wel , yeah,” Mom said, as if that was a perfectly normal request.
“Fuck that. I’l find some f**kin’ place that sel s donuts,” Dad told her and I heard movement in the other room as if Dad was preparing to leave.
“Don’t you dare buy donuts!” Mom shrieked. “Hank’s a cop. He’l think you’re making some smart remark.” Hank’s forehead dropped to mine and his body started shaking harder.
“This isn’t funny,” I whispered.
“You’re wrong,” he replied quietly, his voice trembling with laughter.