Bringing Down the House – Bonus Story!

Nicole

“That’s disgusting,” I say with a beleaguered sigh.

Gary wilts, and Damien gives me a look of admonishment.

“What? It is.” It’s no exaggeration. I’m in the apartment Gary shares with my mother, looking down at a cookie cake in the shape of a heart with Will you marry me, Liza? written on it in pink icing. Thank God she’s off getting her nails done. This is one of those situations where someone needs to save Gary from himself.

He’s lucky, because I’ve discovered that I like helping people. I’ve even started my own Bad Luck Club of one. I’m partly doing it as payback. The nice kind, I mean. Molly O’Shea took pity on my former Bad Luck Club sponsor, Cal, by deigning to date him, and since Cal’s a good guy when he’s not thumping around his metaphorical cane and acting eighty, I’ve decided to help Molly’s sister out of gratitude.

Mary O’Shea is the most sexually starved woman I’ve ever met, and up until now she’s avoided fun like the plague. It is both a public service and immensely fun to help her bust down her walls. And fine, I’ll be honest, I like her too.

The same way I like Gary, goddammit.

“What was your big plan, anyway?” I press. “Greet her at the door with it? Leave it on the table to see if she finds it? What if Oldman ate it instead?”

Gary has a cat named Oldman, because he’s the kind of person who finds it funny on two counts: his cat is a grumpy old man, and their names, added together, equal Gary Oldman (the actor for those of you who haven’t watched any of the five bajillion movies he’s in). Actually, now that I think about it, I suppose his proposal attempt could have been worse. I mean, at least he didn’t spring for one of those fast food proposal packages.

Actually, the Taco Bell one sounds kind of cool.  

“So is this a mistake?” Gary asks. “Should I do something classier?” He scratches his heads like he has fleas. I have to admit, his hair has never looked better. My mother truly is a master of her craft. Gary lacks that aura of desperation he had when I first met him. He looks like someone who gets frequent walks, head pats, and treats. “She loves cookies,” he continues. “One of her favorite childhood memories is of going to Mrs. Fields at the mall with her mother.”

Surely he can see that’s all kinds of sad, and not really the kind of thing you’d want to be reminded of in a marriage proposal. Still, he’s right that my mother wouldn’t want a “classy” proposal. After all, she has a white Christmas tree tucked into one corner of the open living area, her champagne of choice is alcoholic seltzer, and she prefers Bud Light lime (shudder) to anything the Asheville breweries have to offer. Even so, he put a lot of effort into finding the right ring (with plenty of assistance from yours truly), so why not stick the landing?

“You could have at least asked them to shape it like a dick,” I say, lifting an eyebrow. “She’d definitely say yes to a cookie dick.”

He rolls his eyes. Hopefully I’ve succeeded in casting a spotlight on the absurdity of the situation.

“Or an ear,” Damien says. “You could have had them write, I may have lost half my ear, but at least I found you.” He tilts his head, considering his suggestion, and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. “Nah, that’s probably a little too long.”

Gary looks like he’s about to have a seizure, or maybe murder both of us.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” I say, reaching forward and cracking off a piece of the cookie heart. “We’re going to help you.”

His eyes bulge as I pop the piece into my mouth.

“That cost thirty-five dollars.”

“You were robbed,” I say through a mouthful of cookie. “It tastes like chewy cardboard.”

He swears and says something about this famous sugar cookie recipe.

There’s a knock on the door, and Gary shoots a miserable look at us. “What if it’s Liza?”

“I’ll deal with it,” I say, then wave a hand at the cookie cake. “Do something about this.”

I make my way to the door, my mind already churning with what Gary should do instead.

A flash mob?

Maybe he can convince the weekly drum circle downtown to slip the proposal into song?

The thing is, as much crap as I give Gary, I want this to go well. He’s good for my mother. Of course, it goes without saying that I draw the line at calling him stepdad, dad, or any variation on the word.

I glance through the peephole and almost do a doubletake. Gary’s visitor is a muscular stud with wavy caramel colored hair, matching eyes, and a corduroy work jacket.

For a split second, I wonder if it’s my mother he’s here to see, but I can’t make that explanation square. Not unless it’s some jealous ex I didn’t know about. She’s not a cheater, for one thing, and she’s happy with Gary, truly happy.

“There’s an intimidating-looking guy behind this door,” I call out. “Do you owe someone money, Gare-Bear?”   

It takes half a second for both Gary and Damien to join me at the door, Damien glowering at the news of the unexpected visitor. He slips an arm around me as Gary takes over at the peephole.

When he sees the guy, Gary’s whole expression changes, his jaw going slack.

“What the fuck?” he murmurs.

Shit. Maybe the guy is here to see my mother.

“Can you expand on that?” Damien asks. “Is this a good what the fuck? or a bad one?”

Damien looks ready to explode into action if it’s the latter. It’s probably a personal failing that I find that so sexy, but who could blame me? Damien is sexy, particularly when he’s bristling with intensity.

Gary’s only response is to open the door, his hands shaking a little.

Corduroy steps through, and for a second I’m still unclear on what will happen next—a fight or a hug. From the way Damien tightens his grip on me, he shares my confusion. His reaction suggests he doesn’t know the guy either.

Interesting. Very interesting.

“I haven’t heard from you for years,” Gary finally says, his voice laced with shock. “Years. I thought you might be dead. I almost…”

His gaze shoots to Damien.

He doesn’t finish, but I’m pretty sure I could finish for him. He almost asked Damien to search for this guy.

“How did you know…” Gary starts, then amends, “How did you find me?”

Corduroy paws the ground with his foot. “I called your mother. All these years, and she still hasn’t changed her phone number.”

“You remembered it?”

Corduroy nods, shamefaced.

Gary looks like he’s choking on something, and I actually at the table to make sure he didn’t stuff a piece of the cookie cake into his mouth on the sly. It’s untouched…well, except for the place where I touched it.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” Gary asks.

Corduroy smiles tentatively. “I asked her not to. Besides, it only happened half an hour ago. We both know she’s going to cave.” He shoots a confused glance around the apartment, his gaze taking in Damien and me before shifting to the  living room, dining room, and kitchen, each of which flows into the other. His gaze pings back to me. “Your mom said you live with your girlfriend.”

“Yup, that’s me,” I lie, snuggling back into Damien. “We’re a thruple. But enough about us. Tell us who you are. I’d say Gary talks about you all the time, but that would be a lie.”

Gary goes beet red and shuts the door. Before it closes, I get a glimpse of his nosy ninety-two-year-old neighbor staring at us through the opening, and I throw her a wave. Damien’s grandmother, who’s living her best life at Mountain Valley Retirement Home, makes being a senior citizen seem pretty dope, but Mrs. Grisbee smells like cabbage and constantly rants about the loose morals of our generation, including the fact that my mother and Gary live together before marriage.

Needless to say, I enjoy giving her little thrills, either by being myself or pretending to be an even more objectionable version of myself. She pretends she dislikes me—actually, she’s said as much to my face—but I know this is just a little game we play. We entertain each other more than we have any right to.

“The thruple thing isn’t true, obviously,” Gary says, rubbing the back of his head. “Nicole is my girlfriend Liza’s daughter, and Damien’s her boyfriend.”

“Hey,” Damien says, mock-offended, “You and I were friends before you met either of them.”

“Sorry,” Gary amends, flustered. “That’s true. Damien’s my friend.”

Poor Gary. Seeing Corduroy has been enough of a shock that he’s resorted to the kind of sentences you’d applaud a four-year-old for.

“And you are?” I say to Corduroy, raising my brows.

“Griffin,” he says. “I’m his stepbrother.” He frowns. “Or I was.”

“You are,” Gary corrects. “It’s like I told you, our parents might have gotten divorced, but you’re still my little brother. I wish you’d believed me back then.”

Griffin eyes the door, like he’s having second thoughts about this whole escapade, but Gary steps in front of it, and Damien, because he’s a good friend and also wise enough to realize Griffin could bench press two of Gary, steps up beside him.

Griffin runs a hand through his hair. “I feel like I must have showed up in the middle of something. I’ll come back later.”

Gary gives him a disbelieving look. “What, another ten years from now?”

“Hey, sick burn, Gary,” I say, lifting my hand for a high five.

I feel a surge of pride when he gives it to me.

Griffin swears. “I mean it. I’m sticking around for a while. Maybe a long while. It’s just…I don’t want to interrupt anything or cause any trouble for you. I wanted to talk, is all.” He starts pacing a little, bringing him closer to the table with the now-deformed heart.

“So talk,” Gary says. He gives the guy a strained smile. “You heard Nicole. We’re a thruple. We have no secrets, and you’re not interrupting anything.”

On his second panther-like pass of the room, Griffin’s gaze lands on the cookie cake. “Not interrupting anything?” he asks.

“No,” I insist, even as Gary’s ears burn a brighter red. “The proposal plan has been put on hold until Gary can think of something more appropriate. On the plus side, we have snacks! Feel free to help yourself.”

“You said it tasted like cardboard,” Gary growls.

“Sure, but the jury’s out on whether I like this guy. Maybe he deserves cardboard.”

“I think I probably do.” Griffin laughs, and his face is so transformed by it that I find myself tallying up the single people I know. Too bad Mary already has her vagina—or, sigh, maybe her heart—set on someone.

“Not sure I like you either,” Griffin tells me.

“Watch yourself,” Damien retorts.

I step in closer and give his arm a little nudge. “Oh, it’s all right. I’m perfectly accustomed to people not liking me. I’m an acquired taste.”

“One I’d prefer to keep to myself,” Damien says, giving me a wicked look and wrapping his arm around me.

Gary heaves what’s probably his thirtieth sigh of the afternoon, which is understandable—this is obviously not how he saw his afternoon going—and leaves his post at the door. “Let’s go sit in the living room.” He shoots a glance at the kitchen table. The cookie heart looks particularly sad with one of the curved parts broken off, although I suppose that’s my fault. He steps over and grabs the box, bringing it to the coffee table.

Griffin gives the door a wistful look. Damien hasn’t left his post, though. Knowing him, he doesn’t intend to until he’s certain Griffin won’t make a run for it. When Griffin steps off toward the couch, Damien pulls me in closer, my head nestled against his shoulder. When he whispers in my ear, the sensation of his warm breath against my flesh sends a shiver through me. “Should we leave?”

“Probably,” I say in an undertone, “but we’re not going to. We both want to find out what the hell this is about, and Gary’s terrible at telling stories. Besides, my mother’s going to be back soon, and I don’t want her to walk in to find Gary and his stepbrother gorging themselves on a shitty cookie cake that says, marry me, Liza.”

“You think they’ll plow through the Will you?” he asks, his lips twitching.

“It’s not as bad as I made it out to be,” I whisper back. “I was kind of hoping Gary would ask us to bring it home before this whole Griffin thing came up.”

He kisses the top of my head. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and Griffin will say something exciting enough that Gary will forget about the cookie cake.”

“Fat chance,” I mutter, “that man loves his snacks. Let’s grab some plates. My mom is going to be pissed if there’s crumbs on the rug.”

He grins at me. “You don’t want Gary to get in trouble.”

“Shuddup.”

I drag him to the kitchen area with me, and we pick out some plates. Gary and Griffin have been talking in undertones, and goddamn, I really want to know what they’re saying. Hopefully Gary meant it about the thruple thing—not the sex part, obviously, but the telling each other everything thing.

As we head over to join them, Oldman, who’s not a particularly friendly cat, surprises the shit out of me by wandering out of the bedroom and making a beeline for Griffin. He jumps into his lap and curls up as if they’re old buddies. Rather than shoving him off, Griffin gives him some good pets, so I guess he’s not a total monster.

We’ve just settled in around the table, ready for some serious gossip, when Gary’s phone rings. His ringtone is “Endless Love.”

I make a face at him. “Really, Gary?” Then I reconsider and say, “That better be my mom calling you.”

He rolls his eyes. “It is.” And, more credit to him, he immediately answers.

“Are you on your way home, Liza? There’s something—”

His eyes widen, and his entire body goes rigid. “What?”

My heart starts to race, and I instantly shoot to my feet, Damien getting up with me.

“But you’re okay?” Gary sags a little, and my heart slows down a bit. Griffin, who just lowered Oldman to the ground, looks like a potential flight risk, so I skewer him with a glare.

He stays put.

“We’ll be right there,” Gary tells my mother. “Yeah, they’re still here.” He pauses, then adds, “Griffin’s here too, Liza. That’s what I was about to tell you… Yes, that Griffin… I know. He just showed up.”

My gaze flies to Damien’s. I know both of us are thinking the same thing—my mother knows about Griffin but we don’t. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s pretty obvious Gary didn’t ask us to look for Griffin because he was worried about what we might find. Maybe he really thought Griffin was dead, or he worried his stepbrother was in jail or wrapped up in some dodgy shit. Either way, he thought it would be a risky ask.

Interesting, indeed.

Gary hangs up and pockets the phone, getting to his feet. “She got into a fender bender, but she’s okay.”

“Thank Christ,” I say, feeling the relief of it to my toes.

He purses his lips. “She’s being sent to the ER.”

“Goddamn it, Gary, you just said she was okay.”

He lifts his hands. “She is, but they asked her to go as a precaution. They’re worried she might have whiplash.”

“What the hell happened, anyway?” I ask.

“She was worried her nails weren’t completely dry, and she looked down at the wrong moment,” he says. Casting a glance at Griffin, he adds, “She’s a really good driver.”

She’s not, but his defensiveness is sweet.

Gary looks shaky, like he needs some sugar, so I break off a piece of the cookie cake and shove it at him. “Eat this and let’s go.”

He nods, his expression grateful, and starts for the door.

Griffin rubs his jaw, then says, “You know, I should really come back at a different—”

“No,” I snap. “You’re coming with us, Uncle Griffin.”

The guy looks taken aback, which is understandable. I never thought I’d have a bangable uncle. Not that I want to bang him, mind you, but I’ll bet plenty of people do.

Damien laughs, then nods. “Welcome to the thruple.”

We put on our coats and head for the door. At the last second, I turn back and grab the cookie cake and stick it in a tote bag from the kitchen. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck waiting in the ER. I don’t want Gary to resort to cannibalism.

The four of us get into Damien’s car—he’s behind the wheel, Gary plops into the passenger seat, and Griffin and I pile into the backseat together. He looks understandably nervous about this turn of events. In fact, I’d dare say he regrets choosing this precise moment to show up unannounced at Gary’s door.

As soon as we start moving, I turn to study him. “So you’re Gary’s stepbrother, huh?”

His coat sleeve has ridden up, and he traces the tatt on his arm. From what little I can see, it’s the head of a griffin. Or maybe it’s just a really pissed-off eagle.

“Yeah,” he says. His gaze skips up to the front seat. “It’s been a long time.”

Gary snorts. “I’ll say.”

It’s obvious Griffin wishes they could have this conversation under different circumstances. But maybe the situation isn’t as awful as he thinks, because at least he doesn’t have to look Gary in the eye.

“Dad told me some things that weren’t true,” he says, “and for a long time, I believed him.”

“But you don’t believe them anymore?” Gary asks, glancing over his shoulder.

Griffin doesn’t look up, still tracing that tattoo. “No. He…he died, and he before it happened, he told me the truth.”

“Shit,” Gary says. “I’m sorry, man.”

“What was the lie?” I ask. I mean, it’s obviously none of my business. I’m curious, is all. Gary’s mother is almost aggressively sweet-natured. She likes everyone, including me, which would be more annoying if I didn’t also like her.

Griffin swallows and looks out the window. “At the time, he said we were leaving for my sake. That you and your mom wanted to kick me out of the house or send me away to school, but he refused to do it.”  

“Fucking bullshit,” Gary says, then seems to remember the guy who said it is not just an asshole, but a dead asshole.

“Yeah. I figured that out a while back. I just…I couldn’t… He was a piece of shit, but he needed me. I couldn’t bring myself to leave him, and I didn’t want to bring his shit back to you. But I’m sorry, man. I should have done things differently.”

“You changed your phone number. Your email address. You never joined Facebook. Believe me, I’ve checked.”

“I know,” Griffin says miserably. “And here I am, hoping you’ll give me a second chance.”

“Where have you even been living?”

“My dad’s place in Sacramento. I just sold it. I…I want to come back to Asheville. Get a fresh start. This is the only place that’s ever felt like home to me.”

“Jesus, Griff,” Gary says with his thousandth sigh of the day. “This is a lot.”

“I know,” Griffin says, looking out the window again.

“How have you been making a living?” Gary asks him.

“Bit of this. Bit of that.”

There’s an offhandedness to the way he says it, and without even thinking, I say, “Is that code for dealing drugs?”

Damien gives me a sharp look in the rearview, probably warning me to stop riling up someone I barely know in case he turns out to be a secret serial killer. After all, ten years is a long time for someone to have dropped off the radar. There could be plenty of things Gary doesn’t know about him.

It’s a fair point, to be honest, but Griffin laughs in response. “Fuck, no. I saw what they did to my father. But I have a record, so I guess you probably won’t believe me.”

Gary glances back. “Why do you have a record?”

“I told you. I was living with my dad.”

“You took the fall for him?” Gary asks, looking beyond furious. Apparently he’s gotten over the whole let’s-pretend-the-dead-guy-wasn’t-an-asshole thing. Thank God. That was a stressful five minutes.

“He had priors. He was sick. I didn’t want him to die behind bars.”

Gary swears under his breath.

Damien pulls into the hospital lot. He’s looking for a parking place when I ask Griffin, “How good are you at tailing people and getting information from shady characters who don’t want to provide it?”

“I told you I’m no criminal,” he says, sounding a little offended, or maybe disappointed. After all, I am his sort-of niece.

“I didn’t say you were,” I ask. “But I did ask you a question.”

“We barely know him,” Damien growls.

“True,” I say, “but he’s going to be my uncle.”

And Damien and I have a plan for the future. Not tomorrow. Not next week. But someday. After I’ve put all my shadowing hours in, we want to start the Fairy Godmother Detective Agency (Damien’s not too on board with the name, but who do you think is going to win that argument?). We’re going to help women who’ve been through the wringer. Women like his biological mother, my mom, and poor Mary, who still struggles to say the word “sex.” Women who could use the help of two P.I.s with flexible morals and also a self-appointed life coach (me). It’s not the kind of undertaking that will make us rich, but we don’t need to be rich.

After all, Damien’s going to inherit a major fortune someday.

Maybe we can help Griffin, and he can help us.

“Probably not a good time for an interview,” I concede.

Griffin raises his eyebrows, understandably confused, but I don’t bother explaining. He’ll find out soon enough. If he sticks around.

***

“I’m fine,” my mother says, and she does seem fine. She’s wearing a collar around her neck, but there’s every indication she’ll be allowed to come home with us as soon as they get her discharge paperwork going.  “It was my fault. Thank God no one got hurt.”

“The important question is whether your nails survived,” I tease.

She flashes me her perfect manicure and grimaces. “Silver lining?”

When I glance at Gary, he’s staring at my mother with such warmth and love, such passionate intensity, that I do something I’ll probably regret later.

“Mom, can you excuse Gary and me?”

Damien and Griffin are still in the waiting room—Griffin felt weird about coming in, and Damien knows a flight risk when he sees one.

“Um, sure honey,” she says, although she has this look in her eyes she gets when she knows I’m up to something. She doesn’t try to stop me though, so at least she trusts it’s the good kind of surprise.

Gary regards me this bug-eyed look, and I’m half-tempted to start hooting at him like an owl. Instead, I hustle him out the door and into the hallway.

“Do you have the ring on you?” I ask.

His eyes get even wider, and I can’t help it, I hoot.

“What the hell is the matter with you?” he asks.

“You haven’t started making a list by now?”

He rolls his eyes, then fishes into his pocket and comes up with a box. I give a little nod of approval, think twice, and then check the ring to make sure it’s the one we chose together. After shutting the box, I hand him the tote containing the somewhat ruined cookie cake.

“Do it. Use the hideous, crumbled cookie cake. You have my permission.”

“I don’t need your permission,” he says drily, but I can see tears in his eyes.

“Jesus, Gary,” I say, feeling an answering warmth in my eyes. No fucking way. I’m not crying. “Just get in there, already. The two of you basically met in an ER, so it feels strangely appropriate.”

“What if she says no?” he asks, and there’s a surprising throb of vulnerability in his voice. If I had any doubt he loved my mother, which I didn’t, it would have been erased in that instant.

Then, and the only explanation I can think of is that some wandering spirit must have temporarily possessed me, I hug him. “She’d say yes even if you gave her a cracker jack ring,” I tell him. “And she won’t regret it.”

He pulls back, his eyes still teary. “Because you’ll make me regret I was ever born if she does.”

“No, you jackass,” I say. “Because you’re a good guy. And if you tell Damien I said that, I’ll say you’re lying.”

He gives me a watery grin, salutes, and disappears into the room. It’s December, but he’s wearing Crocs with socks. Although he is a good guy, he has not listened to my fashion tips. That’s Gary for you.

I’m smiling as I make my way back to the waiting room.

When I get to Damien, he and Griffin are talking like they’re acquaintances of long-standing. Maybe my half-baked let’s help Griffin plan really will get off the ground.

“Well, he’s doing it,” I say, lifting my arm to show that I no longer have the cookie cake.

“Eating the cookie cake in the bathroom?” Damien teases. “I guess we’ll have to buy one of our own.” My heart beats a little faster, because it’s almost like he’s saying…

He’s saying he’ll get you a cookie cake. Don’t read too much into it.

Reaching him, I give his arm a little tap, mostly because I want to feel his firm bicep beneath my fingertips. “No, he’s asking her to marry him.”

I level a look at Griffin. “I guess you really are going to be my uncle.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” he says.

Damien laughs under his breath. “Good luck with that.”

I lower into the chair next to Damien, shifting my leg so it’s pressed against his.

“This worked out surprisingly well. I think my mom and Gary have a weird kink about emergency rooms.”

He gives me a lazy grin. “Kind of like we do about cars.”

Griffin mutters something and turns away.

“You know,” Damien says, leaning toward me. “We should do this.”

“Get injured in an accident and end up in the ER?” I ask, but I know what he’s saying. I know.

He tucks a puff of wild pink hair behind my hair. “I want to marry you, Nicole.”

“I thought we agreed we didn’t believe in marriage,” I say, even as a little voice inside of me insists, Stop sabotaging yourself, you idiot.

He lifts his eyebrows, totally not put off, then lifts me into his lap as if I weighed no more than a feather—and as if we weren’t around a bunch of other people, many of them noticeably injured, who are now looking at us askance. Griffin moves one seat down and develops a sudden burning interest in his phone.

“We agreed we don’t believe in the way other people do marriage,” Damien says. “But why should that stop us? We can do things our own way…just like we always do.”

My heart is pounding fast again, reminding me that I’m alive. Being with Damien always makes me feel more alive, as if his mere presence makes new possibilities burst to life. He makes me happy. I don’t want anyone else, and as much as it frightens me to admit it, I’m pretty damn sure I’ll never want anyone else. I crave him, I covet him, I find him comforting.

I trust him.

“You’re right,” I say. “I’m in.”

He grins at me, that scar in his eyebrow tipping a little, and I kiss him, savoring the way he can at once be so familiar, so known, yet so exciting. “Let’s get married before Gary and Mom,” I say. “That’ll totally fuck with them.”

If we do it quickly, it’ll also ensure we don’t take any focus off of my mother.

He laughs. “Okay. We could do it right now if you want. I’d do it yesterday if we could.”

“Nah,” I say. “I have a better plan.”

“Does it involve driving to Vegas?”

“Nope. But we’re not going to tell my mom until after the fact. She’s been threatening to make me wear her mother’s dress since I was five. Let her wear it. I’ll bet Gary has a thing for puffy sleeves.”

“We’ll do whatever you want, Nicole,” he says, tracing me cheeks and then my lips. “I’m yours.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I hold it for a second before letting out. “And I’m yours. Forever. “ Then, because I can’t help myself, I add, “We’re going to make marriage our bitch.”

I might have just imagined it, but I think I heard Griffin laugh.

Read Griffin’s story in A Borrowed Boyfriend, available from June 6-8 on Apple, Nook, Kobo, and Google Play. Moves to Amazon and KU on June 9th (Amazon US, Amazon UK, Amazon CA, Amazon AU).