“Thank you,” I say awkwardly. “So, I’m struggling to get Cora to let down her guard and actually get to know me. She’s been trying to drive me away by telling me lies, cooking me horrible dinners, and denying me any part of her.”
“That seems off base,” Keiko says. “Because her singular goal the last few months was to have coitus with you. Her behavior doesn’t equate to what she has been telling us.”
I knew she was flirting, but I wasn’t aware it had been going on for months. Interesting.
“There is a disconnect in her behaviors. If we were to put reasoning and thought behind it, we could reduce the timeline down to when she wanted to, for lack of a better term, bang you, and when she was trying to extricate you.” Keiko taps her chin. “When you returned from Vegas, did she still attempt to remove your trousers?”
“No. She wanted nothing to do with me.”
She nods. “As I suspected. After spending much time with Cora, I’ve been privileged to an inside examination of her psyche. I’m quite aware that her ex-husband cheated on her and her divorce has tarnished her outlook on relationships with men.”
Huh . . . that would make sense. What tosser would cheat on Cora?
“This is all conjecture, but I could postulate that her marriage to you was unsuspected, unplanned, and an event in her life she was not prepared for, even if her intentions were to bang you. Therefore, her reluctance is because—well, she never wanted to be joined in matrimony again.”
I gathered that from the way she’s been trying to push me away.
“That’s seems true from the way she acts around me,” I say. “But, you see, I’m starting to like her.”
Keiko’s brows knit in confusion. “Did you not feel akin to her before you were married?”
“It was a drunken night; I wasn’t aware of what I was doing. I never assumed things would go in that direction. Honestly, I barely know her, but what I do know of her, I really like. And the personality she’s showing, her fight, I like that too.”
Keiko nods. “Ah, I see. So, are you coming to me for assistance or just a pair of listening ears?”
“Both, I guess. I wasn’t sure if you had any insight on how to get Cora to let me in.”
Keiko goes back to her pizza, cuts a piece, and puts it in her mouth. Once she swallows, she says, “I’m not skilled at understanding emotional cues, or emotions in general. But what I do know of Cora is she is headstrong, fears what her brother thinks of her, and has a sense of urgency to prove herself. Cora and Arlo were both left with large sums of money from their grandparents, but she lives modestly. She works not because she needs the money but because it offers her a sense of purpose. I don’t suppose this is the least bit helpful, but it’s what I know of her.”
I reach out and squeeze her hand. “It’s really helpful, Keiko. Thank you.”
She nods. “If you can get past her perturbation, I believe you could be a tolerable consort for Cora.”
“Thanks, Keeks.” I think.
To: Pike Greyson
From: Brock “Romeo” Romero
Subject: Thanksgiving Eve
The girlfriend is making me send this, and, yes, I’ll do anything she wants.
You are cordially invited to a barbeque pool party （we have an indoor pool） at our house on the eve of Thanksgiving.
And when I say cordially, I mean you have to be there.
And when I say you have to be there, I mean your presence is required.
You are also required to bring a dish to share, because fuck if I’m making all the food.
If you bring a store bought fruit plater, that’s such a cop-out. Make something, for fuck’s sake.
Also, don’t tell Stella about the informality of this invitation.
See you Wednesday. Time and address listed below. Don’t be a dick and show up late.
It’s just after six when I walk through the door and immediately smell something cooking, but to my surprise, it’s not burnt.
As usual, I set my helmet and backpack down, remove my jacket and shoes, and then walk into the kitchen, where Cora is stirring a pot on the stove. It actually smells really fucking good, whatever it is.
“Hey,” I say, learning not to approach right away, in case I scare her. My cheek was sore for days after she slapped me from being startled. “What are you cooking?”
I walk up behind her, place my hand on her lower back, and peek over her shoulder into the pot. It is halfway filled with a yellow liquid sprinkled with what seems to be carrots and broccoli.