A Lot like Love
Page 16
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Jordan turned to Kyle. “Seriously, I don’t even get a smile for that? Tough crowd.”
Kyle looked around at the inmates in orange jumpsuits and armed guards. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She caught his eye and smiled. But she was more careful this time not to let her thoughts show.
Just one more week, Kyle. Hang in there.
Five
“SO HOW’S KYLE doing?”
Jordan poured three glasses of wine and handed one each to Melinda and Corinne. “You know Kyle. He says he’s fine.” She set the wine bottle off to the side and picked up the third glass for herself. “But judging from the bruise on his face and the cuts on his hands, I’d say that his definition of ‘fine’ differs from mine.”
She and her two friends had met at DeVine Cellars after the store closed, and were seated at a table near the racks of sparkling wine and champagne. As per their usual routine, Jordan provided the wine, and Melinda and Corinne brought dinner and dessert.
“He got in another fight?” Melinda asked. “What’s the deal with this prison? Don’t they have any guards there, or are the inmates running the asylum?”
Corinne was a bit more tactful. “Can’t they separate Kyle from the guys giving him a hard time?”
“Kyle says he doesn’t want special treatment. He thinks it will go away if he doesn’t back down, like it’s some kind of rite of passage. He told me that if these guys were ‘serious’ about hurting him, they’d use a weapon.” Jordan swirled her glass, letting the wine open up. “I can’t believe the current upside of my thirty-three-year-old brother’s life is that his fights don’t involve weapons.”
She saw the concern on Melinda and Corinne’s faces. “Sorry. Enough about me and my family problems. Let’s talk about something else. What’s going on with you guys?”
As they ate, the three of them chatted about work. Both Melinda and Corinne were teachers: Corinne worked at a public high school in the one of the poorest districts in the city and Melinda taught musical theater at Northwestern University, where the three of them had gone to undergrad.
Melinda took another sip of her wine and tipped her glass to Jordan. “This is really good. You said it’s a merlot?”
“From South Australia. A 2008 Marquis Phillips.”
“I like how fruit forward it is.”
Jordan was impressed. “Look at you, breaking out the wine terminology.” She dabbed her eyes with a napkin, feigning tears. “It’s like seeing a child take her first steps. I’m so proud.”
Melinda threw a napkin at her. “Just remind me to grab a bottle before I go. I want Pete to try it. He still won’t touch merlot because of Sideways.”
Jordan heard it all the time. Poor merlot had been disparaged in the film and still hadn’t fully recovered its reputation. “I’ll straighten Pete out the next time I see him.”
“That reminds me—the five of us are still on for dinner next Saturday, right?” Corinne asked.
“Yep. But first let’s talk about this weekend. Any special plans for Valentine’s Day, Jordan?” Melinda asked.
Jordan paused midsip at the question. This weekend? No special plans, really. Just helping the FBI infiltrate the lair of a wealthy restaurateur who launders money for a notorious drug cartel. You?
Corinne chimed in. “Isn’t this the weekend of Xander Eckhart’s party?”
“Yes.” Jordan held her breath in a silent plea. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone.
“So are you bringing anyone?” Melinda asked.
Foiled.
Having realized there was a distinct possibility the subject would come up, Jordan had spent some time running through potential answers to this very question. She had decided that being casual was the best approach. “Oh, there’s this guy I met a few days ago, and I was thinking about asking him.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll just go by myself, who knows.”
Melinda put down her forkful of gnocchi, zoning in on this like a heat-seeking missile to its target. “What guy you met a few days ago? And why is this the first we’re hearing of him?”
“Because I just met him a few days ago.”
Corinne rubbed her hands together, eager for the details. “So? Tell us. How’d you meet him?”
“What does he do?” Melinda asked.
“Nice, Melinda. You’re so shallow.” Corinne turned back to Jordan. “Is he hot?”
Of course, Jordan had known there would be questions. The three of them had been friends since college and still saw each other regularly despite busy schedules, and this was what they did. Before Corinne had gotten married, they talked about her now-husband, Charles. The same was true of Melinda and her soon-to-be-fiancé, Pete. So Jordan knew that she, in turn, was expected to give up the goods in similar circumstances. But she also knew that she really didn’t want to lie to her friends.
With that in mind, she’d come up with a backup plan in the event the conversation went this way. Having no choice, she resorted to the strategy she had used in sticky situations ever since she was five years old, when she’d set her Western Barbie’s hair on fire while trying to give her a suntan on the family-room lamp.
Blame it on Kyle.
I’d like to thank the Academy . . . “Sure, I’ll tell you all about this new guy. We met the other day and he’s . . . um . . .” She paused, then ran her hands through her hair and exhaled dramatically. “Sorry. Do you mind if we talk about this later? After seeing Kyle today with the bruise on his face, I feel guilty rattling on about Xander’s party. Like I’m not taking my brother’s incarceration seriously enough.” She bit her lip, feeling guilty about the lie. So sorry, girls. But this has to stay my secret for now.
Kyle looked around at the inmates in orange jumpsuits and armed guards. “Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
She caught his eye and smiled. But she was more careful this time not to let her thoughts show.
Just one more week, Kyle. Hang in there.
Five
“SO HOW’S KYLE doing?”
Jordan poured three glasses of wine and handed one each to Melinda and Corinne. “You know Kyle. He says he’s fine.” She set the wine bottle off to the side and picked up the third glass for herself. “But judging from the bruise on his face and the cuts on his hands, I’d say that his definition of ‘fine’ differs from mine.”
She and her two friends had met at DeVine Cellars after the store closed, and were seated at a table near the racks of sparkling wine and champagne. As per their usual routine, Jordan provided the wine, and Melinda and Corinne brought dinner and dessert.
“He got in another fight?” Melinda asked. “What’s the deal with this prison? Don’t they have any guards there, or are the inmates running the asylum?”
Corinne was a bit more tactful. “Can’t they separate Kyle from the guys giving him a hard time?”
“Kyle says he doesn’t want special treatment. He thinks it will go away if he doesn’t back down, like it’s some kind of rite of passage. He told me that if these guys were ‘serious’ about hurting him, they’d use a weapon.” Jordan swirled her glass, letting the wine open up. “I can’t believe the current upside of my thirty-three-year-old brother’s life is that his fights don’t involve weapons.”
She saw the concern on Melinda and Corinne’s faces. “Sorry. Enough about me and my family problems. Let’s talk about something else. What’s going on with you guys?”
As they ate, the three of them chatted about work. Both Melinda and Corinne were teachers: Corinne worked at a public high school in the one of the poorest districts in the city and Melinda taught musical theater at Northwestern University, where the three of them had gone to undergrad.
Melinda took another sip of her wine and tipped her glass to Jordan. “This is really good. You said it’s a merlot?”
“From South Australia. A 2008 Marquis Phillips.”
“I like how fruit forward it is.”
Jordan was impressed. “Look at you, breaking out the wine terminology.” She dabbed her eyes with a napkin, feigning tears. “It’s like seeing a child take her first steps. I’m so proud.”
Melinda threw a napkin at her. “Just remind me to grab a bottle before I go. I want Pete to try it. He still won’t touch merlot because of Sideways.”
Jordan heard it all the time. Poor merlot had been disparaged in the film and still hadn’t fully recovered its reputation. “I’ll straighten Pete out the next time I see him.”
“That reminds me—the five of us are still on for dinner next Saturday, right?” Corinne asked.
“Yep. But first let’s talk about this weekend. Any special plans for Valentine’s Day, Jordan?” Melinda asked.
Jordan paused midsip at the question. This weekend? No special plans, really. Just helping the FBI infiltrate the lair of a wealthy restaurateur who launders money for a notorious drug cartel. You?
Corinne chimed in. “Isn’t this the weekend of Xander Eckhart’s party?”
“Yes.” Jordan held her breath in a silent plea. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone. Don’t ask if I’m bringing anyone.
“So are you bringing anyone?” Melinda asked.
Foiled.
Having realized there was a distinct possibility the subject would come up, Jordan had spent some time running through potential answers to this very question. She had decided that being casual was the best approach. “Oh, there’s this guy I met a few days ago, and I was thinking about asking him.” She shrugged. “Or maybe I’ll just go by myself, who knows.”
Melinda put down her forkful of gnocchi, zoning in on this like a heat-seeking missile to its target. “What guy you met a few days ago? And why is this the first we’re hearing of him?”
“Because I just met him a few days ago.”
Corinne rubbed her hands together, eager for the details. “So? Tell us. How’d you meet him?”
“What does he do?” Melinda asked.
“Nice, Melinda. You’re so shallow.” Corinne turned back to Jordan. “Is he hot?”
Of course, Jordan had known there would be questions. The three of them had been friends since college and still saw each other regularly despite busy schedules, and this was what they did. Before Corinne had gotten married, they talked about her now-husband, Charles. The same was true of Melinda and her soon-to-be-fiancé, Pete. So Jordan knew that she, in turn, was expected to give up the goods in similar circumstances. But she also knew that she really didn’t want to lie to her friends.
With that in mind, she’d come up with a backup plan in the event the conversation went this way. Having no choice, she resorted to the strategy she had used in sticky situations ever since she was five years old, when she’d set her Western Barbie’s hair on fire while trying to give her a suntan on the family-room lamp.
Blame it on Kyle.
I’d like to thank the Academy . . . “Sure, I’ll tell you all about this new guy. We met the other day and he’s . . . um . . .” She paused, then ran her hands through her hair and exhaled dramatically. “Sorry. Do you mind if we talk about this later? After seeing Kyle today with the bruise on his face, I feel guilty rattling on about Xander’s party. Like I’m not taking my brother’s incarceration seriously enough.” She bit her lip, feeling guilty about the lie. So sorry, girls. But this has to stay my secret for now.
