Lisa stared at me levelly from the recliner. “Ransom, they’re five.”
At six, I was already an expert pickpocket who stole to ensure my belly was full, and fought tooth and nail for my spot on a grubby cot. I had no idea how normal kids behaved at that age.
“Uncle Rand-son, do monthsters exist?”
“Uncle Rand-son, who is stronger, Thor or Spiderman?”
“Monsters don’t exist, unless you count politicians and lawyers. Thor is a hammer-wielding god, and Spiderman is a teenager wearing a latex suit, so you do the math. Also, tell your mommy to bring me a beer.”
“Tell your uncle to get his own,” Lisa said sunnily.
I shook the children off of me and stood up, walking to Tom and Lisa’s kitchen. Food was going to be ready in ten minutes, which meant I needed to endure the excruciating punishment of small talk until then. I didn’t feel like eating. I didn’t feel like being entertained. All I wanted to do was go home and conduct one of my weekly online searches on Hallie. Searches that were becoming more and more frustrating, seeing as she had disappeared from the face of the earth, or at least the reach of the internet. No movie premieres, no parties, no paparazzi pictures at The Ivy.
Naturally, I could get her ass tailed and find out whatever I wanted to know about her. But it was such a dick move—such an obsessive stalker vibe—I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I flung the fridge open, taking out three beers for Lisa, Tom, and me. I popped the caps with my thumb. They slam-dunked straight into the sink. Pivoting, I was about to make my way back to the living room when I found Lisa standing in front of me. She stared at me primly, her hands pinned to her waist.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.” I frowned, sidestepping her. “Mind your business.”
“It’s hard when you’re making it impossible for my husband to handle his work professionally. You’re not all in, are you?” She followed my steps, staying closely behind.
Snorting out, I said, “That’s a bit fucking extravagant, sweetheart. I clock in about three times the amount of hours your husband does.”
“You’re distracted, agitated, and you’re not bringing your A-game,” she continued, undeterred. Goddamn Lisa and her BA in psychology. “Stop. Turn around. Help me set the table,” she commanded.
I halted, glancing at the dinner table. “It’s already set.”
“Help me get the roast out of the oven, then.”
I took a swig of my beer, setting all three on the table before making my way back to the kitchen. “You’re a pain in the ass, Lisa.”
“Sure. But you can’t afford to be picky with your friends, so just roll with it.” She hopped onto the counter, watching as I served my hostess her dinner at her table.
“The lasagna and casserole are in the other two ovens,” she sing-songed.
“Yeah, Roger that.”
“So…” Her eyes were on me the entire time. I grabbed the kitchen towels and started setting the table with food. “I think I know what’ll make you feel better.”
“Doubt it,” I grumbled, setting the roast down onto the table. “You’d have to shut up and leave me be, and I’ve a feeling I’m not that lucky.”
“I have someone to set you up with,” she said.
“No, thanks.”
“She’s brilliant!” Lisa exclaimed. “Funny, smart, beautiful…”
She’s not Hallie,I finished for her in my head. It was impossible to move on.
“I’m not in the market for that,” I snarled, returning to grab the lasagna and casserole.
“Why, is there someone else you’re interested in?” she cooed.
“No,” I hissed.
Lisa dangled her legs over the counter, hands tucked under her ass. She was glowing, and I hated it. “I think there is.”