“The cat.” Doreen gestures to the pet carrier on the floor. “The ginger tom cat you’ve become such friends with.”
“I thought his namewasmoggy.”
“I did tell you,” I murmur, which earns me a frown from both women. “It sounds like Doreen’s vibrator was just at hand. As far as packing goes.”
Mimi scrunches her nose in distaste.
“Well, yes, it was,” Doreen begins, making Mimi look like she might pass out from embarrassment. “I keep it on my armchair next to the fire. You know I do,” she says, turning to Mimi. “I asked you to switch it on the other night.” That squeak? That might’ve been from me as I try not to lose my ever-loving shit. This is hilarious! “Remember I said it helps with my lumbago?”
“The vibrating seat pad with the infrared heat!” Mimi says in a moment of relievedeureka!
“What did you think I was talking about?” Mimi shakes her head, but it doesn’t stop the older woman from barrelling on. “For goodness’ sakes, did you think I was talking about a dildol?”
“Dildo,” one of the senior sisterhood helpfully puts in. Mimi is now puce, and I think I might not be far behind. This is the most entertaining conversation I’ve heard in forever, and it’s seriously taking some effort not to give in to a belly laugh, the kind that makes you bend forward because you feel like you can’t breathe. Oh, man. Talk about entertaining.
“Dildo,” Doreen corrects.
“Aunt Doreen,” Mimi pleads, pressing her face into her hands.
“I’m no prude.” She glances between Mimi and me. “I doubt he is, either. But I don’t own a dildol—a dildo,” she amends with an annoyed shake of her head. “I don’t need one, not when I have Frank!”
The woman of the garden hose comment looks like she’s just swallowed a brick. Geriatric jealousy in the suburbs? This would make a hilarious TV show.
“Give over,” heckles another woman. “The man is seventy-five if he’s a day!”
“And I’m older than that,” she says, puffing out her chest. “Let me tell you, Barb, many a good tune is played on an old fiddle.”
“Or a garden hose,” I find myself barking out, unable to help myself this time as I bend at the waist and give in to a shoulder-shaking, belly-aching roar.
“What’s up with him?”
* * *
“If you don’t stop snickering, I’m going to scream.”
“I can’t help it,” I protest, flicking the indicator to turn left. “You’ll have to distract me if you don’t want me thinking about this afternoon. God, I hope I have half as much life in me when I’m Doreen’s age.”
Mimi harrumphs and folds her arms, turning her gaze to the passenger window. It’s only there a beat before she turns to me again. “Do you think I’ll be able to get back to the house tomorrow?”
Of course I insisted she stay with me until given the all clear to return to the house. I’m hardly a knight in shining armor, whisking her away from a perilous situation on my white steed. I’m more like a selfish knight who’s up to no good. I also want to know what’s going on in that head of hers.
Doreen offered to take Mimi to Frank’s house, who I understand is Doreen’s boyfriend. Though this seems a silly bit of terminology given he’s no boy and they’re both well into their senior years. Anyway, she’d said Mimi was welcome to stay there, too. Oddly enough, Mimi looked like she’d been offered the choice between the devil and the deep-blue sea—death by wolves or lions—when I’d suggested, as an alternative, she come home with me. It seemed the logical explanation. A win-win situation. She gets to avoid the senior citizen love-in and gain the pleasure of my company. I didn’t put it quite like that, obviously. I just suggested if she did decide not to come with me, she might have to endure Doreen and Frank monkey noises. The low-hanging fruit is always the easiest to grab.
“Hmm,” I ponder. “It’s hard to tell. Sometimes these things can take a couple of days, so I’ve read. If you’re uncomfortable”—though why would you be—“I could give Polly a call. See if you can stay with her.”
Mimi’s brows dip, and she gives an adamant shake of her head. “That would involve telling her why I’m with you in the first place. It’s not a conversation I really want to have.”
“Agreed.” Best not to give Pol any ideas.
“Should I be insulted or flattered?” she asks, now looking amused.
“Relieved. You should definitely be relieved.”
“You know you’re gonna need to explain why.”
“Right, well, when we all had lunch together, I could actually see her mentally shopping for tiny baby clothes.”
Mimi barks out a laugh as I knew she would. “You’re paranoid. Your momsoisn’t the type.”
