Her nod is manic. “Oh, absolutely. You have Resting Bitch Face. But I guess in your case, it’s Resting Dick Face.”
I choke.“Dick Face?”
Iris bursts into hysterics. I steal glances at her as she comes apart with laughter. I want to laugh too, but I’m pretty sure she just called meDick Face.And not even my worst students have called me that. I bite the inside of my cheek and try to give her my most disapproving look.
It doesn’t work. She’s laughing so hard, I think she’s hyperventilating.
“That’s not—That’s not—That’s not what I meant,” she wheezes.
“Uh huh,” I deadpan.
“I swear. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it like that.”
I divide my attention between her and the interstate. She’s wiping her eyes, trying to get her breathing under control. Even though she called meDick Face, seeing her like this makes me feel weightless. Like I’m hovering, not sitting, behind the wheel of my truck.
I force my eyes to the road. Traffic is light this morning, but I need to pay attention. “Care to explain?”
“Oh man—” Even without looking at her, I sense her shift beside me, sitting up straighter, recovering from her fit. She sniffles and clears her throat. “You’re not a dick face, obviously. It just popped out—”
Giggles spill from her, and this time, I can’t help myself. I’m laughing too.
“You just—you just have this way—” She pauses to catch her breath. “Of mean-mugging even when you’re not mad.”
I bite down on my smile, drawing my brows down. “So not a dick face,” I say, casting her a sidelong glance, “but a mean mug.”
“Yes,” she says, sounding relieved.
“And you think that’s better?” I ask, completely deadpan.
She hesitates so long that I look at her.“Yes?”she says, eyes wide and comical, her smile unnaturally bright like she’s in an SNL skit about sisters who dress alike and sing creepy songs.
I crack up. “Why aren’t you in comedy?” I shake my head in wonder. She’d be hilarious.
Iris flinches and then wrinkles her nose. “Moira.”
“Your manager?” I press my lips together, wondering why she keeps that harpy.
“Well…” Again, the pause is so long, I look her way in time to see her lift her heels to the edge of her seat and hug her knees. “She’s not just my manager. She’s my mother too.”
If my eyeballs could eject themselves, they’d do it now. My foot slips off the gas pedal because I have to look at her full-on.“Really?”
But the tint to her cheeks and the thin line of her mouth tell me everything I need to know. She’s not joking.
God, this explains so much.
I can’t stare slack-jawed at her for the rest of the drive, so I look back at the road and pick up speed. “Well… Why doesn’t she want you to do comedy?”
I hear Iris pull in a slow breath. “Oh, God, this is so embarrassing,” she says under her breath, but I hear it clearly enough.
“Then forget I asked,” I say quickly. I don’t want to embarrass her. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable at all.
She blows out the breath. “No, it’s okay… She says that I’m…”
She trails off, and I start filling in awful things this Moira could say to discourage her from comedy.Not funny enough? Not quick enough? Not smart enough?All dead wrong, and I’m ready to tell her so.
“I’m too attractive to be funny.”
For the second time in five minutes, I’m thankful my eyes can’t spontaneously launch themselves from my skull.
