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“Not today,” I told him. “I want a vacuum cleaner.”
“Usually my wife sells the vacuum cleaners,” he said, “but she had to take the dog to the vet for his annual. Do you have carpet or wood floors?”
“Carpet.” I looked at the lineup of display vacuum cleaners and found one that was exactly like my mother’s. “I’ll take that one,” I said.
Ten minutes later I was on the road with my new vacuum. I took it home, plugged it in, and cleaned my apartment, wishing I could have the same success at cleaning up my life. My life was a mess. I had a crappy job, no car of my own, and too many men in my bed… at least mentally.
“I’m going to fix it,” I said to Rex. “I’m going to start with Morelli. I’m going over to his house and talk to him about our relationship. And then I’m going to apprehend the gang guy Connie just gave me, so I have money to buy a car.” I dropped a peanut into Rex’s cage. “I don’t know what the heck I’m going to do about getting a better job. It’s not like I have a bunch of amazing qualifications.”
By the time I got to Morelli’s house I had my speech all worked out. I had a slow cooker and a vacuum cleaner, and I had plans to get some throw pillows for the couch. I was ready to make a commitment. I didn’t want to be almost engaged. I wanted to be really engaged. I might even want to set a date. After all, I wasn’t getting any younger. If we were going to have a family we should get started. Probably Morelli would be relieved to have me force the issue. Probably he was sitting in his house all alone, nursing his gunshot wound. Poor guy. Just Bob and him.
I parked on the street, behind his green SUV. I rang the bell and let myself in. The television was blaring, and Kenny and Leo, two of Morelli’s cop buddies, were on the couch. There were beer bottles and chips on the coffee table.
“He’s in the kitchen,” Leo said. “He’s making up his famous wings.”
Bob was in the kitchen with Morelli, watching him carefully, hoping for a wing to drop on the floor.
“What’s going on?” I asked him.
“Ball game. The Mets are playing.”
I looked at the platter of wings he was holding. “Leo said you were making up your famous wings. I didn’t know you made wings.”
“I buy them at Costco. When I want to get fancy, I put them on a plate.”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“Go ahead,” Morelli said. “We can talk while I make my famous blue cheese dressing for the wings.”
He took a bottle of blue cheese salad dressing out of the fridge and dumped it into a bowl. I heard the front door crash open and lots of screaming and little feet pounding their way to the kitchen.
“That’s Anthony,” Morelli said. “He’s got the kids today.”
Little Anthony, Angelina, and Bobby ran in and jumped up and down, yelling.
“Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe!”
Morelli took a big bag of M&M’s off the counter and threw it into the living room. “Fetch.”
The kids ran out, and Morelli handed me the platter of wings. “Take this out to the guys.”
“I didn’t mean to barge in.”
“You’re not barging.”
I set the platter on the coffee table, and Morelli’s sister and two more kids arrived.
“Your sister is here,” I said to Morelli.
“Yeah, she’s a big Mets fan.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
“What?”
“The party.”
“It’s not a party. It’s game day.” He pulled two more bags of chips out of a cupboard.
