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But, of course, not a single part of me is willing to admit this to her.
So instead, I watch her turn around and start scooping dough onto paper-lined sheets like I’m not even there.
“You need a man,” I say, walking toward her back door. Exhaustion is creeping in now that I’ve gotten my fill of fucking with her. Okay, maybe more, now that I’ve gotten my ass handed to me by the little firecracker.
But I couldn’t leave without getting in one last shot.
“Excuse me?” I hear her say, a metal clanking as I assume she drops the scoop onto the table. Target hit. I face her once more, crossing my arms on my chest and smirking.
I can tell that drives the anger up.
Lola is like one of those cartoons when it comes to emotions—you can read each and every one on her face at any given moment. Right now, I can almost see one of those cartoon thermometers on top of her head, the red creeping up the lines as her anger rises.
It’s going to explode soon.
I bet she’s fucking gorgeous when she explodes, lets go of the tight reins she has on being prim and proper and sweet as pie.
“I said, you need a man,” I repeat, slower.
“Excuse me?” she says once again. That thermometer keeps climbing.
“I said you need. A fucking. Man in your life,” I say, and fuck if I’m not grinning now, full-on stretching my face out because her face has gone from annoyed to full-blown anger. I take a step closer.
“Why would I need a man? And why is that any of your business? For all you know, I have someone in my life.” I chuckle at her words and take a step closer. There’s a foot between us now, and I can feel the heat radiating off her.
“If you had a man, I would know. The entire city of Ocean View would know, baby. If you had a man, no way you’d be taking your neighbor cookies in the middle of the night wearing a nightie.”
Thirteen
-Lola-
I gulpat Ben’s words, the confirmation I needed to realize he had, in fact, noticed my attire that first night. I think self-preservation had convinced me that he hadn’t.
Unfortunately, he doesn’t stop there.
“If you had a man, you wouldn’t be doing everything yourself, lugging in flour and sugar and butter from a fucking hatchback, getting yourself fancy coffees as a treat on a Friday morning. You’d have someone to take care of you.”
This hits differently.
It also makes me angry.
What the fuck does Ben know about men, about having someone in your life?
Here’s the thing. Women are taught if they have a man in their life, they help do the heavy lifting. That if you have a man in your life, life getseasier.
But you know what? I call bullshit.
Because that’s also supposed to be what your father does, putting his daughters first, taking care, protecting them.
Not dragging them down.
And you can’t show me a single woman who doesn’t know at least one other who had a man make her life living hell.
Men think that women need protection, like back in the day when we had to worry about tigers and bears in the wild. They shout it on news channels and social media, about how women wouldn’t be able to handle life without men. Who would protect us, after all?
But these days, the only thing women really need protection from ismen.
“The only person who takes care of me isme.” In a way, I confirm what he said about my not having a man, but I don’t care. I tip my chin up, keeping it strong, my shoulders back, as my mom always did when reporters asked delicate questions about my dad.
