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“No,” the girls both reply.
“Are you sure? They were right on top.” I describe what they look like, but neither of them admit to having seen nor taken them.
I stare at the soles of Mark’s shoes, a nagging suspicion coming over me. A part of me wants to tell him to turn out his pockets, but I don’t know why. He wouldn’t steal my panties, right?
“Well, if you see them or do know where they’re at, just put them on my dresser please.” I close the door on my way out, unable to shake the feeling that I know exactly who has them. But that’s ridiculous. Has to be. What could he want with my underwear?
After a while, Mark and the girls come downstairs and decide to play a dance game on the Kinect. I sit off to the side, watching and smiling because it’s always a joy to see my kids having fun.
By the time Mark leaves, he’s back to his normal, friendly self, and even comes up to give me a hug on his way out, which is odd to me. He usually tries to avoid physical contact with me…unless we’ve had a disagreement or he thinks I’m mad at him.
As soon as he’s gone, I call up Jean and tell her about the visit, especially the part concerning the case of the missing panties.
“He’s such a creep. He’s probably going to tell his trashy bimbo he bought them for her and make her wear them for him.”
“Oh God, that’s disgusting!” I’m laughing, but honestly, it really is creepy. “I doubt he took them though. I mean, what could he really want with them?”
My oldest daughter is entering the room as I say that last bit and says, “I saw Dad coming out of your room earlier.”
I pause, my jaw dropping open. “What?”
“Yeah, I was coming out of my room and he was coming out of yours. I just thought you knew he was in there.”
I didn’t. In fact, I close the door when I know he’s coming by because of how often he’s prevailed himself of my personal space. It was supposed to be a deterrent. “No, I didn’t know that.”
I relay this information to Jean, who becomes even more adamant that he’s the thief. I have to admit, it’s beyond suspicious now. Still, I don’t want to wrongfully accuse him if he didn’t do it.
“He’s a creep!” Jean insists. “Look at everything else he’s done. He took those underwear and he’s probably smelling them right now.”
“That’s so sick.” I laugh again. “But you’re probably right. I mean, I thought I knew the guy and look how that turned out.”
“See what I mean. I’m telling you, Julie, the man is seriously screwed up in the head.”
“Yeah, I think you might be right.”
“I know I am. I’m so glad you found someone hotter and worth your time.”
“No kidding. Alejandro is great.”
“I’m glad. You deserve someone who makes you happy. And oh my God, I can’t wait to see that baby! You’re going to make the cutest brown babies ever! Do you know what you want?”
“Umm…I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. As long as it’s healthy, it doesn’t really matter.”
“Yeah. Right. Girls are the worst. I’m telling you, Julie, I love my girls, but they are holy terrors. My boys are so sweet. And look at yours. He’s so quiet and gentle.”
She’s right. I don’t know where people get the idea that girls are sugar and spice and everything nice. Mine tear the house apart, are filthy on their best days and meanwhile, my son is the most reserved, well-behaved kid a parent could ask for. That whole thing about boys being hell raisers must be an old wives’ tale.
“You know, you’re right. I prefer a boy.” I picture holding a little boy in my arms, one that has Alejandro’s eyes and perfectly full lips, his skin a few shades lighter than his father’s, and my heart instantly melts.
“You’re going to have an awesome life. I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, I’m happy for me too.”
And I am. Things seem to finally be falling into place, and that’s a damn good feeling.
