Charmed Thirds_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [85]
My apologies,
Jessica
* * *
the sixth
“It's you!”
We both sounded surprised, though I had better reason to be. G-Money was merely reacting to the unexpected sight of his sister-in-law on his front doorstep. I was not only reacting to the unexpected sight of G-Money at the brownstone at all, but a G-Money who was easily thirty pounds heavier than the last time I saw him, six months ago. Atkins be damned! Papa D's Donuts/Wally D's Sweet Treat Shoppe franchise must have a huge profit margin because it's obvious that G-Money's gorging himself on the goods. In a white Wally D's Sweet Treat Shoppe polo shirt straining at the seams, my formerly fit brother-in-law has become a doughy, creamy personification of the very junk foods he shills.
In fact, the only reason I knew he was my sister's husband was because he answered the door with one finger in his chin dimple—only now we'd need a search party to extract the lost digit from this fearsome cavern of excess flesh. I mean, you know you've gotten a bit hefty when you can pinch an inch (or two or twelve) on your chin. G-Money was a wheezing, waddling example of negative publicity if I ever saw one, one that could do severe damage to his efforts at taking his franchise national.
“Bethany and Marin are at the park up the street,” he said. “You can meet them there.”
Fortunately, G-Money and I don't really talk to each other so what could have been an awkward silence wasn't really all that awkward.
“Good-bye,” he said, shutting the door.
As I walked to the park, I thought about what a waste G-Money was. I mean, he was obviously smart. Smart enough to generate tons of dough. (Ha. In more ways than one.) But I would actually respect him if he used his brain for something other than making money and clogging arteries. Can his chosen vocation really give him a sense of purpose in life? Or is lacking a sense of purpose a fair trade-off for a summer house in the Hamptons, a plasma TV, and a 2005 BMW SUV? Meanwhile, I'm poor and I lack purpose.
I followed G-Money's directions and easily found Bethany and Marin. Being the culture chameleon that she is, the former looked like all the other young, hip, and hipless Brooklyn moms, from her head scarf down to her flip-flops. Thankfully, the latter showed her individuality as the only child on the playground wearing flowered rubber galoshes, a Spider-Man T-shirt, a pink sparkly tutu, a foam rubber Statue of Liberty crown, and a plastic sheath for a sword, only without the weapon. It looked like something Dexy would wear if she were in a “rejuvenile” mood. I was shocked that Bethany would let her progeny out in public in such an ensemble.
“Auntie J! Auntie J!” Marin gushed when she saw me. I think she's finally forgiven me for the nonbreakup breakup. I scooped her up and sniffed her hair. It smelled like muddy strawberries.
“What's shakin', bacon?”
“Marin,” she said, all huffy. “Not bacon.”
“Okeydokey, artichokey,” I said.
“Auntie J!” she cried with exasperation. “Marin! Not ach-i-okie!”
She knows I know this. It's all part of our game. Marin has a good sense of humor, one that I hope G-Money and Bethany don't bore right out of her.
“I play now!” she said. “Ta ta!” She blew me a kiss before galloping off to the sandbox.
I joined my smiling sister on the shady park bench.
“She's a real character,” I said.
“She chose the outfit,” Bethany sighed. “‘Let them dress themselves to express themselves' the books say. Of course, my child is the only one who looks like a crazy bag lady.”
“I'll be looking like that soon enough,” I said.
“What's your crisis now?”
“You know they bought this new house, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” she replied. “Mom told me.”
“Did she tell you the part about where I'll have to drop out of college and become one of those homeless people who shakes a can and carries a cardboard sign that says NEED MONEY FOR BOOZE, DRUGS, AND HOOKERS?”
“I'm not sure that would be the most effective way to penetrate the market,” Bethany said, obviously having learned the lingo from her