Fourth Comings_ A Jessica Darling Novel - Megan McCafferty [55]
From that afternoon on, I could hardly blame Bethany for surrendering to the MILF groupthink. I know I’m an adequate babysitter. Sometimes I’m even an above-and-beyond babysitter. But am I ready to accept permanent responsibility for Marin’s care and well-being? I’ve never had a pet. Not a guppy, not even a sea monkey.
After the fourth or fifth attempt to draw her attention away from the Non-Stop Party Patrol, my niece finally half-turned her blond head in my general direction.
“Auntie J,” she said, with a whine beyond her years, “can’t you see I’m busy?”
Bethany assures me that such withering disdain is a sign of the deepest devotion.
“After all,” Bethany said, “you can only really, really hurt the ones you really, really love.”
(Oh, don’t I know it.)
thirty-six
When I returned to Sammy, the apartment was empty. The ride on the subway and the ten-block walk back to the apartment had left me feeling sticky, so I decided to take a cold shower. As soon as I stepped inside, I caught a whiff of the mildewy plastic. Our shower curtain was slick with pinkish mildew, and the moistest bottom corners were flecked with specks of greenish mold, a sort of preppy nastiness. The tiles were dull with soap scum; the grout had turned gray. I stood ankle-deep in a dirty puddle because the drain was clogged with the foulest congealment of human hair and conditioner.
The inability to bring our bathroom up to reasonably clean hygienic standards is one of the grossest examples of our collective immaturity and incompetence here in Sammy. Of course, we all wanted a clean bathroom, but only Shea—yes, Shea—had the wherewithal to actually pick up a sponge. She had the lowest tolerance for scum, and would be the first to hit the bleach when she couldn’t take it anymore. Of course, while doing so, she’d unleash an expletive-laden tirade about how we were the most worthless pack of spermburping jizzmops she’d ever met, but even that was a small price to pay for a clean shower stall.
So I was in the shower, lathering up with Hope’s ginger-scented shampoo, debating whether she would also notice if I used her razor to shave my legs, when I heard the unmistakable sound of the bathroom door bursting open. I poked my frothy head through the curtain just to confirm that it was the pervert I knew, and not a pervert off the street.
“Christ, Manda! Privacy!”
Her thong was already at her ankles. “That’s an amusing request coming from someone who is watching me pee!”
I grumbled and yanked my head back inside the stall. “Don’t flush!” I yelled out, but it was already too late. The hot water surged from the showerhead and singed my skin. “OUCH! FUCK!”
“Oops!”
I waited for the sound of the door opening and closing behind her. When I didn’t hear it right away, I stuck my head outside the curtain yet again. Manda was still in the same spot, panties up, toilet lid down. She was bent in half, lazily inspecting her pedicure.
“Hope called,” she said breezily. “She’s at the studio. Can’t do dinner. The usual.”
“Okay!” I said. “Thanks for the message! You can leave now!”
“I assume you didn’t get laid,” Manda said. This is her standard greeting whenever I’ve returned from just about anywhere.
“I have a boyfriend, remember?” I asked, quickly rinsing my hair.
“Fiancé,” Manda corrected. “Remember?”
I could feel my blushing embarrassment, even under the hot water. With the ring off my finger I had, in fact, forgotten. I changed the subject. And quickly.
“Well, I was hit on by a married man who resembles an uncircumcised penis.”
I expected her to heave a bored sigh and say something like, “Haven’t we all?” But instead she said, “Sara called. She had the baby.”
“Welcome, Destiny Estrella.”
“You mean Alessandro Destino.”
“What?”
“Turned out that their little girl was hiding something between her legs.”
Well. So much for the D’Abruzzi Pussy Legacy. Is nothing sacred?
“I bet Scotty is happy about it,” I said.
“They both sound really happy,” Manda said. “Like really, ridiculously