Rock Bottom Girl(11)

“The one and the same.”

“She back in town, or are you two Facebook pals?” I tried to keep the interest out of my tone. Floyd could pick up on a shred of something and turn it into a story that would entertain the whole damn town for a month.

“Back in town. She’ll be teaching gym with me and coaching the girls soccer team.” Floyd filled me in on Otterbach’s lesbian elopement. I scratched out a note to myself to send Otterbach and Jada a wedding present.

“Ouch. Does she know what she’s getting into with the team? The old coach?” I said. I wondered what kind of questions she’d asked about me, but showing Floyd any kind of interest now would only lead to the dramas. And I didn’t do drama.

“We didn’t get into it. Yet. She seemed shocked that you were a teacher.”

“I’m full of surprises,” I claimed, hinging forward to reach for my toes.

“She was even less happy finding out Amie Jo is teaching.”

Amie Jo. Marley. Vague memories of senior year started to click into place.

I believed they’d hated each other in high school. But I couldn’t remember if there was a specific reason.

“Oh, yeah?” I said casually. “Doesn’t Amie Jo live right next door to the Ciceros?” I asked the question that I already knew the answer to.

“Yep. Marley seemed surprised by that. I got the feeling she hasn’t kept up on much news from here,” he said.

“Some people move on,” I said vaguely.

Homer jolted at the knock on my front door and went into barking terror mode.

“Hey, I gotta go rescue whoever it is at the door from my ferocious dog,” I told Floyd. “I’ll see you Friday.”

I dropped the phone back onto the coffee table where I’d probably forget about it again and jogged to the front door.

I lived in the house my grandmother had left me in her will two years ago. Feisty, fun lady. Terrible taste in home decor. But there was a hell of a lot more room for me and Homer to spread out than the townhouse I’d lived in. I kept it, renting it out, and moved my shit and my dog to Grams’s.

Judging by the silhouette on the other side of the front door’s cut glass, I was about to get yet another lecture on home furnishings and linens.

“Attack, Homer,” I said, opening the front door. He launched his curly-furred self at the man on my doorstep. Uncle Lewis made quite the statement with just his existence in Central Pennsylvania. He was black, gay, and, worst of all, painfully trendy. Lewis wore shiny shoes and he specially ordered fancy cheeses from the grocery store. But even the most conservative in our community couldn’t help but love him. He was the VP of community outreach for a local bank. And outreach he did.

He’d married my mom’s brother, Max, in a before-it-was-legal ceremony when I was a teenager. After my dad died and my mom decided she couldn’t handle the mess I was, she carted me off to Uncle Max and Lewis’s house in Lancaster County. And my life had changed for the better.

Lewis leaned down to give the enthusiastic Homer a big kiss on the cheek, and then he did the same to me.

“Jake, when are you going to turn this flea market find into a home?” he asked, marching inside and eyeing the mess of the living room with hands on hips.

I was a little messy in general and a lot lazy during the summers.

“I’m gonna clean up before poker,” I promised.

“You better because I don’t want Max to come home complaining about you needing a wife or a husband to keep you in line again,” he reminded me.

Uncle Max joined my poker game most weeks. And Lewis used the husband-free time to host Book and Wine Club, a unisex social event, at their place. My uncles’ house, it should be noted, was always immaculate. Even when my cousin, their adopted daughter, Adeline, and I lived under their roof.

“Want a drink?” I offered, guiltily stacking some of the papers into a neater pile.

“White wine?”

“I’ve got that grig you like.” I may have been a disaster at housekeeping, but I kept my guests’ favorites on hand. He followed me back to the kitchen, which was in worse shape than the living room. I’d gotten takeout four nights in a row. Even I knew a rut when I saw it.

“Jake,” he groaned.

“I know. I know. Do better. I will. I promise.”

I dug out a clean glass and poured.

“It’s just this kind of living doesn’t look…happy,” he said, eyeing the mess of Chinese cartons on the counter. I kicked an empty case of beer in the direction of the recycling bin.

“I’m happy,” I argued.

“You’re comfortable. That’s different.”

“Potato poh-tah-toh.”

“It’s like you’re living in some kind of limbo,” he observed. “Like you’re waiting for something.”

“What am I waiting for?”

Lewis shrugged his slim shoulders under his grape purple button down. His tie had flecks of yellow and green in it. “That’s what I want to know.” He sipped, eyeing me over the glass.

“Okay. Okay. You didn’t come here to tell me to get my act together again.”

“Your mother’s coming to town for her birthday,” he announced. “Good thing she’s staying with us since you live like a fraternity. You’ll be available for dinner.”