MacKenzie Fire(5)

Still, he doesn’t need to be a nice guy to be a good roll in the hay. I smile at the idea that’s forming in my brain. Note to self: Ask Andie if they have hay anywhere around here.

“What’s that all about?” I ask, jerking myself away from the sexy thoughts in an effort to control my raging hormones. Normally I’m not all that into buttage, but Ian has some weird power over me that makes me stupid. Must be the pheromones. I’m totally not rolling in the hay with him. I don’t care how big that bulge is.

“Oh, he’s just fussy is all,” says Maeve. She sounds a little sad.

“Fussy? I call it *y,” says Andie.

“Now, now.” Maeve brings over empty mugs and sugar. “Don’t let his moods get to you.” She pats Andie on the cheek gently before returning to the coffee pot. Apparently, being pregnant gives Andie a free pass to be bold-faced honest about Maeve’s son. It’s actually pretty impressive. I’m not sure who to admire more for it, Andie or Maeve.

I kind of melt a little inside seeing Maeve be so sweet to my friend. Andie’s real mom is a real piece of work. My BFF deserves to have a loving mommy in her life.

“Kind of hard when he’s all up in my butt all the time.” Andie says it under her breath, but it’s clear she’s not trying to keep her opinion from her mother-in-law.

“He just needs more time,” Maeve says.

“What he needs is a swift kick in the patootey if you ask me,” says Andie. “He’s had plenty of time to get over his broken heart. Now he’s just wallowing.”

Maeve stands at the coffee maker, watching the dark liquid drip out from the grinds. “Everyone has his own timeframe for grieving. His is just longer than the average person’s.”

“Grieving?” I ask, looking from Maeve to Andie. “Did someone die and I didn’t hear about it?” I wonder if it’s that Booger guy Andie’s talked about before. He’s a friend of the family and apparently has been for most of Ian’s and Mack’s lives. She hasn’t mentioned him in a while, though.

“No, nobody died,” Andie says, obviously not impressed with her brother-in-law’s grieving process. “He got dumped at the altar or he dumped someone at the altar and he still hasn’t gotten over it. It was, like, years ago.” She rolls her eyes.

“It was three years ago, and granted that’s quite some time, but he’s still genuinely hurt. He’s sensitive.” Maeve turns to look at us. “You can’t know what it’s like to have someone be dishonorable towards you until it happens to you personally. No one knows how they’ll react when trust falls apart, so we shouldn’t judge.”

Andie casts her eyes down to the tabletop. “I’m not really judging. I’m just mad at him for being sad all the time. He deserves to be happy.”

“Agreed,” says Maeve, taking the half-full pot off the burner and bringing it over to our mugs. “And he will be. Someday soon, I hope. We all hope.” She pours out some steaming liquid into a mug for me and I waste no time dumping four teaspoons of sugar into it and a bunch of milk, followed by a healthy dose of vigorous stirring with my tiny spoon. It takes a little while, but soon I have some almost-foam floating on the top of my drink.

“What’s that all about?” Andie asks, sipping at her black coffee with a grin while she looks pointedly at my mug.

“Backwoods cappuccino. You should try it. It’s delish.” I take a sip and pretend I’m telling the truth again. Bleck. This stuff is awful. I keep smiling through the pain. I’m going to be so awesome at lying by the time I leave here, I should probably start playing poker so I can clean up at the Hard Rock Casino when I get back.

“Whatever gets the blood pumping, right?” Maeve is sitting down opposite me and smiling into her cup too after exchanging glances with Andie.

I nod, like I know what she’s talking about. Maybe there’s a joke going on here, but I don’t want to act paranoid and demand to know what it is. It’s probably one of those country bumpkin things I wouldn’t understand being a bona fide dyed-in-the-wool city girl.

What I can’t figure out is how it is that Andie’s melded so well into this lifestyle. It’s like she’s been here her whole life, and I know very well she hasn’t. She’s just like me. Her favorite thing to do on a Thursday is to go for mannies and peddies at the Blissful Spa downtown at lunchtime followed by an all-nighter at the law firm doing massively boring research. This whole great-outdoors, freezing nostril hairs, pulling cow babies out of bovine VJs, wearing unflattering puffy jackets thing? No. That’s not Andie.

Maybe I should spend some time out here trying to convince her to come back to civilization. She did tell me that Mack would follow her wherever she goes. I chew on my lip as I try to decide whether to plan this out or not. I’m probably going to have to fake an injury or something to make it work. Like an aneurism, maybe. But that’s no biggie. I could limp around with crossed eyes for a few days. I’m really coordinated when I’m not on ice.

“I see your hamster running,” Andie says, putting her mug on the table. She tilts her chin down and looks up at me, just staring. She’s totally got the scolding mother thing down pat.

I don’t know what the hell she means about hamsters, though. “What?” I look behind me, misgivings taking over my thought process. Does Maeve keep hamsters in the kitchen? Is that even sanitary? Why would she do that? Oh … my god … Does she eat them? I’m picturing horrific hamster kabobs when I face Andie again. “Oh my god, I am totally not eating a hamster while I’m here. I’m serious, Andie.” I look over at Maeve. “I know you eat cow balls and all that, but I’m not going there. Not even if Andie threatens to withhold crowning me godmother.” I shake my head and clamp my lips together so she can see how hopeless it will be trying to convince me otherwise.