Mack Daddy(17)

“She made you happy. It’s not always easy to understand why that happens with certain people. It’s cosmic or something.”

“Right. It’s not always logical, either. It was definitely unexpected with her.”

“So, what was the problem?”

“I was with Torrie when I met Frankie.”

Mrs. Migillicutty smacked the table. “Ah. See, now this story is getting f*cking good.”

I laughed. “Frankie had basically been like one of the guys at first. But later, I began to realize that I was going out less. I’d be in work or class and thinking about how I couldn’t wait to get home. I’d think of something funny and have to stop everything I was doing to text her. Or the worst part, I’d be visiting Torrie in D.C. and counting the minutes until I could catch my Sunday night flight back to Boston. But even still, I was in denial for a very long time. I’d never had feelings for someone that didn’t start out as pure physical attraction. With Frankie, it was the opposite. I was extremely attracted to her brain, to her heart, to just being with her, to how she made me feel. Then over time, I’d started to look at her differently. I’m not even sure exactly when it changed, but my admiration for her definitely extended to the physical. I’d notice the way she bit her lip, and I’d find myself wishing I could be the one biting it. I’d count the tiny freckles over her nose and wish I could trace a line over them with my tongue. I’d notice when her nipples were peeking through her shirt…”

She grabbed a napkin and began fanning herself. “This is better than my online porn.”

Taken aback, I chuckled. “Ohhhh-kay.”

“Go on.”

“Anyway, the physical part took a long time to develop, but once it did, it was so strong that I almost couldn’t handle it. And basically, I knew I was in trouble because I’d been knee-deep in this relationship with Torrie for years.”

“How young were you when you started dating Torrie?”

“Torrie is the daughter of my father’s closest aide, Burton Hightower. She worked in public relations for my father for a long time. It was why she stayed behind in D.C. when I moved to Boston for grad school. She’d just started working for Dad at that time. From a very young age, my parents had been pushing me to date her. Torrie is very driven. She was always pursuing me from the time we were in middle school. My father had it all planned out. I’d follow in his footsteps career-wise and marry Torrie. It seemed like a done deal. Don’t get me wrong…she was beautiful and smart—what many would think was the whole package. I was attracted to her for a long time and finally gave in and started dating her exclusively in college after playing the field in high school. I really thought maybe I could grow to love her someday, that things would work out.”

“That didn’t happen.”

“No, it never really did.”

She poured me another drink as she said, “Then along came Frankie.”

“Yup. I didn’t see that coming at all. I guess you don’t really understand what it feels like to truly connect with someone until it happens. You think what you’ve experienced up until a certain point is all there is. Then, someone comes along and rocks your world, and you realize you didn’t know shit about shit.”





PAST


It was my Sunday night ritual. The D.C. to Boston shuttle would land at eight. Then, I’d hop the train and be back at the apartment by nine, just in time to catch Frankie doing laundry in the basement of our building.

She was always afraid to leave her stuff, so she’d lean against the washer and read until I inevitably joined her to keep her company. I’d always bring my own laundry down to throw into the other machine if it was empty. We’d stay there late into the night until we finished washing and folding all of our clothes.

It seemed crazy, but the laundry ritual was the one thing I looked forward to most after a hectic weekend. Something about the smell of the detergent, the soothing sounds of the machines, the mellow lighting in that room and—most of all—Frankie’s company calmed me down after the stress of D.C. A part of me also worried about her being alone down in that dingy basement without me.

“Hey,” I said, standing in the doorway.

Frankie, who’d been deep into reading, put her book down and smiled. “Hi.”

“Any freaks come bother you?”

“Not until you showed up, Morrison.” She winked.

“You’re hysterical,” I threw one of my shirts at her and watched as she proceeded to smell it. “Did you just smell my dirty shirt? I worked out in that.”

“It’s morbid curiosity.”

“You like to smell things that might not emit a favorable outcome? Like that old Saturday Night Live character who loved to sniff her own armpits. What was her name?”

Frankie smiled. “Mary Katherine Gallagher.”

“Yup. I’m gonna start calling you Mary Katherine.”

She giggled. “Seriously, though, you’ve never done that? It’s like…you know something may potentially smell bad, but you sniff it anyway? I sort of get a sick pleasure from it.”

I bet you’re a little freak in bed.

I couldn’t help my thoughts toward her lately.

“Oh, right,” I said. “I did that to your dirty underwear once. First and last time I smelled them. Learned my lesson the hard way.”