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“She really say the F-word out loud and in public?” Mrs. Young called out from under the dryer. I hadn’t only told Lou about my mom. You did hair, you chatted. So my regulars knew too. So did Lou’s. I grabbed a pink towel off the shelves behind the sinks, shook it out of the precise roll Lou and I folded them in and started to wrap Mrs. Swanson’s head in it, saying, “The
F-word, B-word, H-word, D-word, and she’ll probably sprinkle in the P-word and even the C-word.” Mrs. Young, rightly, looked horrified. “That’s it,” Joyce stated. “She strolls in here and does any of that, it’s gonna be me goin’ to your momma’s house and dragging her out to take her to one of Pastor Keller’s revivals. He’ll dip her in the river and hold her down until she sees Jesus. And if she doesn’t, he’ll hold her down until she sees Jesus.”
“It’s more complicated than that,” Hix informed him. “People say that when they’re trying not to see how simple stuff really is.”
“Everyone’s heard of Kavanagh Becker. He’s kind of our Voldemort. He’s the one you don’t speak his name. People try to forget he exists, talk about him in whispers. He’s not a good guy.”
“Apparently, our sheriff hasn’t deduced the pull of a hot guy law enforcement officer,” she muttered over his shoulder, not hiding she thought this was hilarious. “Greta,” he growled. She grinned and looked back at him. “Get on Facebook sometime. Or Google. Or anywhere.” Fuck. “There’s pictures of me?” She leaned into him. “No, Hix. There’s pictures of random hot guys. Women are taking that action back. Men have spent years ogling calendars and magazines, objectifying women, reducing them to a pretty face, a head of hair and a hot bod. With social media, there’s probably more pictures of
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oiled-up hot chicks rolling around on Ferraris.”
“Yeah. I know. Boys and maxi pads and blah, blah, blah. Dad’s lived with girls his whole life, I mean, he had a mom then he had my mom. When he went to the store, he bought her tampons like he’d buy a bag of potato chips and he didn’t catch fire or anything.”
Mamie scrambled out of his lap to crawl to Greta and sit on her knees behind her, hanging over her shoulder and pointing out things even as Shaw pointed out things on the controller, teaching her how to move her character in the game, shoot her gun. Mamie kept hanging over Greta’s shoulder as Shaw started a new game and Greta got shot to shit within five minutes, giggling herself sick the entire time, jabbing her controller at the screen just like Corinne had done. “You’re terrible at that!” Mamie yelled happily.
This reminds me of me with video games... I totally suck 😁
“Shush,” Toast hushed Tommy. “You might scare her off and she’s a chick that doesn’t glare at the plate of nachos like she can make it combust with her eyes or act like she doesn’t want to shove her face in it and eat it all herself. Be gentle with this unknown entity, Tom, she might bolt.”
“She either believes in you and your dreams or she doesn’t. If she doesn’t, Shaw, honey, she’s not the one. She can be seventeen or she can be thirty-five. The woman you pick has to understand what you want out of life and she has to support that one hundred percent. It’s your job to give that back. What is not your job is to settle for anything less. You don’t make a man what he’s not. You find the man you want and stand beside him no matter what.”
