Marital Bitch(31)
“I made you cookies,” I beam up at him. Brad smiles and kisses my forehead. I lean up and kiss his cheek, shocking him. “You should look in the basket,” I whisper. Brad turns and starts to rifle through the basket, pulling out the cookie container first, his eyes dancing with amusement. I’m so excited and proud of myself that I don’t even see it happening—it being the chaos that is about to happen.
The moment that James hears there are cookies, he grabs the container and opens it. Sure, they’re discarded bakery cookies, but they don’t look half bad as homemade cookies. Brad pulls out the Special Edition DVD of “The Notebook” that I’ve bought him to replace his deeply scratched copy; and quickly shoves in back in, his cheeks turning pink. He spies the box of tissues and doesn’t even move to pick them up.
“Thanks,” he mumbles, embarrassed because he knows the meaning behind the DVD.
“There’s a note,” I say, prodding him to read it. I need to see his reaction when he reads the note. I spent a lot of time thinking about that note. I’m not quiet about it and my voice carries to James’s big old honking ears. Before I can stop him, James finds the note in the basket and starts reading it. Brad tries to snatch it from my stupid brother but he dodges him in time.
The entire squad room watches the budding show as James begins to read the note aloud. I put my head down, nearing tears. This was private and was never meant to be shared with anyone—especially not the entire squad room.
“Bradley—,” James recites in a feminine voice. “—I wanted to replace your worn, but well-loved copy of “The Notebook—,” James pauses to laugh. This is so bad. I hear feet shuffle and chuckling from all around. “And the tissues are because I know that you can never make it through Noah and Ally’s reunion without tearing up—,” there’s more, but James stops reading, thank God.
One of the rookies whose name I’ve forgotten takes the opportunity to rag on Brad. “I want all of you, forever!” he shouts to Brad. James is still laughing his ass off, though he won’t be for long—not after I tell Mama and Darla about this.
Big brother, you’re going down.
John claps his son on the shoulder, trying to withhold his laughter. “You know, son,” he clears his throat, “There’s no shame in liking those girly movies.” Brad pulls away from him, his back to me.
My dad takes the opportunity to chime in. “John’s right, kid,” he rubs his mustache thoughtfully. “Those movies keep Louise’s engine going strong, even with the on-set of menopause.” I cringe and James verbally protests. I can hear John in the background agreeing. If I wasn’t so mortified and sorry for embarrassing Brad like this, I would be thoroughly disgusted by our fathers’ topic of conversation—our mothers’ libidos.
Brad leans in close, his voice icy. “So that’s your game, Frasier?” he snaps. I gulp. This is not how you go about impressing your husband. Not at all.
“Patrick,” I correct him, nose firmly in the air. He knows damn well what my last name is.
“Okay, then,” he smiles in the most unfriendly way imaginable. “Game on, Patrick.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
(Brad)
My wife just declared war on me.
I WAKE UP to the buzzing of my Blackberry. The alarm clock says it’s four in the fucking morning. I twist around and grab it off the nightstand before it can wake up Colleen—not that much wakes her up—she snores as loud as a semi-truck coming down the turnpike.
“Patrick,” I mumble into the phone, rubbing sleep from my eyes.
“I hate to wake you up, Sugar, but you gotta get down here,” the soft voice on the other end says, sounding as beat as I am. I stretch and kiss the back of Colleen’s head before crawling out of bed.
“What’s going on, Vicky, you back?” I ask. If Vicky’s calling that likely means she’s off suspension and back on the streets. It’s about damn time.
“I wish, Sugar. They got me on dispatch. Listen, a lady called in a 41-C on the 600 block of East Broadway around midnight, but then disappeared before our guys could get there. I just got a report of a D.B. at the same location. Caller thinks the vic was a pro. Could be the same vic. James is already on his way.”
“Shit. Good morning to you, too, Vicky,” I bitch into the phone. I hate getting a call like this. When I joined the academy, I never thought I’d be dealing with rape victims and dead bodies, but somebody has to do it. “10-4, L-30,” I say letting her know it’s going to be a good half an hour before I get to the scene.