“No time for a good morning wank, eh?” she laughs, knowing how hard my morning problem had been since Colleen moved in.
“Shut up, Vic,” I grumble and hang up on her. Goddamn women.
I WALK INTO the lobby from the squad room, finding Vicky at the front desk. I yawn and plop down on the free chair beside her.
“I’m gonna tell you how this is gonna go, okay? I’m gonna sit down here and play with the phones all day and you can go work the 10-16 I woke up to this morning,” I say. I let my head fall back and close my eyes.
“Nice try, Detective,” Vicky laughs. “Now, get to why you’re really here. You only come to talk to me for one reason… so out with it—what’s your girl done now?” Now I’m laughing, because this chick doesn’t mess around. She gets straight to the point. Always.
“Nothing,” I say and let out a heavy sigh.
“Bullshit. You two are always fighting.”
“That’s just it. She hasn’t done anything and it’s making me edgy,” I admit.
“So, it’s all marital bliss at home, then?”
“Yeah,” I whine in probably the least manly way possible. “And the messed up thing is that she’s playing June Cleaver or something. She’s always trying to help. And she makes me dinner; and even when it tastes like crap, it’s great, ya know? Or—she orders pizza that she knows I like; and if I’m not home for dinner, she puts it in the microwave for me to heat up. She’s being so damn nice and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“So, let me get this straight—,” Vicky chuckles, “your wife is being nice to you and it’s freaking you out?”
“Yeah?” I exclaim, happy that she’s getting it. “It’s like… I wanted Colleen for so long and now that I’ve kind of trapped her… and she’s being nice to me… it feels wrong. Like, unless she’s bitching at me, it doesn’t feel real.” I take a deep breath in an attempt to stop the verbal diarrhea that I’m spewing, but it doesn’t work.
“It’s just wrong. She isn’t doing it for me, you know? She’s just happy to play house and it’s really screwing with my head,” I say. I wait for Vicky’s response for a few moments before opening my eye to find her silently laughing her ass off.
“Go ahead and laugh. Do you know how many times I listened to you bitch about Joanne?” I remember back when Vicky had just met Joanne and it was all this girly bullshit of ‘do you think she likes me?’ and ‘what if she has a girlfriend?’ God, if I ever sound like that, I’ll ask James to shoot me with my own damn gun.
“Yeah, but at least I have a vagina—you, Sir, just sound like one.” She sticks her tongue out and waves me off. Disgruntled, I head back to the squad room. I have to talk to the Chief and my dad about the case, anyway.
MY STOMACH IS grumbling and all I want to do is to fall asleep eating a chicken wing. I know it sounds gross, but you just gotta have a plate nearby so you don’t get grease in the bed. I learned that the hard way.
“We should break for lunch,” James says, putting an end to my thoughts of a chicken wing nap. I nod and look to the Chief and my dad who are flanking us, as we brief them on the dead Pro down on East Broadway.
When I look up, I see Colleen standing before me. She’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning. She’s wearing a pair of faded jeans and an old Red Sox t-shirt. Her long blonde hair is down. It’s wavy—not straightened as she usually does it for work—but I like it better this way. She’s not wearing any make-up with the exception of a colored chap stick that makes her lips look really pink.
The weight of the day hangs on my shoulders and I can’t muster much of a smile. I do the only thing that I can bring myself to in this moment. I walk across the desk and hug her for dear life. Sometimes this job gets to me. It freaks me the hell out. I have nephews and nieces and sisters, a mom, and now… a wife. My wife has always been my pretty girl, but this is much more official. It’s more real. I’m responsible for her as much as I have always been. But this is different.
I don’t always sleep well—knowing what’s out there. I’ve busted enough people that someone is bound to be out there, aching for revenge. The thought sickens me, so I hold onto my pretty girl even tighter. I just need to know that she’s here and she’s safe.
“What’re you doing here, pretty girl?” I ask, hoping everything is okay. She pulls away from me and for the first time I see that she brought a basket with her. It looks like something Yogi took on a picnic or some junk. I wouldn’t know, I don’t picnic.