Or whether I’ll want to let that memory slip away at all.
I should unfeel it. Only, it felt too damn good to forget.
Trent drums his fingers on the table and stares at me, waiting. “Anything you want to tell me?”
I adopt a serious expression. “Did you know that Mr. Monopoly used to sell chips as the Pringles dude?”
Trent shakes his head. “What?”
He’s not the only one flummoxed. Violet furrows her brow, and Holly blinks in surprise. Before I can explain, a blond waitress sporting a San Francisco Giants jersey arrives to take our orders. I opt for a beer, and Violet asks for white wine. When she leaves, Trent asks, “What was that all about?”
“It’s called taking an order. It’s what employees who wait on tables do in restaurants,” I deadpan.
Holly laughs. Trent rolls his eyes. “The Pringles comment, dickhead.”
“The Pringles guy and Mr. Monopoly. Doppelgängers. Google them. Once you do, you can’t unsee it.”
“Dude, are we playing the unsee game? Because I’m happy to tell you about the time my mom finally figured out I didn’t have a cold when I was fifteen, and she couldn’t unsee that in her mind’s eye.”
Holly gives him a curious look as she grabs her phone and taps on the screen. “What are you talking about?”
“Mom couldn’t figure out why I went through so many boxes of tissues. She thought I had a cold that lasted several months.”
Violet arches an eyebrow. “Seriously? How do you know Mom figured out the tissues were for your morning habit?”
“Because I saw the look on her face when she replaced the box next time. It was sort of like this.” Trent crinkles his nose and curls up the corner of his lips. “She couldn’t unsee the reason why I needed a tissue box on the nightstand.”
“I feel so bad for your mom,” I say, sympathetically. “And for myself, because now I can’t unsee it, either.”
Violet shakes her head. “Like I said earlier, boys are yucky.”
The waitress returns with our drinks. “For you,” the waitress says to Violet, handing her the wine.
When she gives me the beer, she smiles brightly, pointing to her chest and the Giants shirt she’s wearing. “Don’t let the jersey worry you. My Armstrong one is in the wash.”
“Thank you very much, Liz,” I say, reading her name tag.
Liz giggles. “Cooper, you’re so very welcome.” The way her eyes sparkle, I’m pretty sure her you’re welcome translates into you can take me home tonight and do bad things to me.
Which I have no interest in doing.
Trent turns to the waitress. “Thanks for the drinks, Liz. We’re all good.”
And that means I’ve told you a million times not to hit on Cooper when he comes to my bar.
Liz leaves, and Violet takes a drink of her wine as I return to the subject of Trent’s handy days. “Thanks for ruining my image of Kleenex now, too. Also, why didn’t you just jack it in the shower?”
He points his thumb at his sister. “Don’t you remember? Violet put a clown head in the shower to get back at me for a prank, and I hate clowns.”
“Oh shit. That’s right,” I say, as the memory slides into place. “Was that after you put the zombie hand in the toilet bowl to freak her out?”
Violet takes over. “Yes, and it was the only time he ever put the lid down, so I should have suspected something. Clearly, a clown head in the shower was the only acceptable retribution for an undead hand in the toilet.”
Holly swats her husband’s elbow. “And this is why you can’t get it up in the shower.”
Trent rolls his eyes at his wife. “Oh, please. I believe this morning proves I’ve moved on from the clown-head-in-the-shower issue.”
Violet raises her hands in frustration, giving her brother a pointed look. “I know you’re going to find this hard to believe, but shockingly, I don’t want to hear about your shower issues—”
“I got over the shower issue,” Trent points out.
“Nor do I want to hear stories about your teenage masturbatory habits. Bad enough I had to live in the same house as you when you were getting it on with your hand.”
Trent’s tone shifts from strolling down Amused Lane to Seriously Annoyed Town again. “And I don’t like finding out you’re dating him on stage at a beauty pageant.”
“Him?” I ask, affronted. “I’ve been reduced to a nameless him?”
“Oh c’mon, hon. That auction was better than a beauty pageant,” Holly says to Trent, then she lifts her phone, flipping between the Pringles dude and Mr. Monopoly. “Dead ringers for each other.”