His head snapped up and he gaped at her. “You cannot be serious. How deluded can you possibly be? There’s nothing going on, Hannah, and you know it! I’ve never laid a finger on you.”
People under the tents stopped talking and started paying closer attention to us.
“Maybe you could tone it down a little,” I suggested, worried about ruining the party.
I was totally not expecting her next move.
Without any warning whatsoever, she attacked, slamming her open palms against my chest and sending me back a step or two. “Maybe you could just tone it down, man-stealer!”
“Hey! That’s enough, Hannah!” said Mack, throwing an arm out to block her from coming any closer.
I’m not sure exactly what happened to my rational, thinking brain in the split second that followed, only that something snapped inside it and caused me to see red. I got my footing after stumbling a few steps and then rushed her without a second thought, pushing right past Mack’s arm and making contact against her squishy hooters with my two fists.
“I am not a man-stealer!” I yelled, popping her in the chest with everything I had.
She barely lost any ground before she was coming at me again. And she no longer looked like a Barbie doll; now she was like a giant killer Chuckie doll, complete with tiny knives in the form of acrylic nails.
Mack jumped between us as fingernails, arms, slapping hands, and hair began to fly. I may have screamed. She definitely screamed. And then there was a loud crash when my big butt banged up against the banquet table behind me and sent a bunch of dishes to the ground.
“My brisket!” crowed a brittle voice.
“There goes the blueberry tart,” said Ian, not sounding very happy about it.
“Stop it, you two!” yelled Mack, wrestling first with me and then giving up to go control the Attack Barbie who had a fistful of my hair.
I was on my knees, so I punched her hard in the groin muscle to get her to release me. It worked like a charm, and as soon as I was free, I stood up straight, breathing like a bull. Tossing my hair out of my face, I gestured for her to come at me. “Come on, bitch, bring it on.” I huffed and puffed, waiting for her next move. “I’m ready for you now.” I held my fists up and began dancing from side to side like Mohammed Fucking Ali, grateful my lifeplan had involved over three hundred hours of kickboxing aerobics. She was pretty tall, but I was fairly certain I could give her a roundhouse to the side of the head and at least knock her silly.
“Andie?” came a startled voice from off in the distance.
My brain made the connection the minute I saw the myriad expressions move across Mack’s face:
Disbelieving.
Stricken.
Angry.
“Andie what are you doing?” the man asked.
My fists dropped to my sides as I sagged inward. All the fight went out of me like air from a dying balloon, as fantasy collided with reality and left me blindsided. “Oh. Hi, Bradley. What are you doing here?”
I never saw the fist coming until it connected with my jaw.
Chapter Forty-One
I CAME-TO LYING ON the ground next to the banquet table, several faces looming over mine. The first one I noticed was Mack’s because his was the first I wanted to see there. And his hat was taking up a lot of space and blocking out my view of anyone else.
“Hi,” I said, confused and embarrassed. “Tell me I just dreamed a girl fight as part of a head injury.”
“I think you got it in reverse. Girl fight first and then the head injury.” He put his hand on the top of my head. “Are you okay enough to sit up?”
“Andie, what the hell is going on?” Bradley asked.
For the first time I noticed him standing off to my right, down on bended knee on my other side. His face was one giant frown.
“You’re really here too?” was all I could manage.
“Yes, I told you I was coming. Jesus, would you get up? You look terrible lying there on the ground like that.”
Mack shot him an angry look but said nothing, putting his hand behind my neck and sitting me up.
The world tilted a little and then went normal again. Standing in front of me were Maeve, Grandma Lettie, and several other women. They were doing what they could to get the table put back together. Maeve glanced at me and then went back to her work.
Tears came to my eyes. “I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice breaking partway through. The shame was unbearable.
“Don’t worry about it,” said Maeve, obviously unhappy. “This is not your fault.”
“Of course it’s not her fault,” said Bradley. “She was attacked by that woman over there. I hope she knows she’s looking at a civil suit.”