Page 47 of The Homemaker

I pause, waiting for him to open his eyes or move another part of his body, but he doesn’t.

“Um,” I clear my throat. “Why would you ask me that after giving mesage advicenot to get married?”

“My advice was to forgo a big wedding. But now I’m curious why you don’t want to get married.” His chuckle triggers a little cough, so he fists his hand at his mouth.

“Water?” I ask.

Keeping his eyes closed, he shakes his head and relaxes his folded hands back onto his chest. “I know it’s none of my business. What can I say? My nosey wife has rubbed off on me.”

“I’m just unlucky in love. That’s all.”

“So is my daughter, but it hasn’t stopped her from trying. I’m not sure poor Murphy will get an official ‘I do’ out of her. But perhaps the third time’s a charm.”

“Why did she break off her other engagements, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“She’s commitment phobic. Indecisive. Her mother calls her a ‘free bird.’ And that’s great. I support that, but then just admit that you won’t make a good lifelong partner. You know?”

I nod slowly. “Do you think Murphy’s the one? Or will she back out?”

“He’s a great guy. But, just between us, he’s not the one either. I don’t think ‘the one’ for her exists.”

“Maybe he’s the exception.”

“I doubt it. He can’t love her like she needs to be loved.”

I rest the open book face down on my lap. “What do you mean?”

“My daughter is like me, even though she’ll never admit it. And I’m needy as fuck.”

I roll my lips between my teeth to suppress my laughter. Hunter’s self-examination is not only shocking but refreshing.

“Of course, I tell everyone else she’s like Vera, but it’s a lie. That girl is neurotic as hell.Free birdmy ass. And Murphy doesn’t give a shit if she’s pissed at him for something stupid. He’s not a groveler or a people pleaser.”

“Opposites attract. Maybe he’s exactly what she needs.”

“Oh,” Hunter peeks at me, “she absolutely needs a man like him. But give it time, and what she wants will trump what she needs.”

“What does she want?”

“Someone who worships her. Spoon-feeds her ego.”

“Is that my job? To worship you and spoon-feed your ego?”

His chest bounces with laughter. “Vera would kill me if I asked you to get on your knees for any sort of worship, so just read to me and tell me I’m handsome.”

In the most unromantic way, I love Hunter Morrison.

Despite the dick-sucking clause in my contract, Vera, Hunter, and I are a threesome. As with any good threesome, there are power struggles and alliances. I’m not sure where my loyalty lies. It depends on the day.

After story time, I iron Vera’s air-dry-only jeans. She’s not immune to enjoying the perks of a homemaker, and perfectly pressed denim is one of them.

“There you are,” she says, stepping into the laundry room with an inflated smile. “I have a favor.”

“Mrs. Morrison, I work for you. You can call it a duty or a task.” I glance up from the ironing board.

“Very well,” she flicks her wrist, “I have a task for you. Will you bake something and deliver it to Rupert Rawlings? He lives in the two-story next door.” She points in that direction.

“Sure. Anything specific you want me to bake?”