Plus-One With A Vengeance : 21 / 29

[ An Altered Fates Story ]
by Iolanthe Portmanteaux

 

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"Anyone can cook in the French manner anywhere, with the right instructions."
— Julia Child, Mastering the Art of French Cooking

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After cuddling for a while, I needed to visit the bathroom, and while I was up I decided to check my phone — Elliot's phone, that is. I meant to check it at least once a day in case my father called or texted. Since he usually did neither, I often forgot to check.

This time, however, when I turned it on, I saw he'd sent a photo — a photo of a beautiful day with plenty of sun and a blue, cloudless sky. Dad was "out on the water" as he liked to say, on a long, large sailboat, standing next to a man who held a beer in his hand. The angle was high, typical of selfies. Dad — complete with razor stubble, wind-tossed hair, sun-burned cheeks and forehead — but of course without hat, sunglasses, or (apparently) sunscreen. To make up for all that, his smile was enormous, an expression of unalloyed joy. The man next to him was looking off camera, talking to someone I couldn't see.

Dad happy. That was the theme and the message. It made me smile.

I wrote back, "Looking good! Glad you're happy. Nice selfie!"

Then I added, "Put on some sunscreen," but I deleted it without sending it.

Before I turned my old phone off again, I stood there, alone in my old bedroom, for a single moment, as if waiting for something.

While I stood there, the phone in my hand began ringing. It was so unexpected, I dropped the phone as if it had burned me. It bounced softly on the bed.

Kitty was calling.

I watched the phone ring, not daring to touch it and somehow accidentally answer. A couple of minutes after the ringing stopped, a notification popped up: Voicemail message waiting. I pulled it up and listened.

"Hi, Elliot! This is Kitty. Haven't seen you in a while. Hope you're okay. Claus and I miss you, guy! Give us a call — or better yet, come back home. See you soon! Love ya!"

I listened to it a second time, considered sending a text reply, but instead shut the phone off and put it back in the bedside table.

When I returned upstairs, Max's voice came to me from the living room. Seems he'd gotten a phone call as well, and was near the end of the conversation. I heard him say "okay, bye" a couple of times, followed by "See you then! Great!" He ended the connection as I entered the room.

He looked up at me. "That was Claus. He and Kitty invited us over for dinner tomorrow. Is that okay with you? Sorry I didn't ask you first, but I can make an excuse if you don't want to go."

"No, it's fine," I told him. "I saw Kitty today. We had coffee. She's trying to be friends."

"Good," he said. His eyes searched my face. "That *is* good, isn't it? You want to be friends, don't you?"

"Yes, of course. It's just the Amber connection that bugs me sometimes."

Max nodded. "I understand. But try to forget about Amber. I don't want her living in my head or yours."

"Right," I agreed, but I felt like Amber had a sort of secret basement-door entrance to my mind that I didn't know how to secure.

 

---

 

The next day was Saturday. Max brought me along to his favorite wine store. "There's this guy Gus who works there," Max told me. I could see he was getting a little — well, not excited exactly, but enthusiastic.

"Gus?" I repeated. "Is he an old guy?"

"Naw. He's actually younger than us. I don't know where he got the old-timey nickname. Anyway, he's one of the buyers, and he's my main man when it comes to choosing wines."

"I thought you knew all about wines, all by yourself."

"No," he admitted. "I know a fair amount, but most ordinary people like me have at least one person they rely on to point out what's good. Gus is one of the buyers, and he gets to taste every wine they sell."

"Lucky Gus!"

"Yeah." Max turned and looked at me for so long that I exclaimed, "Eyes on the road! Eyes on the road!"

He turned his attention back to his driving. "So listen," he confessed, "I wanted to you to come so I could show you off a little. Do you mind?"

"You want to show me off to Gus?"

"Yes, do you mind?"

"Uh— I guess it's okay, as long he doesn't ask to look at my teeth or in my ears."

"In your— at your—" Max stammered, not understanding. "What are you talking about?"

"I mean that it's fine, as long as it doesn't get weird."

"Okay. You could have said *that* instead of the thing about the teeth and ears. You make it sound like you're a horse or something."

"Right. That was the joke."

"Ah. Okay. Good joke."

Meeting Gus didn't take very long and it wasn't weird at all. He was a very young man, maybe five years younger than us, but very professional. He shook my hand and kept his eyes on my face — at least while I could see him. Max told him that he wanted a Cote du Rhone that we could pretty much pop open and drink. Gus tried to sell Max something else instead, but Max insisted. "Look, Gus, you know I trust you implicitly, but our host specifically asked for a Cote du Rhone."

"What are they making?" Gus asked.

"Dunno, man. Can you just point to a bottle and we'll be on our way?"

Gus reached out, snatched a bottle from the rack, and set it in Max's hands. The two saluted each other and laughed. We paid and left.

Once we were back in the car, Max told me, "Gus was VERY impressed."

"I'm glad," I replied. "How do you know?"

"Gus is a master when it comes to subtle signals," Max confided with a grin.

"If you say so!"

 

---

 

At that time, Claus and Kitty were living in a small, two-bedroom bungalow on the edge of town. "It's temporary," Kitty explained. "We bought a fixer-up that's not too far from you guys. We're renting this place for the duration of the renovation."

"Still," I said, looking around me, "and I know it sounds cliché to say it, but I love what you did with the place! You really have a gift for making a house look homey!"

"Thanks," Kitty acknowledged, clearly pleased by the recognition of her skills. "I love my job. It's my creative gift, you know? To look at a place and visualize what it needs to make it comfortable and welcoming — without moving walls or hanging chandeliers."

Claus, who seemed a little wired, tugged on Max's arm. "Max, come, come — let's get that wine open. Do you think it needs air? We could decant it if it needs air." He led Max into the kitchen.

"Is Claus cooking?" I asked.

"Yes," Kitty replied with a smile. "That's why he's so anxious. He loves it, but he works himself into a tizzy every time. So far it's always come out fine. Well, actually, better than fine. Since he started, even from the beginning, he's been making amazing meals."

"Is this a new thing for him?"

"Oh, yes! Pretty new. He was insp— no, wait. I'd better let him tell you the story. Otherwise, you'll end up hearing it twice. He can't *not* tell it."

I smiled politely, and found my eyes drifting toward a large painting that hung near the front door.

"Oh, isn't that lovely?" Kitty said, following my gaze. "I picked it up for a song at a flea market in Anderville. I don't know anything about it, but I've put it in a lot of homes I've staged."

"So you don't know who painted it, or anything?"

"No, nothing. Sorry! But you're welcome to try to decipher the signature. It's that wormy squiggle in the lower right."

I walked closer. At first I couldn't find the squiggle. Then — "is that it?"

"Has to be!"

I squinted, I bent close, I used my phone's camera as a magnifying glass, but no joy. It was an impenetrable mystery.

"And it's not on the back?"

"Nope," Kitty replied. "I don't understand it. If I were a painter, I'd make damn sure my signature was legible. Scribbling an illegible splat is worse than not signing it at all."

As it turned out, the painting was a copy of a well-known French Baroque piece by Poussin called Et in Arcadia Ego. I only know because I looked it up through an internet image search. And I only mention it because it says something about Kitty, I think. There is something to say about the pastoral scene and the name of the painting... It's a little morbid, I think, a memento mori. What it says about Kitty is that she has an unerring eye for beauty and harmony, but her interest doesn't go deeper than the appearance. I mean, if that painting was on my wall, I'd be able to talk about it.

"Or maybe," Max offered, when I told him all this later, at home, "Kitty knows all those things that you just said, but she also knows that it's a downer. See, the painting is just four people hanging out somewhere out in the country — which is very nice. But you want her to point out that they're lounging over a tomb, and that the painting is a reminder that we're all going to die?"

"Yeah," I conceded. "When you put it like that..."

In any case, back to the dinner: Kitty and I talked easily, without any awkwardness or pauses. We chit-chatted about nothing in particular. All very easy and polite; all very surface. Until Kitty confided, "I'm glad you came tonight, Lorelei. You know, each time I met you, I felt like I was treading on your toes the entire time — without meaning to, of course! And somehow I couldn't find a way to stop." She smiled at me and I smiled back. "I'm glad you're giving me another chance."

"Thanks," I said. "On my side, I don't think I've been very nice to you, myself."

"So!" Kitty declared, "Let's start off from zero! Now, today. I hope we can be friends."

"I hope so, too!"

Right on cue, Claus stuck his head out of the kitchen and announced that dinner was being served. Kitty and I went into the dining room, where Max was pouring glasses of red wine.

Claus quickly set a sort of low, plate-sized bowl, filled with food, in front of each of us. Each serving seemed about half a chicken, fricasseed to a red-golden color, adorned with small white onions and sliced mushrooms. It smelled heavenly. Obviously, it smelled like chicken, but the herbs, wine, mushrooms, and all combined to a very full-bodied aroma. If I were a food critic I'd say it was earthy and aromatic. I'm not, so I'll just say that it smelled incredibly good.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you coq au vin!" Claus declared with a sweep of his hand. "And here—" he set two serving bowls in the middle of the table "—parsley potatoes and buttered peas."

It not only smelled heavenly, it tasted incredible as well. The chicken was cooked perfectly. Tender, juicy, full of flavor. The little onions were delicious little flavor-balls. It makes my mouth water, just remembering that meal.

"Where did you learn to cook like this, Claus?" I asked.

Max, after a discrete swallow, declared, "You have to give Lorelei the recipe!"

"You shall have this recipe and 500 more!" Claus laughed. "It's from Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking. I'll get you a copy."

"Claus is working his way through the book," Kitty explained. "Like Amy Adams in Julie and Julia."

"Oh, I liked that movie!" I exclaimed.

"Except that I'm taking my time and savoring the experience," Claus said. "I do maybe one recipe a week, and sometimes I repeat a dish if I feel I didn't get it right."

"Isn't that what the woman in the movie did?"

"No, not at all! In the movie, and in her real life, she did ALL the recipes in the book in one year, in a little kitchen. There are more than 500 recipes in that book. So that's almost two dishes a day."

"She had a blog, right? And didn't Julia Child turn up her nose at it?"

"Yes and no. Not exactly. Do you know what it was that Julia Child didn't like?"

"That it was a blog?"

"No, not at all. What she didn't like is that Julie Powell seemed to concentrate on the effort and the difficulty, but not the results. She didn't say what the dishes looked like or smelled like, or — worst of all — what they tasted like."

"She didn't?"

"This is what I've heard," Claus admitted. "I haven't read her book or her blog. But I have read Julia Child, and what she says is this: All the techniques employed in French Cooking are aimed at one goal: how does it taste? That's the thing. If it didn't taste exceptional, what would be the point?"

"And this is exceptional!" Max enthused. "What about the wine... did Julia Child suggest the pairing?"

"Mais oui," Claus replied. We toasted Julia Child, Claus (our chef), the meal, and Kitty (our hostess).

After we'd eaten and drunk and chatted enough to relax with each other, Kitty turned to me.

"It's remarkable how much you look like Elliot. You must hear that a lot."

I smiled and shrugged. Elliot, after all, was supposed to be my cousin.

Now that the meal had come off as well as it had, Claus was very visibly relaxed. Relaxed and expansive. He loosened up his shoulders and, leaning to one side, threw his arm over the back of his chair. "Speaking of Lorelei's resemblance to Elliot..." Claus intoned, "Did you know — did you know that Amber advanced the theory that Lorelei is actually Elliot?"

Max laughed, and playing along, asked, "Elliot? In disguise? Or does she think Elliot ran off and had some quick operations?"

Claus mugged and shrugged. "She didn't specify. This is one of her emotional perceptions. I'm sure you know what I mean."

Max snorted and rolled his eyes. Kitty gave Claus a guarded look.

"Amber, confounds us; she doesn't offer any proof or reasoning. In fact, she says that her assertion doesn't need to be literally true, so she's taken a lot of latitude for herself there."

I was pretty surprised to hear Claus talk about Amber in this way. He wasn't drunk, as far as I could see. He was at home, relaxed, among friends — and maybe he wasn't afraid of Amber, the way I was.

"So, she believes that Elliot somehow magically turned in Lorelei?" Max prompted, playing dangerously near the truth. I felt a little uneasy — but just a little. I wanted to fire a glance that said quit it! in his direction, but I had no doubt that Kitty would see. Claus went on.

"One of Amber's so-called proofs was that if you rearrange the letters of one name, you arrive at the other — which is both absurd and incorrect." He took a sip of wine. "Even if it were so, it would prove nothing."

I sat up straight and blinked a few times. Kitty said, "Claus..." in a warning tone, but he ignored her.

Max leaned back in his chair and watched Claus, as if Claus were a comedian, or an actor reciting his monologue.

"Of course it's impossible for the lovely Lorelei to be Mr. Elliot in disguise! Any fool can see that! Elliot's head is much bigger. His shoulders are wider. His hips are narrower. His feet are bigger. He is taller. Along with a thousand other differences."

"Claus—" Kitty tried again to derail him, her tone a big more dangerous now, but Claus, now on a roll, was nearly impossible to stop.

"Let him go," Max told her, amused.

"Does this bother you?" Kitty asked me, her hand on my arm.

"No, not at all," I answered truthfully. I wondered, honestly, how close Amber — or even Claus — could possibly come to the improbable truth about who I was.

Claus went on. "I, on the other hand, have a premise — or if you'd rather, we can call it a fantasy: Suppose for a moment that this, our lives, is a movie, perhaps a rom-com, perhaps a sci-fi — or perhaps even a rom-com sci-fi. And in this formulation, we discover that you, Lorelei, are the product of a very advanced laboratory, situated of course in Omaha, Nebraska. And what does this laboratory do? It does nothing but churn out clones of Elliot Beekman, clones that come in every age and gender, from the little Darcy, to—"

"Why would anyone do that?" I asked him.

"Why? Why? See, you do very well to ask why? It shows you're already hooked: you continue watching because the why is the core of this film, of this TV series. Arriving at the why of it is the raison d'être of this work. Certainly they do it because they can, but it doesn't stop there. You see, at first we're confused. Then we begin to understand. And then... the twists! One twist after another! Naturally, we'd start off thinking Elliot was simply Elliot. Then, once we learn about the clones, we assume that Elliot is the original, but only because we met him first. Perhaps in reality it's Lorelei who is the original, and Elliot one of the clones. Elliot is now in hiding — or perhaps his search for answers has led him to Florida, where his father provides some helpful, albeit puzzling, information. In any case, he has grown suspicious of the Omaha laboratory's motives."

"This is a VERY elaborate fantasy!" I exclaimed.

"And it's beginning to sound like Orphan Black," Max observed.

"Yes," Claus admitted. "The more I go along, the more it sounds like Orphan Black. Oh, well. In my head it all seemed far more engaging and fantastical." He looked down at the table, thinking, twisting his mouth one way and the other, and then, with a sharp intake of breath, he abruptly sat up straight and asked, "What about music?"

What about music?

No one knew what the make of his question, coming as it did out of nowhere, so he explained. "Nessa's wedding, you know, the music — she asked me to set up a playlist. Would you like to have a little preview? Not the whole thing, of course — just one or two songs?" There was a general vague assent, since we were all still bewildered by the recitation of his Elliot-clone fantasy. Not seeing the reaction he hoped for, Claus asked me directly, "Lorelei, do you like to dance?"

"I don't know... I haven't danced..." I replied, a little lamely.

"Of course! You're a clone, so all experiences are new to you!" He winked. "Let's try then!" He fiddled with his phone for a bit. Then saying, "At the wedding, this will be the first number everyone can dance to, and it's a foot-stomper." A speaker in the next room kicked into life with the old Chuck Berry hit C'est La Vie. Max slapped the table and began tapping his foot. Kitty smiled. She nodded and swayed with the infectious beat. Claus stood and held out his hand to me. "Let's cut a rug, sugar!" he cried. After a glance at Kitty, who nodded and said, "Go on," I stood up and danced with him.

Claus danced well. Really well. He had all the swing-dance whirls and throws. I've never been much of a dancer, but Claus made me feel like Ginger Rogers. He led me, he twirled me, he put his hand on my waist and rocked me... He made it all so easy. At first I was awkward, but once I let him take control, he tossed me around like a ragdoll. It was wild and fun.

When the song ended, we sat back down. "I really like that song," I said. "Thanks for that, Claus."

"You're all red-faced and out of breath," Max observed. I nodded, grinning.

There was no dessert and no after-dinner drinks. Instead, we took a walk around the block. It was a nice way to end the meal and the evening. The streets were quiet and the air was cool. The four of us sauntered at an easy pace.

Max and Claus walked ahead; Kitty and me behind. They weren't very far ahead of us, but we couldn't hear their conversation, and I'm sure they were both too busy talking, they couldn't hear us at all.

"This was nice," Kitty declared. "I hope you had a good time. I hope you'll want to come back." She paused and gave me a remorseful look. "I apologize for Claus and his whole clone fantasy-thing — he goes off on these things... I try to hold him back, but— it's like — you know the old vinyl records? Claus is that way: you put the needle at the edge of the record, and it doesn't stop until it plays all the way through."

"It's fine," I said. "I know he means well."

Kitty shrugged helplessly.

"There's one thing, though — how does he know that I'm from Omaha?"

In case you've forgotten, Omaha is where the real Lorelei's mother ended up, so that's where me, the fictitious Lorelei would have grown up.

Kitty stopped short. "Oh," she said. "Crap. Looks like I'll be stepping on your toes again." She frowned.

"No, no — I'm just curious. It *is* where I grew up, but... it's not just a coincidence, is it?"

"Remember my friend Amber?" Kitty asked, "You know she dated Max for a couple of years, and, um, I guess it's safe to say that she's obsessed with him."

"So... Amber's been checking up on me? Why? What does she hope to find?"

"Yeah. Sorry. I admit... I mean, Amber's always been my best friend, and she's a wonderful person, but this thing about Max is just off the rails. Claus and I have been trying to, um—" she paused and took a deep breath.

"Trying to what?"

"Trying to get her to see someone."

"Like a therapist?" I figured therapist didn't sound as drastic as psychiatrist.

"Right. So, she figures with Elliot gone, she had a clear path to Max, but then *you* appeared."

"So she wants me out of the way?" I laughed. Kitty shrugged in assent.

"You don't think she'd actually try to hurt me, do you?"

"No," Kitty sighed. "I think it's all in her head and what comes spilling out of her mouth. I will say she's started to get distant from Claus and me. We stopped listening to her crazy talk, and that really pissed her off. It's hard."

"You mean... it's hard to lose your friend?"

"Yeah."

We trudged in silence for a few yards.

"Anyway," I said after a bit, "I had a great time tonight. The food was amazing! And, you know, you and Claus are an incredible couple. I've never seen two people who suit each other so perfectly."

"Thanks," she acknowledged. "Of course, we have our ups and downs, but we clicked pretty much from the start, and we've never un-clicked."

"That's very rare and nice," I said.

"We're soul mates," she said. "I know some people don't believe there are such things as soul mates, but I've found mine."

"I believe in soul mates," I told her.

"You know what?" Kitty confided, linking her arm through mine. "I've never met another couple that seemed to mesh the way Claus and I do — except for one: you and Max."

I turned to look in her eyes. I saw the sincerity there, but I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say.

"You know, Max and Amber dated for a few years, and I had hopes for them." She was silent for a moment, pondering. "She used to say they had a shared destiny. But... This is hard to say, because she and I were really close. The thing is, she and Max never had anywhere near the kind of closeness and understanding that you and Max have. Your cousin Elliot used to say that me and Claus were an irreversibly covalent molecule — it took me a while to memorize that phrase — but it means a bond that, once it's made, is impossible to break. I think you and Max are like that, too."

"Here's to being a molecule!" I said.

"Yeah," Kitty agreed. "It's a wonderful thing."

We walked in silence for a while then, watching Claus' animated conversation and Max's laconic replies.

"I'm glad those two are such good friends," I said.

"I hope you and I can be as well," Kitty proposed.

"I think we can — we will be," I replied.

"You know," Kitty said in a tentative tone, "after we spoke yesterday, I tried to call Elliot. But he didn't answer. Have you talked to him lately?"

"It's been a while," I confessed. Then, after a pause, I told her, "I think I've let Elliot down somehow." I'm not sure why I said that, but I felt it in my heart.

"Me too," Kitty said. "I think that we all have. I should have listened to him better."

We took a few more steps in silence. Her arm was still threaded through mine.

"Do you have his Dad's number?" she asked. "I did some work for him; I think he liked me. I think he might talk with me."

"Oh," I said, and felt my open, warm feelings halt with a sense of dimay. Kitty sensed the change; she looked me in the face. "I've stepped on your toes again, haven't I?"

"I don't know," I said. "Don't worry about my toes. Just... let me ask first, okay? I think Elliot's... I think he's off the grid for a while, licking his wounds. I'm sure he'll come back when it's time."

"Do you think so?" she asked. "I hope so. If you talk to him, tell him that he absolutely cannot disappear. We love him."

"I know," I said. "I feel that."

"I swear," Kitty told me. "Claus and I have already talked — if he doesn't give some sign of life, we're driving down to Florida to find him."

I nodded. There was nothing I could say.

 

---

 

Okay. One last thing, the absolute last thing, and then I'll tell you about Nissa's wedding.

On the drive home and in our bedroom after we'd arrived home, Max and I shared our perceptions of the dinner with Kitty and Claus.

Max had enjoyed it — the food and the company — maybe even more than I did. He liked Claus a lot, and in a different way than he like me — me as Elliot, I mean. Claus was expansive, fun... maybe a little nuts, but that was part of who Claus is, as a person.

The central thing, the big feeling, the important part, is that both Claus and Kitty have good hearts. Sure, they were bamboozled by Amber — and probably still are, to some extent, but Kitty and Amber have been friends as along as Max and Elliot. You can't just throw that away.

When I told Max about Amber checking into my past, he dismissed it out of hand. "If you're worried about that, talk to my Aunt Viv," he said. "She's hella devious, and I don't think she'd give you a life with holes in it."

"I guess not," I said.

"Besides, you have to quit worrying about Amber. It takes two to tango — if we don't play her game, all her crazy schemes will just die on the vine."

"Way to mix metaphors," I commented.

"Huh?"

"Nothing. I guess you're right."

"Don't give that woman any space in your brain. If you find yourself thinking about Amber, change the subject. I did that for a while, and now I don't think about her at all."

"Okay, I said. So, pink clouds, angels, unicorns..."

"Whatever," he agreed, laughing. "Come here," he murmured, and pulled me into a hug. We snuggled and rocked together, standing close, leaning into each other, until I broke off so I could get ready for bed.

"Oh, there was one other thing..." I hazarded, and told him about Kitty wanting my Dad's phone number.

"Hmmph," he said. "That's not good."

He showed even more concern when I told him Kitty and Claus talked about heading to Florida, if they didn't hear from Elliot.

"Don't worry," I said. "Your aunt has a plan, a little project for me, for after Nissa's wedding. It's a send-off for Elliot. It's something I have to do... alone, I guess. I don't think you want to be part of it."

His mouth twisted in a lopsided frown.

"Anyway," I continued, "after that, I'm all yours... if you want me."

"Forever Lorelei?"

"If you want me," I said. "but even if you don't, I'm Lorelei, for good."

"Good," he said. "Just quit with that if you want me talk, okay?"

I nodded.

"So... is Elliot going to send Kitty a text, to keep her happy and here?"

"Uhhh," I replied, in a tone of uncertainty.

"What does that mean?" he asked, a little sharply.

"It means I'm not sure, but probably not."

"You're not going to send a text? She'd quit worrying and quit planning to go find you. Find Elliot."

I sighed. "Look, I stalled. There's not enough time for them to go to Florida and back before Nessa's wedding."

"You stalled? How did you stall?" Max sounded a little testy.

"I told her that Elliot was off the grid." Max frowned. "I said he was licking his wounds." Max's eyebrows went up at that.

"Licking his wounds?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, licking his wounds," I shot back, defensive.

"Elliot has wounds to lick? What wounds does Elliot have? What about Max?" he asked. "What about me? Don't *I* have wounds to lick? I think all this crap mainly came down on me."

"I think you came out of it pretty well!" I told him, hotly.

"Oh, do you?"

"Yes, I do!" I nearly shouted. We glared at each other for a few moments. Then I said, "Look at me, Max. Look at me." I sniffed. "Look at me and tell me you didn't come out of it pretty well."

His expression softened. "Yeah," he said. ."I did. I did come out of it pretty well. Did I ever thank you for what you did?"

"Not in so many words," I replied, "but yes, you've thanked me over and over, in many ways."

"Well, thank you. In so many words." He smiled. "I hope you feel like you came out of it pretty well. Didn't you?"

"Yes," I said. "I do. And I don't know why we're fighting. I really like the way things are now."

"Me, too," he said. "We're fighting because we're passionate people. We're fighting because we care."

"Oh, fuck you," I laughed, and ran into his open arms.