Scissor Link by Georgette Kaplan (novels to improve english .txt) 📗

not going to be able to enjoy food ever again with that mental image.”

Regan stopped to smell the roses—Wendy suddenly got that expression. “No more banter. Come on now.”

Wendy set all the glasses on the landing and sat, drinking from one of them. “What would you do if Keith left you?”

Regan laid the bouquet between them and sat down next to her. “Oh God, what is this?”

“Just tell me.”

“I wouldn’t let him.”

“You wouldn’t let him? How would you stop him?”

Regan guffawed. “Jesus, Well, he wouldn’t want to leave me in the first place, but if he did, I could only assume there’d be something wrong, something he was struggling with—I’d find it and kick its ass and get my husband back.”

“What if it’s not something that you can ass-kick? What if he really wants to go?”

Regan leaned back against the railing, sighing. “You need to schedule this introspective stuff before I get flowers. You’re really harshing my buzz.”

“Hey, you asked.”

“Yeah. The burden of a big sister is a heavy one. Okay, you remember when I was pregnant? You were off at UCLA or wherever, building model airplanes?”

Wendy resisted the urge to correct her. “Yeah, I ordered you pickles and ice cream online. That’s what pregnant women like, right? I’m gay, it’s really not my scene.”

“We’ll discuss that if Mac ever gets a little brother.”

“Little sister,” Wendy corrected.

“Anyway. You weren’t here, but when I first got pregnant, Keith really got cold feet.”

“What? I’ll kill him,” Wendy said jokingly.

“No, he had, like, stripper-level daddy issues. He didn’t know if he could be a good father, he thought maybe he wasn’t even a good husband because suddenly we were in this situation where the shit was hitting the fan. He thought maybe it might be best to have a procedure done and then if the relationship didn’t work out, at least we wouldn’t…well, you can imagine we argued a bit.”

“Yeah, you’d think!” Wendy cried. “Where is this coming from? Does he also kill people for a living?”

“It was a long time ago,” Regan assured her. “The point is, I fought for him. I told him that of all the men in the world—and also Angelina Jolie, if she were interested—I was with him, I only wanted him, and the baby would feel the same way. Mac wouldn’t want someone else. I wouldn’t want someone else. We wanted every part of our family.” Regan reached over and nudged Wendy. “Including Vodka Aunt here.”

“I actually prefer tequila.” Wendy grinned.

“So he came around and he studied how to be a good father and I studied how to be a good mother and we did the Lamaze classes and ate a lot of pickles and ice cream—”

“Ha! Told you!”

“Actually, he liked the pickles a lot more than I did. And Mac was born, you were there for that, the rough patch was over, we moved on. It wasn’t the first time we fought, it’s not gonna be the last, but we got through it. And now my arms are full of flowers and I’m waiting for my son to get home. And making fun of my sister a little bit, so I’m feeling that was a good call.”

“Yeah, okay, so you’re a success story. But you seriously never thought to just let him go?”

Regan looked back at her. “Is that what you’re thinking?”

Fucking sister psychic spider-sense bullshit. “No,” Wendy replied, leaning her head back. “Maybe I should be. Maybe she’s right, it’d be best if I found someone better for me and she found someone better for her.”

“And flying cars would make road trips easier,” Regan interjected. “If you love her, you love her. You can’t just swap her out for someone you think is better suited for you. She’s it. I mean, God knows Keith isn’t perfect, but I wouldn’t trade him for…Mr. Darcy or whatever. He’s my guy.”

“Ugh…” Wendy flopped down onto the steps behind her. “You are not making this ‘getting over her’ stuff any easier.”

“Wendy Cedar, you turned your back on your inheritance, raked up a frankly unholy amount of college debt, worked as an intern, and you live in an apartment building that I am honestly not a hundred percent on letting my son visit. Because it’s what you wanted, you fought for it. Now you have this woman—and she’s definitely not good enough for you, you’re my sister—but she means enough to you that you are going—” Regan laughed “—full Enya on the emotional spectrum. And you’re not going to fight for her? Bullshit. You want my permission, you’ve got it. Go kick some ass. I’ll bail you out if you get arrested.”

And suddenly, Wendy was smiling. “You know what I need to do?”

“What?”

Wendy snatched a white rose from the bouquet. “Get her flowers.”

Wendy played with Janet’s glasses on the elevator. Janet had left a pair at her apartment—she definitely had spares, given how she hadn’t broached their inelegant silence to ask for them back—and since then they’d lived in Wendy’s jacket pocket. The longing Wendy had felt for her had been growing unendurable, but now that she’d decided to win her back, there was a sweetness to it. It felt like an itch being scratched.

The elevator dinged. She slipped the glasses back into her pocket.

The key to infiltrating someplace you weren’t supposed to be, as Wendy had learned from sneaking into horror movies from age twelve, was to look as if you knew exactly what you were doing and were absolutely where you belonged. This was hard for any twenty-something to do, but Wendy thought she had the hang of it. She went through Mary Borchard’s division like she was slightly bored of it, an everyday fixture dressed in the same slacks and Oxford shirt and sweater as everyone else. When she got to Marlon, it took him a moment to recognize her.

Marlon was a tall, springy guy with a toothbrush haircut that he either thought was cool or was waiting to loop around back to cool. He’d