Thirty-six

Megan finally crawls out of her honeymoon suite and calls me. I feel like I’ve left her a thousand messages over the past few days, but as much as I want to be petulant, I’m just glad to hear her voice. “Boof,” I say. “I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry. We went to Telluride and I left my fucking phone at the house.”

“Total technology fail,” I say, even though I’m only 42 percent sure she’s telling the truth. I mean, Megan’s not a pathological liar or anything, but she’ll stretch the truth to spare my feelings, and if she’s been too lazy or blissed-out to call me back, I know better than to take it personally. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Tell me everything,” she says, and I can hear the whir and click of a lighter, the crackle of burning tobacco, and her smooth exhale.

“I’m having a moment about Kirk. He took me to breakfast this morning and I bailed on him because Eva was having tabloid drama, and—”

“Hold on, hold on. Imma let you finish, but can we talk for one second about those pics? I mean, what is happening there?”

“Some asshole up the hill must’ve let a photographer into their yard. That’s the only way you could get pictures by her pool, even with a long lens.”

“Of that guy’s hairy butt crack.”

“That’s her boyfriend. Well, her ‘alleged’ boyfriend. There are some side dishes being served around here, but I’m not privy to the details.”

“Already bored with her,” Megan says. “Back to Kirk, please.”

“I don’t know. We had this amazing breakfast. He ordered three kinds of pie at Urth. Then Eva called and I dropped everything to go to her and now I feel like an asshole.”

“Don’t beat yourself up, Boof. You went to do your job, not to—what did you call it?—pick up a side dish. And boys like to chase. It’s in their Cro-Magnon brain stems.”

“They like to chase you,” I say. “But it’s not that. I feel like an asshole because I was . . . y’know.”

“Eating three kinds of pie?”

“Excited about Eva wanting me to commiserate with her. I sound so gross, Boof. Tell me I’m not gross.”

“You’re not gross. You’re human. Maybe a little more codependent than the average bear. But I can’t really talk.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m the asshole who’s getting on a plane to follow her boyfriend to Vancouver tomorrow. He’s doing a cameo for the new Judd Apatow movie.”

I smile at the phone. “Next thing you know, you’re wearing a dirndl and baking cookies while he’s watching the Super Bowl.”

“Ouch,” Megan says. “I promise, promise, promise that we’ll get together as soon as I get back.”

“You’re kind of overselling it with the triple promise.”

“And I want updates on the Kirk front,” she says. “I’m guessing he’ll be asking for a replay within the next twenty hours.”

“A replay?” I say. “You’re already adopting sports vernacular. You know you have to throw a Silpat liner on that cookie sheet before you start scooping your perfect little dough balls onto it, right?”

“I’m hanging up. I miss you.”

“I miss you too, Boof.”