It has been so long since I've added to this, and for that I apologize! I didn't realize people were still reading it, but coming back and seeing the reviews was beyond inspiring. I'm really grateful to everyone who has enjoyed this so far and continued to review. I can't make any promises, but I've been writing a lot more lately and am hoping to finish this. Please let me know what you think, I know I'm more than a little rusty.

It was a few nights after my erotic dream about Macy when a job took us into the heart of a stuffy, antique-riddled semi-mansion. It was the kind of home you were scared to turn around in for fear of breaking something. Everything-from the delicate figurines to the magazines on the coffee table-had been strategically placed.

"Okay," Delia said when it was just Kristy and I in the kitchen. Monica and Macy were still unloading the car. "It's going to be a great night. Right? Right."

"Right," Kristy and I said automatically. We were her support system.

"Kristy, I want you in the kitchen shelling shrimp with Macy."

I sighed in relief. After making the decision that I was going to view Macy as only a friend, I was thinking of ways to keep a physical distance from her. Friends could be friends without being near each other, right?

"Hmmm, no," Kristy said. I snapped my head towards her. "I think Wes should stay in the kitchen with Macy."

I glared at her, working my jaw in annoyance. Although Kristy kept a straight face, I knew exactly what she was doing, and she knew I knew.

Delia furrowed her brow. "Why?"

"Yeah, why?" I asked.

"Delia, have you seen that cougar out there? She was already making eyes at Wes when we walked in. Remember the last time a rich housewife decided to make her hubby jealous?"

Delia chewed on her lip, clearly remembering the very narrow escape I'd had to make.

"Good point," my aunt finally said. "Wes, you're in here with Macy. Kristy, you run the spinach puffs."

"That leaves Monica with the wine glasses. Glasses. As in made of glass. As in breakable," I said. "Monica doesn't have a great track record with breakable." I wasn't sure why I was arguing. The idea of staying in here with Macy wasn't exactly an unpleasant one, but I had to at least try to keep my distance.

Delia ran a hand over her swollen belly. "I need Kristy to run the puffs. We're short on them and Monica doesn't move quick enough."

"So send Macy out."

"Macy has asked to be in the kitchen," Delia replied. All of a sudden, she went from distracted to shrewd in the blink of an eye, a trait that I knew would make her a great mom. " Why? Do you have a problem with Macy or something?"

"Yeah," Kristy said, smirking at me. "Do you have a problem with Macy, Wes?"

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "Of course not. Just trying to…strategize…or whatever."

"Well, stop strategizing and start peeling shrimp."

So there I was, right next to the girl I'd had a very inappropriate (and, quite frankly, amazing) dream about. I wondered very narcissistically if she'd requested to be in the kitchen because she'd known Delia would put me in there. Which was stupid, I knew, but crushes normally resulted in grandiose delusions.

As we stood side by side, I noted that she seemed nervous. And unfortunately, slightly oblivious to my presence. Every time the door to the kitchen swung open, her head would snap to it, her body would lean back a little bit, looking out into the living room. I wondered if she knew someone out there.

And yet, despite her distraction, she was peeling shrimp faster than I thought humanly possible.

"Amazing," I breathed, watching her long, nimble fingers expertly de-shell the shrimp.

Man, what I would give to be that shrimp. I cocked my head at my own thought. Did that even make sense?

"What?" Macy asked, her grey eyes wide and startled. Geez, her nerves were shot tonight.

"Look at that." I cocked my head towards the shrimp. "How are you doing those so fast?"

"I'm not."

"I've been watching you." A lot. Oh, and dreaming about you. "And while I've been working on this one, you've done five. At least." She de-shelled another one. "Six. How'd you learn to do that?"

She didn't even pause, but that same small, subtle smile grabbed her lips. "My dad. In the summers, we used to buy a couple pounds of shrimp to steam and eat for dinner. He loved shrimp, and he was super fast. So if you wanted to eat," she looked up at me coyly, stripping another shrimp of its shell. "You had to keep up." She shrugged, the smile slipping slightly. "It was a Darwinian thing."

"In my house, it was the opposite. You did everything you could to keep from eating."

She half-smiled at me, clearly curious. I found it a much better alternative to the skittish way she'd been acting earlier. "Why?"

I sighed. "After the divorce, my mom got into natural foods. Part of the whole cleanse your life, cleanse your body thing. Or something. No more hamburgers, no more hotdogs." I sighed dramatically, remembering how much of a fight Bert and I had put up. "It was lentil loaf and tofu salad, and that was a good day."

It was funny, how the things you hated about someone became the things you missed the most when he or she was gone. I would have given up hamburgers and hot dogs without batting an eye if it meant my mom was alive and well. She also used to do this thing that would drive me crazy, where she would pretend to know the lyrics to a song. She'd mumble her way through until the part of the chorus she knew came on, then she'd belt out the four or five words and go back to mumbling. It drove me insane. Now, it was one of the main things I always remembered.

"My dad was the total opposite," Macy said, smiling again. "He was a firm believer in the all-meat diet. To him, chicken was a vegetable."

"I wish," I said.

She laughed.

Time passed quickly as Macy and I worked together. While the rest of the crew rushed in and out, in varying states of distress and hurriedness, the two of stood in comfortable silence.

I could do this, I thought confidently. I could be friends with this girl.

"So did you talk to your dad?" Macy said suddenly.

"Uh, yeah," I replied, running a hand through my hair and wincing as I realized I'd probably gotten shrimp juice in it. "I took your advice. Bert and I are having lunch with him in a couple days."

She looked up at me, her eyes boring into mine. The intensity startled me so much that I had to look back down to the shrimp. Then I realized I'd rather be looking at her and met her stare again.

"That's great, Wes," she said, and the sincerity in her voice was overwhelming. She looked like she wanted to say more, but thought better of it and looked back down at her hands.

"Thank you," I said, bumping her shoulder with mine. "I probably wouldn't have agreed to it if it wasn't for you."

She shrugged, her cheeks reddening, making me remember how flushed they had been in my dream. I cleared my throat and shifted my feet.

"Well," she said, stealing another glance at me. "Don't thank me until afterwards. It's probably not going to be the best lunch you've ever had."

"Oh, I'm assuming the worst," I replied, nodding. "It'll probably be the worst day of my life. And Bert's. Then we'll both hate you forever for convincing us to do it and then Delia will fire you."

She threw her head back and laughed, slapping me on my arm. "Stop! It's not going to be that bad."

"It'll probably be so bad, the world is going to end."

She rolled her eyes, grinning. "You are such a drama queen."

"You're right. Delia would fire me way before she'd fire you."

Macy rolled her eyes again, shaking her head in faux annoyance.

Not long after, a crash sounded from the other room. Since I was a Wish Catering veteran, I knew the crash had definitely been caused by Monica.

"Shit," Delia said, wringing her hands. "I mean, shoot. No, actually, I mean shit. I really do."

Delia volunteered Macy to go clean it up since Bert wasn't around. As my aunt thrust the cleaning solution into her hands, I saw Macy pale, her eyes going wide. She walked through the door like she was heading to her execution.

"What's wrong with her?" Kristy asked me as we watched the door swing shut, effectively closing Macy into the living room.

"I have no idea. Does she know someone here?"

She shrugged. "My money is on a boy."

I stamped down a surge of jealousy. "You think?"

Kristy nodded. "Probably a boy she thought was her Prince Charming. And then they slept together and she waited a week for him to call her and then he never did so she tried to visit him one day and then his roommate told her he moved to another state but she caught a glimpse of him in the background."

I raised my eyebrows. "Is someone projecting?"

"Hey, it could've happened to her, too. It's not my fault your entire gender is full of jerks and losers."

"That's a gross generalization."

She shrugged. "If the shoe fits. Let's spy on her." Kristy stepped forward and poked her head around the door. "Oh! The cougar is talking to her. Oh, I think she's the hostess. Oh, she looks surprised. Geez, Macy looks mortified. Wow, this looks bad."

"You should be a news anchor," I remarked, although I had to admit I was insanely curious.

I walked up and poked my head over Kristy, which was easy considering our height difference. The owner whom Kristy had called a cougar was near the door, talking with two other women. They all looked like birds, with big, beaky noses, and tiny, beady eyes.

"-Jason's ex. I can't believe it. Catering?" she was saying.

"Martha, she's probably just trying to get some dirt on him," the smaller bird-lady was commenting. "Shameful, really. But your Jason is such a catch, can you blame the poor girl?"

"Why did he break it off with her?"

The woman shook her head, dramatically casting her eyes heavenwards. "She's just not focused enough. You know Jason. So ambitious. I've always thought of Macy as a little too silly for him. Excuse me, I need to go tell my husband."
"What…the hell!" Kristy fumed when we were safely hidden again. "I cannot believe she put up with those imbeciles for as long as she did. Silly? Silly?! I cannot even. Screw this!"

I watched as Kristy marched through the door, poking my head through to make sure she wasn't going to bitch slap the owner. Instead, she headed for Macy, squatting down next to her. I could see the relief in Macy's eyes, happy to find an ally. After a moment, the woman's husband beelined for them. Some words were exchanged, and suddenly Kristy grabbed Macy's arm and pulled her back to the kitchen.

I made my way quickly back to the counter, pretending to have been deep in my work and not spying.

"You are not going to believe what just went down out there!" Kristy exclaimed, setting her tray down with a clatter.

"Did something else break or spill?" Delia asked, coming from the bathroom. "God! What is going on today?"

"No. Macy's jerkwad boyfriend's father. And do you know what he did out there, in front of God and me and everybody?" Kristy spat. I had seriously never seen her this pissed. I had seen her hurt and miserable, sure. I'd seen her mad. But right now she was absolutely hostile, brimming with anger. I think it said a lot about her character that she would become this angry on someone else's account when she had never been this way on her own. Also, since she wasn't exactly religious, bringing God into it must have meant something.

"He said," Kristy continued as Macy stared at her, wide-eyed. She clearly couldn't fathom why Kristy was this angry either. "That his stupid asshole son put their relationship on hold because he wasn't in line with his goals."

Macy's shoulders were up to her ears and she was holding one arm with her opposite hand, crossing them in front of her in what was clearly a defensive gesture. The sight of her looking so self-protective pissed me off. Why should a girl like Macy have to feel so shitty about herself when the real problem was clearly this Jason asshole? Maybe Kristy was right. My gender was full of jerks and losers.

"And then he ate half my shrimp plate! He insults me friend-to her face!-and then tries to go for shrimp. I wanted to sock him!"
Delia cleared her throat. "But you didn't. Right?"

Delia and Kristy exchanged some more words, with Delia trying to coax the younger girl into not causing a scene and Kristy trying to justify perhaps causing a scene. And then Kristy stormed out.

Delia announced she needed to go follow her, but before she left she turned to Macy. "I'm sorry," my aunt said to the defeated girl. Delia smiled hugely at her, and Macy watched as she pushed through the door. For a second, I thought she might cry.

Oh man, I was so out of my element here. The women in my life were always so expressive with their emotions that it was always blatantly obvious what they needed from me. Delia needed me to be proactive and make her life easier. Kristy needed me to listen. Even Monica was easy to deal with: leave her alone. But Macy? For one thing, I hadn't known her that long. But she seemed to be the type of person who bottled up all of her feelings, putting on a veneer of fine-just-fine that she thought would be acceptable to the rest of the world.

I kind of hoped she would start crying. I knew what to do with crying people. Embrace them, right? I'd be fine embracing her. But she didn't start crying. She just stood staring at the door with impossibly sad eyes, the rest of her face frozen into a neutral expression.

I dug back into my own past. When Becky had been sent off, a lot of people had tried to comfort me. I found that being asked if I was okay was horrible. It made me feel like a failure, in a way. Was this really so different?

"Hey, are you-"

"I'm fine," she said quickly, cutting me off. "It was nothing, just some stupid thing somebody asked." She sounded like an automaton.

"-gonna be able to grab that tray?" I finished, watching her.

She didn't look at me. "Yeah. Go ahead, I'm right behind you."

As I pushed the door open, I looked back at her. She was rebuilding her defenses, I could see it in her eyes and body language. This was a girl who had survived a tragedy. That certainly made her capable of surviving a foolish boy.

"I'll see you out there."