“What?” I asked, frowning. “Did he turn you down?”
She stabbed at her macaroni. “No. He’s going to come.” Her voice had gone edgy and tight.
I swallowed my giggle. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
“Well, I mean, yeah… I do.” Alberta shrugged. “But I’m already going to be a nervous wreck. What if I lose the power of speech when he shows up?”
Her eyes had rounded with such genuine concern, I had to laugh. “Alberta, I’ve known you since we were kids. You’ve never lost your power of speech.”
“I knew you’d say that.”
Ignoring her growl seemed wise, and I fought my grin. “So, I guess I’ll get to meet him Saturday?”
Her scowl vanished, and she batted her eyes for me. “Oh, better than that.”
“Better than meeting Ross?” I asked, aware that she now looked far too pleased with herself for my comfort. What was she plotting?
“Mmm-hmm.” She gave an exaggerated nod. “So, Ross’s buddy just moved into town, and they were planning to go out Saturday night. But now he’s bringing him to the exhibit, and the four of us will go out for drinks after.”
“Oh, no.” I shook my head, eyeing her with growing fear. “No, no, no.”
Albertatsked.“Four nos? Really? You need more yes in your life, Elise.”
“But I don’t do blind dates, Bertie. Not since The Harry Horn Debacle of 2016.”
She snorted a laugh. Referencing The Harry Horn Debacle of 2016 always cracked her up. It was officially the last time I let anyone set me up. And the guy’s name wasn’t Harry Horn. It was Michael.
But that nose.
Oh, Lord. Someone needed to tell Michael Horn to wax his nose. And it wasn’t going to be me.
Maybe that made me shallow. Maybe I was an awful person for not being able to see past the seven or eight hairs that sprouted like eyelashes from the tip of his nose. But really, how could I? They’d been practically winking at me the whole night.
Grimacing at the memory, I stifled a shudder. Alberta laughed harder.
“Who fixed you up with him, again?”
I rolled my eyes. “Rita. You’d think Mama’s best friend — a woman who’s practically my aunt — would do me better than that.”
Alberta set down her near-empty bowl of mac and clutched her stomach, her laughter now like a thunderstorm that just had to be weathered. I put down my bowl with a clank and made myself comfortable on the sofa. This would take a while.
She wiped her eyes. “Didn’t you name some of them?”
A rogue laugh escaped me. Okay, yeah, I was awful. “We shouldn’t be laughing about this. I feel so guilty.”
“Spike? Tweezer?’
I lost the high ground completely and shut my eyes, my laughter the only assent I could make. “And…” I tried to catch my breath, blinking my now watering eyes. “…Wilbur.”
Alberta’s head flopped against the back of the sofa. She was laughing with almost no sound. It hurt to look at her. I couldn’t breathe. This was one of the many reasons I loved Alberta. At least once a week, we’d set each other off like this.
“Wh… wh… why Wilbur,” she asked when she could wheeze out the words.
I scrunched my eyes shut and shook my head, trying not to picture Michael Horn’s hairy nose. “It was just… justsobig. Really, it should have had a middle name, too. Wilbur Rutherford H-horn.”
Alberta gave a shriek of laughter and smacked me on the knee, wordlessly begging for mercy as she dissolved again.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said, drying my eyes. I looked at the ceiling. “God forgive me. And Michael Horn, wherever you are.”