The Ice Age by Kirsten Reed Page A

have never treated you, I mean anyone, that way.’
    â€˜Not even in his hedonistic days?’
    She paused and then smirked. ‘No, not even when he was a bit more…freewheeling. Hon, he was still Gunther. He was still a good person.’
    We paused and considered this for a moment.
    Then I said, ‘Jimmy.’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜You know Jimmy.’
    Steph said, ‘Yeah, what about him?’
    I said, ‘I hate that dick.’
    She looked pleased and amused.
    Then I added, ‘He’s a dick,’ just in case the point needed more emphasis.
    The doorbell rang and Steph yelled, ‘It’s open!’ And then jolted to attention and started hastily tidying our little table. By then we were both quite smashed, and it basically just involved herding the various pieces of incriminating evidence into a tighter, more symmetrical arrangement in the middle of the table. It reminded me of all the piles she had scattered around the house when we first got there.
    A bunch of frumpy looking women marched into the room, all wearing prissy dresses, all looking completely appalled. It looked like someone had cloned a mother-in-law in various stages of development. The old ugly one front and center snorted, ‘Well, Stephanie! I just don’t—what on earth do you call this?’
    The younger one with red curly hair said, slightly more bashfully, ‘We thought it might be nice to drop in on you.’
    â€˜Well, you could have called first.’ Steph seemed kind of mad.
    The old battleaxe was definitely mad. ‘I did call first.’
    Steph withered a bit. ‘Oh, God, I totally forgot.’ And then, ‘Was that…when was that?’
    I scooched closer to Stephanie on the couch, to make more room in case they wanted to sit down. That just made matters worse. Now I think they thought we were lesbians, because the old bitch took in the scene afresh and gasped, ‘Oh, Stephanie .’
    I stayed put. Hell, I didn’t care if they thought we were having some girl-on-girl action. I’ve never seen anything wrong in that. A lot of girls are damn pretty, I can see that. And apart from Gunther, a lot easier to talk to than boys. Not that I’m experienced or anything, I just don’t have a problem with it. I don’t have a problem with lots of things.
    Gunther and I were on the subject once, and he called me ‘delightfully broad-minded’, which he said is a great asset to me, as long as I keep my feet on the ground, or at least one foot on the ground. He gave me a happy iceberg-eyed shimmer. I said what about all those crazy times of his, and he said he was grounded. That riled me up. I’m grounded. I may muse about him being a vampire half the time, but how is he to know that? Unless he can read minds…
    Back in the living room I was asked how old I was, and replied, ‘Twenty-three.’
    Then the rough formation of disgusted women turned on their heels and left. Steph looked flat. Really flat.
    She said, ‘My late husband’s sister.’ Then added, her voice breaking, ‘And some ladies from church .’
    I said, ‘I didn’t know you go to church.’
    She said, ‘I don’t. I didn’t!’
    â€˜Oh, Stephanie,’ I just wanted to get our party going again. ‘You’re entitled to live it up a little.’
    She put her head in her hands and burst out sobbing. I gave her some weak pats on the shoulder. Then I got up and started to clear up, and realized I was too drunk. We both fell asleep there on the couch.
    I woke up early, feeling like my head was a balloon about to pop. I’d thrown up on myself a little. Steph was still out cold. I got up and took a shower.
    When I got back to the living room, with my wet hair and my clean clothes, feeling slightly less like shit, Steph was still there. She was just beginning to unfold herself from her curled-up position into a more vertical one.