super-curious to see his place but don’t want Jade parked on the curb for longer than necessary. His GEM is on the street (parked nose in like a Smart car) and we unplug it and we’re off. It might move faster if we were running on the ground like a Flintstone-mobile.
Andrew makes up for the lack of horsepower by weaving his way through horrific traffic like a Formula One champ. This is the most masculine thing I’ve seen from him so far, which is saying something considering he is driving a toy.
Jade is on the curb, knock-kneed with her cute little backpack, and flashes the smile of instant all right at seeing us. To further cheer her up, he lets her drive. It is only for a block, but she is ready for an arranged marriage.
We hit our place and he just comes up with us like he lives there. His invitation is assumed. I am completely and charmingly ignored. They start with her vintage Guitar Hero, at which he ruthlessly kicks her ass.
“You know,” she points out, “a proper boyfriend may not letme win, but he probably doesn’t snort like a donkey as he does his stupid victory dance.”
“That was my best Braylon Edwards,” he tells her, busting out his Dougie again in case we missed it the first time.
“Your best what?” I ask, thoroughly lost.
“Wide receiver. The 49ers. Deliverer of enthusiastic end zone recitals.” He offers these clues as if something will click for me. It doesn’t.
“He was more like this,” Jade says, standing up, rocking her hips as she alternates wiping the sides of her head with her left and right hands. Girl’s got rhythm. But more importantly, how the heck does she know who Braylon Edwards is?
Andrew claps respectfully and tries to mimic Jade’s moves. They look ridiculous and adorable as they stare at each other with huge smiles, popping their hips and raising their shoulders just alike.
Andrew restarts the game and Jade winks at me. I realize she has no idea who Braylon Edwards is and probably no idea what an end zone recital could mean. She was just pretending to impress him. Go, Jade!
Jade offers to give him a tour. I’m not invited. I’m unsure how the tour of a three-bedroom apartment can take an hour and fifteen minutes, which feels like seventy-two hours when you are trying to busy yourself waiting for it to be over. I could have written a master’s thesis on annoying siblings, complete with copious revisions. At last, after polishing twenty nails and reading
Vogue
cover to cover, I sneak down to her bedroom door and eavesdrop. I hear my obnoxious sibling asking, “So you like her, right? Like, you
like
her like her?”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“But she’s cuter, right?”
“You’re cuter.”
“I’m too young for you.”
“Would you move to Arkansas?” I think he’s joking.
“Would that help?”
“No, it was just a dumb joke. And your sister has more wonderful things about her than I can count, the best of which is that she is completely crazy about you.”
“Okay, but do you
like
her like her?”
I barge into her bedroom like a house detective only to discover them playing cards in the fort that they built from stuff that Nicole has forbidden be used for such purpose. Far from apologizing, Andrew deals me in, then kicks my ass at Hearts.
Eventually, Jade asks (well, actually orders) me to make them some dinner. The angel hair arrabiata, and don’t screw up on the al dente. Andrew says he’s insulted, meaning he is offended that Jade hasn’t realized he can cook rings around me. Which he proceeds to do.
Just as he is plating our scrumptious feast, including a hand-grated mountain of asiago, his new iPhone goes off. The ringtone sounds suspiciously like “Wind beneath My Wings.” Before I can subtract a masculinity point, he assures me this is Carmen’s special ring. So I subtract twelve points.
I watch his face as he listens to a just-audible rant on the other end of the phone, about as carefully as I’ve ever watched
Andrew makes up for the lack of horsepower by weaving his way through horrific traffic like a Formula One champ. This is the most masculine thing I’ve seen from him so far, which is saying something considering he is driving a toy.
Jade is on the curb, knock-kneed with her cute little backpack, and flashes the smile of instant all right at seeing us. To further cheer her up, he lets her drive. It is only for a block, but she is ready for an arranged marriage.
We hit our place and he just comes up with us like he lives there. His invitation is assumed. I am completely and charmingly ignored. They start with her vintage Guitar Hero, at which he ruthlessly kicks her ass.
“You know,” she points out, “a proper boyfriend may not letme win, but he probably doesn’t snort like a donkey as he does his stupid victory dance.”
“That was my best Braylon Edwards,” he tells her, busting out his Dougie again in case we missed it the first time.
“Your best what?” I ask, thoroughly lost.
“Wide receiver. The 49ers. Deliverer of enthusiastic end zone recitals.” He offers these clues as if something will click for me. It doesn’t.
“He was more like this,” Jade says, standing up, rocking her hips as she alternates wiping the sides of her head with her left and right hands. Girl’s got rhythm. But more importantly, how the heck does she know who Braylon Edwards is?
Andrew claps respectfully and tries to mimic Jade’s moves. They look ridiculous and adorable as they stare at each other with huge smiles, popping their hips and raising their shoulders just alike.
Andrew restarts the game and Jade winks at me. I realize she has no idea who Braylon Edwards is and probably no idea what an end zone recital could mean. She was just pretending to impress him. Go, Jade!
Jade offers to give him a tour. I’m not invited. I’m unsure how the tour of a three-bedroom apartment can take an hour and fifteen minutes, which feels like seventy-two hours when you are trying to busy yourself waiting for it to be over. I could have written a master’s thesis on annoying siblings, complete with copious revisions. At last, after polishing twenty nails and reading
Vogue
cover to cover, I sneak down to her bedroom door and eavesdrop. I hear my obnoxious sibling asking, “So you like her, right? Like, you
like
her like her?”
“I have a girlfriend.”
“But she’s cuter, right?”
“You’re cuter.”
“I’m too young for you.”
“Would you move to Arkansas?” I think he’s joking.
“Would that help?”
“No, it was just a dumb joke. And your sister has more wonderful things about her than I can count, the best of which is that she is completely crazy about you.”
“Okay, but do you
like
her like her?”
I barge into her bedroom like a house detective only to discover them playing cards in the fort that they built from stuff that Nicole has forbidden be used for such purpose. Far from apologizing, Andrew deals me in, then kicks my ass at Hearts.
Eventually, Jade asks (well, actually orders) me to make them some dinner. The angel hair arrabiata, and don’t screw up on the al dente. Andrew says he’s insulted, meaning he is offended that Jade hasn’t realized he can cook rings around me. Which he proceeds to do.
Just as he is plating our scrumptious feast, including a hand-grated mountain of asiago, his new iPhone goes off. The ringtone sounds suspiciously like “Wind beneath My Wings.” Before I can subtract a masculinity point, he assures me this is Carmen’s special ring. So I subtract twelve points.
I watch his face as he listens to a just-audible rant on the other end of the phone, about as carefully as I’ve ever watched
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