"Wow. I wish more males felt like that. Wouldn't that be a good world? Imagine. A man who didn't think with his, hey!" Gwen almost lost her balance when Max closed his hand around her ankle.

Annie's forehead wrinkled in concentration. "I thought guys thought with their dicks. What's a hey?"

"A hey?" Gwen tried to pull her foot away, but Max didn't loosen his grip. "It actually stands for something. You know, a guy thinks with his H.E.Y."

"Oh." Annie made a couple of motions with her thumbs as if practice texting. "Nope. I don't know that one."

"I.D.K." Gwen tried to smile, bounced once on the bed. She hoped the box springs got low enough to nail him between the eyes.

"Yeah," Annie shook her head, "I don't know what H.E.Y. stands for."

"A man thinks with his head. That can be the big one or the little one, depending on the guy." She felt Max run a finger along her instep. "Ha!" She pointed at Annie. "That's a good one, huh?"

She crushed her free heel down on his hand, and though her ankle remained captive, he only had one hand to work with. "But it's true, the head thing. And I want you to remember that. They are driven to really primitive thinking." She tapped the back of her head. "Brain stem only. Reptilian logic."

"You are taking psych..." Annie looked lost at sea, but seemed willing to try to follow Gwen's thought process. God bless the girl.

"Yes I am. And they're not ready. Boys, most men, they're not ready for any consequences." Gwen felt Max let go. Free, she moved to the end of the bed and faced Annie. "Just be careful, Annie, no matter what happens. We know. Women know, on some level, from the time we're little girls that we have certain responsibilities in the world whether we want them or not. I think that's why we mature quicker. At eighteen Guy is still very young, younger than you are. He's not ready to handle much. You may not be either, but you're a little bit more ready. So, make sure you don't get into a situation that will change things for, maybe, ever."

"Okay."

Gwen felt herself tear up and mentally pulled herself together. "So, breakfast?" She crossed to the chair and tugged on Annie's arm to get her up. "It's breakfast time. We've got that going for us." She steered her toward the door, opened it. "You go get us a table, a big one for everybody. I'm gonna shower, and I'll be right there."

She started to close the door on Annie, who stood dazed in the hallway. "Don't even try the door." She rolled her eyes at the knob again. "It's crazy."

Annie stopped the door with her hand. "Hey."

"Yes?"

"What does the rest of H.E.Y. stand for?"

"Oh, after thinking with their heads? They think with their eyes. Men are very visual. I learned that one in psych. Long hair, cleavage. Red, which is a variation of pink. You don't even want to know why that does it for them."

"I do."

"It involves monkey rear ends. I mean, really, it makes you never want to wear the color again. Can they evolve?"

"And the Y?"

"They think, sometimes... rarely, but sometimes, they think with you in mind. And that is a good day."

"That's Guy."

"I hope you're right, Annie. They are a rare breed." She gave a little wave and closed the door.

Max slid out from under the bed. He stood, and for the first time it really struck her that he was in nothing but boxers, she was in a summer nightgown and lacy sweater, and a few minutes before she'd been a sneeze away from having her breast in his mouth.

"That red thing isn't true, is it?"

"Afraid so."

"But not pink?"

"A variation on the same primate theme." Her life had been a variation on the same primate theme. Max. Steve. Max in her bed again, even if accidentally and briefly. She'd given Annie good advice she needed to be smart enough to take herself. Her life from that moment forward would be monkey-business free.

"Hmmm." Max wore the face he reserved for high level math and world cup soccer matches. "I'm okay with that."

"Good. You can wear your own pink panties."

"Be funny. Be as funny as you want. I'm feeding you tomorrow night, and you do not want your food service worker to be irritated."

"Even if your skill in the kitchen has improved by one-hundred percent, spit could only help."

"Now that's just hurtful. True and hurtful." He made his way to the door. "Check the hall. I'm gonna make a run for it."

Gwen eyed his underwear.

"Okay, I can give you a quickie but then I have to go."

She rolled her eyes, the same expression she'd used on the crazy doorknob, and headed into the bathroom. From the other side of the door, she could hear him knocking around. Getting dressed, she hoped, but still talking.

"Okay, you'll take a rain check on the quickie. I understand. I'm leaving now."

She saw her reflection in the mirror. Smiling. She made herself stop and turn to the shower.

"If you change your mind before I hit the door, just come on out in your pink panties. That'll be the sign."

She turned on the faucet, spun it to start the shower, but instead of getting in, stood near the door to better hear him.

"I'm not seeing a sign at all. I'm hearing the shower start. And still talking to myself. Because that is what you do to me, Gwen. That is what you damn well can do to me."

The waitress set a bowl of homemade granola down in front of her. Judy's Granola. She'd ordered it off the menu with the faith that cereal that had a name had to be good. She admired the dried cherries studded in among the golden toasted oats and shredded coconut. As funky as the Curtis was, it had retained some of its hippy day's charm. And there was nothing better that had come out of that culinary time than granola. Of course, it had been around a long time before that just not readily available on American tables like responsible moms had invented it.

The boys were without female extras at the table, which told her they'd gotten considerably less lucky than they'd wanted to. They were carbo loading with pancakes, protein packing with eggs, and munching on a couple of pigs with a rash of bacon. H.E.Y. may stand for hedonistic eating youngsters.

Max had eggs, wheat toast, and a fruit bowl, not so light that the boys would have to mock his manhood, not so heavy she'd have to question his cholesterol levels.

Guy and Annie sat thigh to thigh, and it did have an innocent quality, like old-time courting side by side on the wagon. Then Guy surprised them all, turned to Annie, and with great expression and a guttural delivery said, "Heva en vakka morgen."

Annie smiled and put her hand over his, stilling his pancake progress for the moment.

Gwen felt the attention of a silver-haired woman at the next table, who stared with curiosity at Guy, and Gwen caught her eye. "Good morning."

"Good morning," the woman smiled then scooted her chair back and came over to the table to stand in front of him. "Was that Norwegian, young man?"

Gwen thought Guy responded to the word Norwegian and seemed taken with the woman's vest, blooming with red and blue embroidered flowers.

Max leaned close to Gwen. "Guy, Norwegian?"

She had to admit it was an impossibility, but Guy spoke to the waiting woman anyway, which just showed what a nice boy he was. "Snacker, fyr, snackerdu Norwegian, fyr?"

Everyone waited for her to respond. They'd all heard Norwegian. Was it possible the Guy mystery had been solved?

The woman's forehead dented in concentration. She turned from a smiling Guy to Gwen. "My grandmother was from Norway. I've visited a couple of times. My aunts and uncles and some nieces and great nephews are still there. But I don't know what he's saying. Except Norwegian. And maybe..."

Guy, even more excited, spoke in clipped tones from the back of his throat. "Fyr! jeger enhelt free Norge, fyr."

The woman shook her head at Guy. "I'm sorry. I just don't know." She smiled an apology at Gwen. "I'm only catching Norway. There's an accent that's unusual."

Max whispered in Gwen's ear, "Because he's not from Norway?"

Gwen nodded to the woman. "Well, thank you."

Guy waved at her as she left and happily went back to his breakfast and gazing at Annie.

Jason shook his head. "Dude, I thought we'd figured Guy out for a second there."

"Fyr," Guy added.

"Fyr, gratis fugel," Max put his hands above his head, pinky and thumb out like he was rocking out at a concert.

Guy laughed and mimicked the motion, "Fyr, gratis fugel."

Max nodded. "Yep, Guy's from the seventies."

They'd made it home with another round of Freebird, Sweet Home Alabama, and some KISS, although nobody knew why KISS. But even the KISS had been worth it to take her mind off the details of her life. She'd admit full loser status when she walked into the kitchen the next morning to turn in her chef's coat. Deb may be in denial, but Gwen knew her hobby wasn't enough to justify anything past the semester. She wasn't cut out to be in a professional kitchen. She'd finish psych. and go back to her own kitchen and hope she could straighten out her life, maybe get a job, although her unemployment felt bone deep.

She'd been laid off from her whole life, and she considered it was kind of what had happened to the tailbone. A man didn't need one anymore and still there it was. She was a tonsil, an appendix. She was the encyclopedia entry for evolution. That didn't sound bad. Maybe she'd just evolved and was really ahead of herself and not a wreck at all.

She considered the stages of Missy's childhood and the stages of her marriage. Missy had grown up to leave her, sing in a bar, and never call. Steve had skipped the growing old part with her to grow young again with a new woman. Had she evolved? No, she'd been turfed because she hadn't.

Putting her key in her dorm door, she noticed in the dim of the hall, a sticky note. In very light pencil it said TV room. She wondered if it was from Annie, the writing almost too fine to read. She opened her door, chucked her bag onto the bed, and headed to the lounge.

Her daughter slept on the sectional couch, all curled up in the corner. Missy's chestnut hair, the dark of Steve's with Gwen's own red in there, swept across the side of her face. She looked closer to thirteen than eighteen, all relaxed in sleep, and Gwen sat across from her, careful not to jostle the couch cushions too much.

She watched her daughter sleep, and wanted to keep on watching her and, at the same time, wake her up to be assured that nothing was wrong. Of course something was wrong. Missy wouldn't be there if everything was great. She'd be just as gone as she'd been. Gone and not even calling. For the first time, she felt a flash of anger. Missy worried her gone, and now worried her there and, just like a child, slept cluelessly through it all.

Missy would wake up, and Gwen would spring into action. She knew exactly what the tailbone would do given the chance to be useful. It would go back to being a tailbone. But being a tailbone hadn't gotten her anywhere. It might not even have been best for Missy. Or Steve. She should have been more independent, less of a caretaker. Although she couldn't help but think that if she'd evolved, it could have hastened the divorce papers and caused Missy to do exactly what she'd done anyway.

Missy stirred, opened her eyes.

Gwen smiled, and Missy burst into tears.

Chapter Eleven.

Sometimes mistakes are made even in the best kitchens.

Gwen covered the big bases first. No violent crimes had been committed against her girl. Missy had, of course, committed none. Gwen knew she hadn't screwed her child up that much. No drug or alcohol problems. No pregnancy, thank god.

Missy sat hiccupping on the couch. "Austin said he needed to be alone, but he needed to be alone with Kari. She waitressed on the weekends. She's lots older and has a regular job and works at night to make extra money. Can you believe that? Extra money? What's that about?"

Gwen shrugged. "I'm sure I don't know. And I'm sorry about Austin, but what about the band?"

"I left."

"You left the band? Honey, I thought that was what you really wanted. You gave up going to college for it."

"I did want it. I so did, Mom."

"Then what are you doing here, Missy?" She stopped herself. "Sorry, M."

"No, it's just Missy. Austin called me M." She began to cry again. "I can't go on without Austin. You know what it's like, Mom. It's like he was my whole life."

Gwen felt ill. She'd just been given an F in demonstrating how to live to her very own daughter.

"I was going home, and Grandma told me you weren't there. She didn't say anything before and then to just come to her house because there was something I needed to know, and I'm like, tell me now, Grandma. It really scared me. And you were here. I got on the bus and came here because... What for?" Missy looked around the lounge. "What are you doing at Belmar?"

Gwen decided to ignore the disbelief in her daughter's voice. "I'm finishing my Associate's degree by taking a psychology class."

"Oh." Missy seemed to take in the room for the first time. "I guess it makes sense. You thought if Dad didn't come back you'd have to, you know, work. You must be the oldest person here."

"I'm sure I'm not."

Missy looked doubtful. "Well, it's just till December. And I talked to Dad." She smiled then, the first one Gwen had seen. "He was totally alone." Missy sighed. "Good thing, huh? You had nothing to do at home, and now you're, I guess, hanging out here, but whatever Dad had going, I think it's over. I didn't think so before, but I think he really could come back."

Gwen pictured Missy, all the amazing potential of her waiting in an empty house for Austin to come back. Over my dead body rolled through her head, followed by cold day in hell, and the worst, monkey see, monkey do. "I'm in the cooking program."

"You're what?"

She may, in fact, have all three cliches proven true about her. She may die trying and end up in hell looking like a monkey, but she had to defend herself for Missy's own good. "I have the top test score for second year students."

"Really?" Missy gave her the I'm humoring you look.

"I do."

"Well, that's nice."