Chapter 67 – Sheldon's Inquisition
Here's a universal truth about women:
When a woman says she's "not mad" — she's mad.
When she admits she's mad — she's absolutely furious.
Missy had claimed she'd only been angry for three months.
Ethan had done the math. The actual number was closer to a decade.
Because why else had every Christmas card gone unanswered? And whenever he called Mrs. Cooper, Missy was always "out." Every single time. For years.
In their quiet corner of the ballroom, the chandelier threw everything in warm amber light.
Missy had her chin propped in her hand, idly poking at her dessert like it had personally offended her.
"What are you thinking about?" Ethan asked.
"I'm thinking," Missy said lazily, "that if a man can spend his own wedding night making eyes at another woman — and his brand-new wife just pretends not to notice — maybe marriage is a terrible idea in general."
"Is this Miss Cooper's come-to-Jesus moment?" Ethan grinned.
"Didn't you once tell me that if you couldn't get into a good college, the best backup plan was marrying rich? Something about eating Red Lobster every night?"
"Second option was just dating a Red Lobster employee." Missy stabbed a piece of cake. "But honestly? Right now I'm thinking the Red Lobster guy might actually be the better deal."
She chewed, thoughtful.
"I used to think money fixed everything. Now I think it mostly just turns the volume up on whatever was already broken."
Ethan nodded. "That tracks."
Missy narrowed her eyes at him, took another slow bite of cake, clearly weighing something she hadn't said yet.
Ethan caught it. "What?"
"I'm just thinking," she said, a teasing edge creeping into her voice, "that you're never moving back to Texas. And knowing you — your five-year plan probably doesn't leave a lot of room for settling down with somebody ordinary. Like, say, a Red Lobster guy."
Ethan answered her plainly. "No. Neither of those things is likely."
Missy nodded once and let it go.
She set her fork down. "Let's not do this tonight."
She raised her glass. "Let's just keep celebrating."
"What exactly are we celebrating?" Ethan asked.
"Sarah." Missy smiled. "And her lifelong dream of marrying a man she is absolutely convinced is perfect husband material."
They clinked glasses.
The next morning, their cab pulled up in front of the apartment building.
They climbed the stairs, already making plans.
"I'm stopping at Penny's first," Missy said. "I want to borrow that foundation she has — the one that looks like you're not wearing anything but takes forty-five minutes to apply. She knows the one."
Ethan nodded. "Got it. I'll go change and mentally prepare for whatever Sheldon has waiting for me."
"If he asks where we were—" Missy raised an eyebrow, "tell him there was a thing with the groom. Keep it vague."
She tapped his arm and headed down the hall.
Ethan pushed open the apartment door.
The familiar smell of the place hit him — takeout containers, whiteboard markers, and the faint undertone of Howard's cologne. All four guys were inside.
Leonard, Howard, and Raj stood in a line in the living room, weirdly solemn. Sheldon stood opposite them like a judge who had already made up his mind.
The second Ethan walked in, Sheldon pivoted.
"Where were you two last night? You failed to return at a reasonable hour. While I want to be clear that I have absolutely no personal interest in this matter, I am Missy's brother, and I require a satisfactory explanation."
Ethan kept his voice even. "Sheldon, the groom had a little too much to drink and passed out. We stayed to help the bride sort through the wedding gifts and make sure everything was handled."
Sheldon's eyes went wide. "There was a gift-sorting segment?!"
He threw his hands up like he'd just missed a Powerball jackpot.
"Why was I not notified? I could have designed an optimal categorization and filing system! Color-coded by category, cross-referenced by sender!"
Right. Forgot who I was dealing with—
"It was ladies only," Ethan said quickly. "The guys had to babysit the groom. You would have been wasted on that end."
Sheldon considered this, apparently found it acceptable, and let it go.
Ethan looked past him at the lineup in the living room.
"Okay — what is this? Are you guys deciding who gets to be in a boy band?"
"Ethan! Perfect timing." Howard stepped forward with the particular brand of confidence that only a man in a turtleneck and belt buckle combo could project. "We are conducting a fair, transparent, and thoroughly unbiased competition to determine which one of us is best suited to pursue a romantic relationship with Sheldon's sister — the lovely Missy Cooper."
Raj nodded gravely, clearly treating this as a serious matter.
Leonard stood with his chest out, radiating the determined energy of a man who had thought about this more than he should have.
Ethan tossed his keys on the coffee table and rubbed his face.
"It has been thirty-six hours since Friday night. You couldn't find anything better to do? Did the hormones just completely take over?"
He looked at all three of them.
"And another thing — when you were all circling Missy on Friday, none of you thought to run it by Sheldon or me first. So why the sudden interest in family approval?"
Leonard cleared his throat importantly. "Because we've come to appreciate the significance of familial and social bonds. If a serious relationship is a possibility, the endorsement of close friends and family carries real weight." He straightened. "Sheldon, as Missy's biological brother, and you, as her primary social anchor in this zip code — your assessments matter."
Ethan pressed two fingers to his temple.
"All right. Listen up. First — Missy is a grown adult. Who she dates is entirely her decision. Sheldon and I don't get a vote. Second—" he paused, looking at each of them, "— as your friend, I'm telling you honestly: she may not be the right fit for any of you. Or more accurately — none of you may be equipped to handle her."
He let that land, then added, "Also, Leonard — aren't you in the middle of chasing Penny?"
"I am not 'in the middle of chasing Penny!'" Leonard said loudly. "Since when is that a thing?!"
"My mistake — I meant you're interested in Penny. You're giving that up now?"
Howard perked up immediately. "So I can pursue Penny?"
Leonard spun on him. "Absolutely not!"
Ethan thought: Eighteen years navigating this group and I still cannot follow the internal logic of how these guys handle romantic feelings.
He went to change.
When he came back out, all three were still hovering around Sheldon, apparently attempting to demonstrate their individual compatibility with Missy. Sheldon, for his part, looked like a man deeply enjoying himself.
"First—" Sheldon held up a finger and turned to Howard with the energy of a professor addressing a particularly disappointing thesis. "Mr. Wolowitz. You are a Jewish man in his late twenties who still lives with his mother and has, by every observable metric, never emotionally separated from her. Your behavioral patterns suggest you are categorically unprepared for a mature adult relationship."
Howard's mouth dropped open. "Hey! My mother says I'm very mature!"
Sheldon had already moved on.
"Second — Dr. Koothrappali." He pivoted to Raj. "You have a well-documented condition in which you are physiologically incapable of speaking to women without first consuming alcohol. Are you proposing that every date begin with a mandatory 'liquid courage' pre-game? Because that is neither romantic nor sustainable." He tilted his head. "Furthermore, regular alcohol consumption is clinically associated with reduced sperm motility, decreased count, elevated DNA fragmentation, and diminished conception probability. Denied."
Raj shot Ethan a desperate look.
Ethan gave him a small, apologetic shrug. There's nothing I can do for you, buddy.
Sheldon turned, finally, to Leonard. He paused — the pause of a man savoring the moment.
"And as for you, Dr. Hofstadter…"
He let it breathe.
"You experience significant gastrointestinal distress whenever you consume dairy products. Imagine the scene: you and Missy share a romantic hot fudge sundae at some charming little ice cream parlor — and then the lactose catches up with you." He shook his head solemnly. "The humiliation alone would be catastrophic."
Leonard went red. "It's lactose intolerance. Millions of adults have it!"
"That is correct. Many do." Sheldon reached behind his spot on the couch and produced, from seemingly nowhere, a single-serving slice of Kraft American cheese. He extended it toward Leonard with the gravity of a man presenting a gauntlet.
"Eat this. If you can guarantee zero gastrointestinal incident for the next sixty minutes—" he held eye contact, "— then you will have earned my conditional permission to date my sister."
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