by Katie Ashley
Just like I was instructed in school, I inserted the cannula, or small tube, into the jugular. Once the blood was drained, it was then time to pump in the embalming fluid. I liked to use a mixture of formulas to ensure the finest finished quality. The death business was highly competitive, and even though we were the only funeral home in town, people wouldn’t hesitate to send their loved ones to the next county.
“You’re only as good as your last body,” my grandfather would say.
I had just started putting on the moisturizing skin rub on Mr. Peterson to even out the embalming fluid when a knock came at the door of the other preparation room. “Come in,” I called over my shoulder.
At the click-clack of heels on the linoleum, I knew it was my cousin, Jill. While she owned her own salon down on Main Street, she had been doing hair and makeup here at the funeral home since we were in high school. She was two years older than me and was the wild-assed sister I’d never had.
“I just finished up with Mrs. Laughton.”
I glanced up to give her a wry smile. “Do we have any hairspray left?”
Jill snorted. “Maybe a little. I’m pretty sure I just contributed to the further depletion of the ozone layer. Not to mention I jacked that shit so high you might not get the casket lid closed.”
I laughed at Jill’s description considering how Mrs. Laughton was as well known for her bouffant hair style as she was her blue-ribbon chocolate pies.
Jerking her chin at Mr. Peterson, Jill asked, “You almost done with him?”
“I just finished putting on the buffer.”
“Good. You better let Todd do the casket transfer, so you can go get ready.”
Instantly my mood deflated. “Oh damn.”
“Don’t tell me you forgot about your mother’s shower?” Jill asked.
“I didn’t forget. I just have selective amnesia where it’s concerned.”
Jill crossed her arms over her purchased Double D’s. “I thought you were cool with your mom getting remarried.”
Three years after my father’s death, my mother had finally abandoned her widow’s weeds and started dating Harry Livingston—a retired mortician who I often brought in to help when we were slammed with bodies. After a year of dating, Harry had popped the question, and my mother had happily accepted. Don’t get me wrong. I was happy for her. She deserved all the happiness in the world, as did Harry who had lost his wife the year my dad died. But was there a small part of me that tap-danced with the green-eyed monster of jealousy that my mother was getting married a second time before I did the first? Sure. I mean, I’m only human.
What really had me wigged out was attending tonight’s lingerie shower. Any eternally single girl would rather walk on hot coals than attend a bridal shower of any sort. Make it your mother’s lingerie shower, and it was a whole new level of torture.
“I am totally cool with her and Harry getting married. It’s just been a hell of a day after the craziness at the Brown funeral, so the last thing I want to deal with is her cronies and their endless barrage of questions about my marital status.”
“Yeah, I heard about the brawl.”
“It was hardly a brawl.”
Jill shrugged her shoulders. “That’s just what Bessie Thompson told me when she came in for color.”
I rolled my eyes once again at how fast the fires of gossip were fanned when you lived in a small town. By the end of the day, people would probably be saying that someone had been pistol-whipped after flashing their junk or something bizarre like that. “Trust me. It wasn’t a brawl, and it’s been taken care of.”
“I told Bessie I wasn’t too surprised they showed their asses considering they’re from Summit Ridge. Nothing but a bunch of meth-heads or rich snobs come from there.”
“Not all people from Summit Ridge are bad. Besides, we’ve had our fair share of people from here showing themselves,” I argued.
“Whatever. I knew they were going to be trouble after you told me how the wife wore all those diamonds but tried to be a cheapshit when it came to the casket and vault. I’m just glad you got to say ‘Bye Felicia’ to that epic twatwaffle.”
I laughed. “You know as well as I do that it isn’t truly over until the bill is paid.” I put the cap back on the lotion and went over to the sink to wash my hands. I threw a glance at Jill over my shoulder. “Will you go remind Allen that he’s in charge of the Laughton viewing since Mama and I will be gone?”
“Sure will.”
“Thanks. I need to run on home and get ready.”
“Why don’t I come with you and do your hair and makeup?” Jill suggested.
“Do you really think that’s necessary? It’s not like I’m going clubbing.”
“But you could after the shower. After all, there will be a fresh crop of men up there.” When I started to protest, Jill shook her head. “Men who know nothing about your sexual history. Men who you don’t ever have to see again after you’ve taken their dick for a spin.”
I couldn’t help snorting at Jill’s summation. She did have a point. My mother’s shower was being held at her best friend’s cabin an hour away. The cabin was way up in the mountains and almost on the Georgia/Tennessee border. I didn’t know a single soul from there. “I’m pretty sure they don’t have clubs up there.”
“Maybe not, but I sure as hell bet they have a bar.” Jill waggled her auburn-colored brows. “You could find someone to help end your sex drought.”
As I dried my hands, I considered what Jill was suggesting. The irrational side of me thought it made perfect sense. Of course, I very rarely listened to my irrational side. “I don’t know.”
“Come on, Liv. You swore that you would end the drought before your thirtieth birthday, and now you’re two months over and still nada.”
“I’m well aware of that.”
“So do something about it before you end up with a plastic yeast infection from your vibrator.”
I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Um, ew.”
Jill laughed. “Sorry. But you know me. I tell it like it is.”
“Yes, unfortunately.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m coming home with you to do your hair and makeup.” At what must’ve been the wounded look in my eyes, she added, “Not that you don’t do a great job yourself. It’s just you need something special for tonight.”
“Okay. Fine.”
“Then I’ll pick you out something sexy that you can change into when you leave the shower.”
“You aren’t coming along on the manhunt?”
Jill shook her head. “Chase is coming by at nine. I’ve been instructed to be wearing nothing but my black hooker heels.”
Chase was Jill’s on-and-off again boyfriend. Well, he was actually her ex-husband, but they just couldn’t seem to quit each other. It wouldn’t surprise me one day if she called in from Vegas to tell me they’d gotten remarried.
My rational side began arguing how dangerous it was to go out alone, but then I tried reminding it that I carried a gun and had been through self-defense training. I would make sure to only have one drink to calm my nerves and to make sure I didn’t accept anything to drink from a man.
“All right. I’ll do it.”
Jill’s green eyes widened. “Oh. My. God. Really?”
I laughed. “Yes, really.”
She squealed and threw her arms around me. “You’ve just made my day, Livvie!”
“I’m so glad that me having sex with a stranger makes your day.”
Jill pulled back and winked at me. “You getting some for the first time in almost seven years is enough to make more than my day. Hell, it makes my week.”
With a shake of my head, I pulled out of her embrace. “Come on. We need to get going.”
In a sing-song voice, Jill said, “Olivia’s gonna get some dick!”
Oh, lord. It was going to be a long, long night.
I’m pretty sure when Dante penned The Inferno with its nine levels of Hell, he
couldn’t fathom such horror as I currently found myself in. I’m sure if he could have, he would have deemed it necessary to devote another level just for me—my very own tenth circle of Hell. No, I wasn’t frozen in a lake of ice or encapsulated in flaming tombs. Instead, I was being forced to watch my fifty-seven-year-old mother unwrap gifts of heat-activated body oils, edible underwear, and toys of the vibrating nature. No one, and I sure as hell mean no one, should ever have to imagine their mother using such things, least of all see them in her hands while she flushed crimson and giggled like a school girl.
“Won’t Harry look sexy in these?” she asked, holding up a pair of bikini briefs in one hand while fanning herself with the other.
At that moment, I literally threw up in my mouth some of the decorative penis cake I had just eaten (Instead of the typical icing flower, I’d ingested part of the balls). The sugary bits of scrotum burned my throat. I realized then that regardless of how much of an asset he was to the funeral home, I was going to have to fire my future stepfather. There was simply no way in hell I could successfully embalm a body across from him while imagining him sporting red bikini briefs under his work apron. Come to think of it, I could never hand off an Anal/Vaginal plug to him without wondering if he had actually used the “Fun Factory Booty” butt plug my mother’s oldest friend had given her.
Needing something to drink in more ways than one, I rose out of my seat and started for the kitchen. As much as I wanted to drown my sorrows, I had to pace myself if I was going to be able to go man-hunting after the shower. Not only that, but considering the cabin was out in East Bumblefuck, I needed to be on my game to find my way around.
I was splashing some vodka into my cranberry juice when I was unceremoniously knocked out of the way by my grandmother’s cane. “Where the hell is my Fireball?” After she eyed the liquor bottles on the table, she huffed in frustration. “I guaran-damn-tee one of those alleged teetotaler Garrett girls stole it.”
Yes, ladies and gentleman, that pint-sized, foul-mouthed, octogenarian with teased silver hair and a chaw of snuff in her jaw was none other than my grandmother, Pease. Her real name was Eloise but very few people actually called her that. She even insisted on her grandchildren calling her Pease, rather than your typical “grandma” or “nana.” It was just one of the many aspects of vanity that she possessed. Being called “grandma” meant you were old, and that was the last thing she wanted to be.
You would never know it by looking at Pease, but back in the day, she’d actually been a debutante who had come out at the exclusive Piedmont Driving Club in Atlanta. Of course, considering she liked to do everything to excess, she hadn’t really fit into the society circle.
When she set her sights on my grandfather, he never stood a chance. He was everything she wasn’t—a quiet, reserved guy from a poor mountain family who was at college on a football scholarship. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he looked like Paul Newman. She left her highfaluting family, as she called them, and never looked back, even when my grandfather blew out his knee and decided on becoming a mortician.
“I’m going to need another drink if I make it through the afternoon. I mean, having all this sex bullshit shoved in my face just makes me remember that it’s been five years since I’ve gotten any.”
“Granddaddy died fifteen years ago,” I corrected.
Pease pursed her lips at me. “I’m well aware of that.”
“Then that means…um, ew,” I replied.
Pease rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Olivia, if you don’t stop being a prude, you’re never going to get rid of those cooter cobwebs of yours.”
I bit my tongue to keep from telling her that I planned on having my alleged “cooter cobwebs” swept squeaky clean tonight. Instead, I splashed a little more vodka in my cup.
When I came back into the living room, my mother was holding up her final gift, and fucking hell was it a doozy. A pair of red pasties with matching crotchless panties. She waved them at me as she waggled her brows. “Look, Olivia.”
Yes, I see it. All the bleach in the world couldn’t wipe out that image from my eyes. I forced a smile to my face. “Harry’s not going to know what hit him,” I said, as I took the empty seat beside her.
She giggled. “Before we leave for the honeymoon, I’m going to have make double sure he has his heart pills packed. Wouldn’t want to give him a heart attack.”
The allusion of a sex-induced heart attack instantly made me think of Eric, and an ache spread through my chest. I bit my lip and ducked my head.
Mama leaned over to take my hand in hers. “Oh, Livvie Boo, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking,” she apologized.
“It’s okay.”
Thankfully, the rest of her friends were too busy hooting and hollering at the gifts they were passing around to notice our conversation. She placed her fingers under my chin and tilted my head to look at her. “You know, I’d give anything in the world if it was you getting married instead of me.”
“Aw, Mama, you don’t mean that.”
She shook her head. “I do. More than my happiness, I want you to be happy.”
“But I am happy,” I protested.
Mama pinched her lips together in disapproval. “It’s not polite to lie to your mother.”
“I’m not lying. I’m perfectly happy with my life.”
Okay, so I was lying through my teeth. I wasn’t just desperate to be boned. I was even more desperate to have someone to call my own. For spooning while sleeping in on Saturday mornings. For mundane conversations over homemade chicken and dumplings. For arguing over what to watch on television—football or Lifetime. For shuttling our children between sports practice and dance lessons. For all the little things that made average lives extraordinary.
Although at times I wanted to throw my arms up, toss my head back, and scream to the heavens, “WHYYYYY?!”, I refrained. While I could have easily sunk deeper into the quicksand of my pity party, I chose to clamber my way out of the abyss. After all, this was supposed to be my mother’s happy time. She’d been through enough after losing my father that she shouldn’t have to see me limping along from a broken spirit.
“Seriously, Mama, I’m fine. I haven’t given up hope that one day my prince will come. Right now, he’s probably just being held captive in some foreign prison.”
While she didn’t appear to be completely satisfied by my argument, she did manage to give me a smile. “I pray every day, sweetheart. There’s nothing more that I want in life than to see you and Allen settled.”
“Now it’s your turn not to lie. Secretly, you want us to get married, so we can give you grandbabies.”
At the mention of my brother and me procreating, my mother’s dark blue eyes sparkled with pleasure. “Okay, so maybe I’m dying for a grandbaby…or three,” she replied, with a giggle.
“If it makes you feel better, I’ve been toying with the idea of having my eggs frozen. You know, to be able to use later on in case the man doesn’t show up.”
My mother’s happiness instantly evaporated. “That’s not what I had in mind.”
Pease poked my mom’s leg with her cane. “What about that, Maureen? You can start telling everyone you’re expecting a grandbaby as soon as it thaws out.”
Mama rolled her eyes. “Excuse me that I don’t get excited over the prospect of a grandcicle.”
Pease chortled. “As much as Allen dips his wick with stray ass, you’ll be a grandmother before you know it.” When both Mama and I shot her a horrified look, Pease shrugged. “It’s the truth.”
“I don’t even want to ask how you know about Allen’s love life,” Mama said.
With a wink, Pease replied, “I never reveal my sources.”
“Thank God,” I murmured, which earned me a whack on the knee from Pease’s cane.
“Ow!”
“I’d pay good money if my sources had anything juicy to reveal on you,” she harrumphed.
“Leave Olivia alone, Eloise,” Mama warned.
> Pease leaned in on her cane. “I’m just stating facts about Olivia’s lack of a love life.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose as a headache began to form. I began to repeat Do not bitch slap your grandmother. Do not bitch slap your grandmother in my head. “I need some Advil,” I said, rising to my feet.
“Oh, don’t be such a candy ass, Livvie. You know I was only teasing,” Pease called as I started back to the bedroom where the coats and purses were.
Resisting the urge to shoot her a bird, I chose the high road instead and ignored her. As I started in the bedroom, Jill was shrugging into her coat. “Are you leaving?”
“Yeah, I better hit the road if I’m going to make it back in time to meet Chase.”
“I think I’ll follow you out.”
My words sent her hips gyrating into some epic pelvic thrusts. “Ooh, yeah baby, Livvie’s gonna get her some.”
“Shh!” I hissed as I threw a panicked glance over my shoulder to make sure Mama or Pease hadn’t followed me.
“Any ideas where you’re going to go?”
“I was thinking about doing a Google search. See if anything is around here.”
“Well, good luck on that one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It’s just I didn’t notice anything on the drive up here.”
“It’s been my experience that no matter how backwoods a place is, there is always a watering hole somewhere.”
“Let’s just hope at this ‘watering hole’, as you call it, there’s a moderately decent looking guy with a working cock.”
I grinned. “Fingers crossed.”
After leaving Mama’s shower, I pulled over at a Texaco station about a mile from the cabin. It wasn’t for gas but to change into my sexy attire to hit a bar. Jill had deemed my wardrobe “too matronly”, so she had promised to bring me a dress from her closet to the shower. And hot damn, Jill had really come through for me on a flaming red dress with spaghetti straps that hit mid-thigh. I loved the heels the most with their crisscrossing rhinestone straps.
I realized I’d made a serious mistake with my choice when after finding the outside bathroom locked, I was given the key, which was attached to a toilet seat lid. “Please tell me I’m not supposed to use this on the commode?” I questioned.
