by Kate Gilead
“I don’t think I want to do it in his trailer though,” I say, frowning.
She makes a face. “I don’t blame you. You’ll know when it’s right. But sleeping with him won’t put him off, trust me. There are lots of people in long marriages who slept together on the first date. There’s not some magic time frame or formula.”
“Okay. And what if I sleep with him and he walks away after?”
“What if he does? Then you’ll know the truth and move on.”
I don’t like it, but I nod, knowing she’s right.
She’s watching my face.
“Everything has risk, sweetie. Just remember, talk about health status beforehand. Use protection if in doubt.”
“What if he lies about having an STD, just to get sex?”
“Jennifer, I don’t think he will. No decent man would do that. A desperate scumbag maybe, but if you think Blake is a desperate scumbag, why would you want him?”
“Good point. But Mom…what if I sleep with him and then he goes back to California anyway?”
“Again…what if he does? Look, a man will make reasonable changes to his plans––or make room in his plans––for the right woman.”
“How do I know I’m the right woman?”
“He’ll know, because of your standards. Expect sterling treatment from him and walk away if you don’t get it. Right? Be less available. Never be at his beck and call. If you remember, with your dad, I always kept myself busy. And he’d always come to me, seek me out, one way or another.”
I nod. “I do remember.”
“Yes. Don’t always be texting or calling him or contacting him, unless you really have to. Don’t blather at him, don’t pester him unduly.”
“I never do any of that. I’m always busy. I’ve never chased after any of my boyfriends.”
“I didn’t think you would, I’m just saying. Oh, and also, try to mostly be the first to say goodnight, the first to end the call or date or encounter. Keep busy, have your own life. I think the key is really to maintain some mystery about yourself.”
“But…he’s seen my ass! And you’re saying, sleep with him? Where’s the mystery there?”
“That’s not what I’m talking about. I mean, don’t blather every thought, every impulse, every detail about your day to him constantly, you know? It’s boring. And don’t be mooning around waiting for him to pay attention to you.” She crosses her eyes and makes a daft, swoon-y expression. “Make him wonder what you’re thinking, and doing, sometimes.”
I giggle. Mom’s really on a roll tonight! “Yeah. I gotcha. I’m just not sure how to be unavailable to my boss. I’m at his beck and call at work as it is.”
Finished her meal, she wipes her mouth and puts her knife and fork on her plate.
“Well, that’s a different ‘beck and call’ and he knows it. He’s not confused about that. Just be yourself with being a kiss-up.”
“Well, that’s what I do anyway. Maybe I got that from you, or maybe, it’s just how I am.”
“Either way, I bet that’s a big part of the reason he’s attracted to you in the first place.”
“You think so? Well it’s nice to know I did something right.”
“You do lots of things right! Besides, who said you have to be perfect? Don’t put yourself down. It’s not good for your mental health.”
We smile at each other. “We haven’t had a talk like this in…geez, I don’t even know. A long time.”
“I know.” She pauses. “I feel good. I think it was good for my mental health.”
“Mine, too. Thanks, Mom.”
“Anytime, hon. I’ll load the dishwasher while you clear up, okay?”
Chapter Eight
Jenny
That was the best talk I’ve had with my mother for years. It’s also the first time she’s given me what I’d call real, actual womanly advice, talking to me matter-of-fact, woman to woman.
Seeing her so getting so engaged in conversation, being so opinionated, was truly wonderful. What a contrast with the gray, quiet shadow of a woman she’s been since my father’s death.
She spent so many of my teenage years in a state of stress, working and looking after my sick father, that we missed out on doing a lot of the mother-daughter things we should have.
I didn’t even realize that she had such strong opinions about men, and relationships.
Not that I’m one-hundred-percent on board with all her opinions. But, they do seem to make sense.
What made me really happy was the way she talked, getting more and more interested, and animated, with more sparkle in her eyes.
I can’t remember the last time she had so much to say about anything.
Clearly, men aren’t the only ones who need to be needed.
She does, too. Her career as a home nurse is her vocation, a true calling. She didn’t have to work outside the home but she wanted something rewarding to do with her time. And those skills helped her nurse my father through his illness and death, with extraordinary devotion.
Maybe she’ll finally get rid of the hospital bed and all the equipment for home-care she she’s still keeping in his sick-room. She’s mentioned a few times that she could sell all that and turn the room back into a spare room; take a boarder in for some extra money.
Maybe she’ll actually do something about that now.
I watch her bend to put some dishes into the dishwasher, and her face makes a wince of pain. She has to help her patients into and out of their beds and tubs or showers, and it hurts her back and feet more and more all the time.
Truth is, she’s getting a little old for it, but she’s not ready to give up her beloved career just yet.
We clean up the dinner dishes, our talk dwindling away into silence. It’s always a companionable silence, but this time, it’s more…peaceful, somehow.
I’ve left my mother out of the loop of my life for too long, out of respect for her grieving and because I was grieving, too.
We were there for each other in most ways, as best as we could be, given the circumstances.
But grief is such a big emotion, I guess it tends to crowd out everything else.
Maybe we’ve turned a corner now, and it’s about time. I think Dad would be happy about that.
Finished with the cleaning up, I give her a hug, and thank her again. She hugs me back, squeezing hard. “You’re welcome, Jenny. My pleasure.” She puts her hands on both sides of my face, wrinkles her nose, and then, laughing, she rubs her nose on mine, like she used to when I was a kid.
The way her face scrunches up when she laughs always makes me laugh, too.
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you too, baby.” Still smiling, she pushes a lock of my hair behind my ear, squeezes my arm, and then heads into the family room to watch TV, humming happily as she goes.
Feeling pretty good now, I go up to my bedroom and flop on my bed with my phone. I’m anticipating Blake’s call while trying not to be too wound up or invested in it.
But of course, I want him to call. So much, it’s like I’m on high alert or something.
Yeah, I’m getting too invested. Damn it.
Looking around for something to take my mind off him, I suddenly see––really see–– how messy my room has gotten since I started this job. Papers, bags, scarves, shoes, assorted piles of dirty laundry, God knows what-all.
Is that a plate there, peeking out from under a pair of leggings? And I know there are a couple of dirty tea cups lurking in here somewhere.
Ugh! This is so not like me. It wasn’t even this bad after Dad died. No, college, and then, my job, have really taken a toll.
It’s not, like, a bug-infested hoard or anything, but it sorely needs tidying. I need to take control before it gets any worse.
Now that I have the day off tomorrow, I could clean up this mess. And clean my bathroom, too, while I’m at it.
Actually, I can start right now. Don’t they say that taking control of their environment ma
kes people feel better immediately? Hell, maybe I’ll get a decent night’s sleep tonight too.
First, I seek out and bring all the dirty dishes downstairs, loading them into the dishwasher.
Back in my room, I tackle the laundry, shaking it out, sorting it into wash loads and stuffing them into my hamper. Once that’s done, it’s amazing how much tidier my room looks already. That gives me the inspiration to tackle the papers, most of which are work-related and can either be recycled or be taken in to work and filed away.
I busy myself doing that and then, move on to the shoes, belts, hair bands and accessories strewn around all over the place. I put them neatly in their stands on my dresser or on their proper hooks in the closet.
Now, all that’s left is to straighten up my nightstand, vanity and dresser top, which takes no time at all.
Even more motivated now, I give all the surfaces a proper, dusting and then vacuum everything, including the baseboards. Under my bed, among the dust bunnies, I find a sock, some hair scrunchies, a phone case that I got for Christmas and one of Dog’s mouse toys.
Surveying my room with satisfaction, I decide that I’ve done enough for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll do the laundry and clean my bathroom.
Dog meows outside my door. I open it and he comes part way in and then stops, looking around comically, as if he doesn’t recognize the place. “Rrrr?” His lamp-like eyes glow up at me.
“Oh come on! Don’t act like I never clean my room, dude,” I tell him.
He blinks up at me and lashes his tail, as if to refute any notion that he gives a shit.
I pick him up and cuddle him, and when I put him down, he makes a beeline for the mouse toy. He picks it up and brings it back to me, dropping it at my feet.
I throw it for him and he gallops after it clumsily. One of his favourite games, he plays fetch with as much enthusiasm as any actual dog…although, probably not as gracefully.
One last throw and the mouse lands on the other side of my bed. Dog tries to jump up, but somehow manages to miss and ends up hanging on to my comforter with his claws, his weight slowly pulling it downwards and then right off the bed.
He just hangs there and lets himself fall, as if resigned to his fate. I watch, delighted, as the comforter lands on top of him, covering him completely.
For a few seconds, he stays completely still underneath the comforter. Then he spazzes out, making darting motions back and forth and mewing loudly. Giggling, I pull it off him and put it back on my bed. A few clumps of fur float in the air.
“Thanks, Dog. I just vacuumed in here!” I grumble.
He looks at me, tail lashing, then sits and washes a paw as if nothing happened. Silly kitty! I actually manage to forget, for a time, that I’m waiting for Blake to call.
And that’s exactly when it happens. Except, it’s a text, not a call.
Blake: Hi. You there?
I wait for a second, not too long, and respond.
Me: Hi.
A moment goes by.
Blake: How you feeling?
Me: Much better, thanks.
Blake: Good! That was a rough day today.
Me: Yep. Thanks for giving me the day off tomorrow.
Blake: You’re welcome. Although if you want to come in and “work” in my trailer, that’d be cool. So would a shorter skirt LOL!
Of course I’ll never hear the end of this, now. But, I’m smiling.
Me: Argh…you just gotta rub it in, don’t you?
Blake: Yes. Yes, I do. But the truth is, you looked beautiful today.
Oh, wow. I know I looked like hell today. He even said I looked “waxy”. Foolishly, instead of giving him points for trying, I type:
Me: You saying “waxy” is a good look for me?
A minute or so goes by. Uh oh.
Blake: Ouch. No, Jenny. That was just…at that moment.
Oh shit. Then,
Do you have to second-guess me when I’m trying to admire you?
I think about what to say but before I can come up with anything, this appears:
I don’t like having my compliments deflected. Didn’t your mother teach you the proper way a lady takes a compliment?
There he goes again. One minute, making me melt, the next, being crusty. Well, I don’t like him shaking his finger at me. I get enough of that at work.
Me: Are you disparaging my mother now?
A few seconds go by.
Blake: No. That’s just an expression. I’m trying to compliment you, make you feel good, not disparage anyone. Jesus, Jennifer.
Sigh. I’m such an idiot sometimes!
Me: Okay, okay…I’m sorry. It’s just hard to imagine myself as any way attractive today. But thank-you for your kind compliment.
No response.
Shit.
Anxiety grips my chest. Yup. Batting a thousand here.
A few minutes go by while I draw a blank on what to do next.
Then, my phone rings.
It’s him.
“Hello,” I answer, a touch guardedly.
“I did say I was going to call you, so…here I am. Maybe we could start over and pretend the texting didn’t happen.” His tone is dry but not angry. Thank God!
Relief blooms in my chest. “I appreciate that, Blake. Texting’s not my strong point, so, thank you.”
“No problem. I’ll give you a pass…this time, Miss Gordon. Or…do you prefer ‘Ms’?”
“Actually, no. ‘Miss’ is fine with me.”
“Oh, really? Interesting. Alright, listen sweetie. I’m calling to arrange a date. Except, it’s more like, I’m telling, not asking.”
“Oh, a caveman-style date invitation?”
“Sure, if you like. Of course, you can always say no.”
“Well, I’m not saying yes until I know what it entails.”
“Heh.” His chuckle is so warm and intimate, it makes me feel all loose in my belly. “I want you to go see my parents’ family doctor and let him take a look at you. Just, see what he thinks. The visit will be on me. Would you do that for me?”
Aww! I’m touched. “But…I…that’s pretty expensive, isn’t it Blake? I mean, in a couple weeks I should have insurance of my own.”
“Yeah, but I checked into it. You’ll still have a fairly hefty co-pay. And, if there’s something more than a migraine going on, it could worsen before it gets looked at.”
“I really don’t think….” I start to refuse, to explain again that it’s nothing more than a migraine.
But what my mother said about men needing to be needed is fresh in my mind.
Maybe there’s no real problem here, but what would it hurt to let him work on it anyway?
If this is a traditional-male or, I dunno, “alpha” thing, it’s gonna take some getting used to, I suppose. I cough, buying time to re-frame my response.
“I really don’t think that’s such a bad idea, actually,” I say. “Better safe than sorry, right?” I let him hear the smile in my voice.
“Look, it’s not such a big…wait, pardon? Did you say okay? Are you saying okay?”
He sounds so funny, a giggle escapes me. “Yes, I’m saying okay.”
“Thank you!” he says, laughing too. “I thought for sure you’d say no and we’d have a big argument. I was prepared to come drag you if I had to.”
“Well I almost did say no but…when you’re right, you’re right.”
“That’s my girl. Thank you for letting me do this.”
That’s my girl?!? Wow!
I’m his girl now? And, he’s thanking me for letting him do this for me.
He’s pleased as punch. “I was able to get you in tomorrow at four-thirty, the last appointment of the day. I’ll text you the particulars when we’re done.”
“Okay, well…wow Blake! Thank you for doing this for me! I really appreciate it, it’s very good of you.” I make sure he can hear that I mean it in my voice.
“You’re very welcome, Jenny. Now, after the appointment, I’d like to
make you dinner. If you’re feeling up to it, that is. Not at the trailer. At my parent’s place, which is about twenty minutes out of town. They’re traveling at the moment, so we’ll have the place to ourselves. Would you be interested?”
Hell yeah! “I’d love to.”
“Awesome! Okay, so, I need to know then…how do you like your steak?”
“Steak? Mmm, sounds nice. I like my steak to be still moo-ing.”
“Heh. Alright. Rare it is.” He goes quiet for a moment, but I can hear him fidgeting. Then: “I…Jenny…the way things happened at the trailer today…well, it was far from ideal. Obviously. But whether you believe it or not, I wouldn’t change a thing.” Pause. “I can’t wait to see you again.”
His voice is so soft and intimate, once again it makes my pulse pound. Jesus, he makes me so horny…and scared. Scared of the intensity, afraid of a broken heart.
That reminds me about Mom’s advice to always be the first to end a phone call.
“Same here, Blake.” I pause for a second. “Thank you again for being so sweet and good to me today and for taking care of the doctor’s appointment. I’ve got to run now, but you deserve a big smooch for all this. I can’t wait to deliver it in person.”
“Oh…you gotta go? Okay. Well I can’t wait to take delivery of your smooch. I hope you sleep well! And enjoy your day off tomorrow. Nite nite.”
“Nite, Blake.”
As soon as I hang up, I run downstairs and tell my Mom, who high fives me, laughing and enjoying my excitement.
Chapter Nine
Blake
After getting off the phone with Jennifer, I sit back and put my feet up on my desk. On my computer screen, the day’s news feed scrolls past. I look at it but don’t see it.
All I want to think about is her.
I lace my fingers behind my head, close my eyes and re-play the day’s events.
Poor girl! This was such a bad day for her. Being sick, and vulnerable at work…then showing me her ass by accident! I laugh out loud again. Ahh, she was so funny and cute…and she has no idea.
She doesn’t have a damn thing to be ashamed of. Her vulnerability was very touching. And her ass….spectacular!
