“Nope. Not a one.”
She peeks between a gap in her fingers, eyes darting back and forth, assessing her surroundings. She drops her shaking hand. “I hate those things. They’re so creepy.”
“Do—” Charlene makes a chopping motion, cutting Sunny off.
“Let’s get you some new bras.”
Violet nods. We distract her with a pile of sexy clothes. While she’s in the changing room, I ask Charlene what that was all about.
“She’s terrified of dolls. I think she watched too much Chucky as a kid. Buck used to torment her with them when they were teenagers. He’d put them by her bed so when she woke up in the morning, one would be staring at her.”
Sunny frowns. “That’s not very nice.”
“They were kids.”
Alex calls while Violet’s in the changing room, and they have a video chat that everyone is privy to. Sunny leaves the area, uninterested in hearing Alex tell Violet how sexy she is.
Randy doesn’t call, and while I’m disappointed, I can’t help thinking it’s definitely better this way. If I hear from him on a regular basis, it won’t feel casual anymore. Some distance is a good thing. Sex is just sex. Feelings don’t have to be part of anything.
I fly back to Toronto with the Waters on Monday morning. We have to be at the airport ridiculously early, so I’m bitchy and tired by the time I get home. I’m cutting it close. I have a shift at the coffee shop at noon, and then I go straight to the rink at six. I’m in and out of the house in fifteen minutes, and Sunny drives me to work. I’m on my own to get to the rink after that, but it’s not a problem. Busses are frequent and plentiful in this town.
I check my messages on the ride home from the arena at the end of my day. Randy’s sent one, checking to see if I made it home okay. I send him a brief reply, but don’t invite further conversation.
It’s close to midnight by the time I get home. After a flight, a five-hour shift making coffee for stuck-up pricks, and four hours of teaching kids to skate, I’m beat. I hang my keys on the little hook in the front hall, kick off my shoes, and head for the kitchen. I need an unhealthy snack.
I scream at the sight of a man with back hair and a pair of gray boxer briefs gnawing on a chicken bone.
“Who the fuck are you?” I scramble to get my backpack off. My skates are in there. If nothing else, they’re heavy, so smacking him across the face will hurt. If I can get them out quick enough, they’re a decent weapon.
“Lily!” My mom grabs my bag out of my hand before I can heave it at the random guy in the kitchen.
“What the hell?” I turn to her, gesturing wildly between them. I realize it’s the same guy from last time—the one who caught me coming out of the shower while sporting morning wood. Shit. My mom’s got a new boyfriend. I wonder how long this one will last.
“This is Tim. He’s a friend of mine.”
“Why are you in your underwear?” I’m still yelling. I feel like my heart is about to slam right out of my chest. It’s then that I realize my mom is wearing her bathrobe. I bet she’s naked under there. Gross.
I’m too old to deal with this. I don’t need to know who my mom’s boning. If Sunny wasn’t talking about moving to Chicago, I’d say we should get an apartment now. I don’t want to be stuck here, witnessing my mom getting more action than I am. I have enough saved up to front first and last month’s rent. I can do it on my own if I have to. My mom’s talking while I’m thinking through a plan to move.
“I didn’t think you’d be home until tomorrow.”
“I told you I was coming back today. It’s on the calendar.” I point to the adorable kittens rolling around in a flowerbed. In red are the days I’m away. Today is marked with a big H for home.
“I must have gotten the dates wrong.”
“Whatever. I’m wiped. I’m going to bed. Nice to meet you, Tom.”
“It’s Tim,” my mom says.
“Night, Tim. Please wear pants in the future.”
“Uhhh…”
I don’t wait for actual words. I take my bag from my mom and carry it to my room. If this turns out to be more than half a dozen dates, I’m going to have to consider my options. I can’t go through another one of my mother’s boyfriend cycles. The guys she picks make Benji look like a damn saint.
***
Over the next week I don’t hear from Randy at all. I’d like to say I don’t perseverate on this, but I do. And I masturbate often to his pretty face. It’s not hard to pull up a pic of him on social media. I creep his Facebook page, but asking him to be friends would take us from casual to something else. We don’t want to do that, so creeping is as far as I’m allowing it to go.