"Oh, you caught that huh? Well a guy has got to try." Jamie winks at me as he places his hand on my back ushering me outside. I assume that wink and devilish grin of his has women melting into his arms, but as handsome as he is, I can only think of the man I left back in Chicago.
"Son of a bitch!" I hear a guy yell from the bar as we step out onto the street, and turn my head back to see what is happening. Unfortunately it is too dark inside and even as I squint my eyes they have already adjusted to the light outside. I shake my head and walk back with Jamie thinking I do need a nap because I kept smelling Henrik’s cologne in that bar.
Chapter 3
Morgana's Problem: Her Bathroom Break
Guess who is still my roommate as we begin week four of this program? That's right, it's Jamie. There was a glitch in the computer system that matched up roommates, which put him into the female category. Unfortunately, there are no spare rooms or spare roommates, so unless someone leaves the program, which I doubt will happen at this point, I am stuck with him.
My parents and grandma are visiting, along with Aria, and we are out at dinner at the restaurant at their hotel. My parents splurged on this trip and decided to stay in a fancy hotel, so the restaurant is four stars. Everything is dark gray circle patterned wallpaper along the walls and deep burgundy leather upholstering. The sleek lines and geometric patterns to the tiling on the floor and table runner give the dark coloring a lighter feel.
I'm studying the menu when I hear my dad bellow, "We are paying. I don't want to hear a word of protest and that goes for you too Aria. I am so proud of my baby girl. You set your mind to something all those years ago and here you are! Only thirty and in just a few weeks you will be an executive with Mimir."
Since we haven’t received our drinks yet, Dad raises his water glass; his navy suit jacket a little small for him as his sleeve rides up. His white shirt underneath looks brand new as it practically glows under the dim lighting like a flashlight. My mom must have made him buy a new shirt for the trip. His clothes, now that he is retired, consist of old worn tee shirts and sweatpants. I am assuming the navy blazer is from his working days.
"To my sweet daughter who is the strongest woman I know! But just in case I got you this." My mom, in a pretty floral print sweater and simple gold chain, raises her water glass but uses her other hand to dig into her purse to slide a small brown box toward me. I glance at Aria who frowns and shakes her head to let me know she has no idea what my mother bought me.
I open the gift and it's a small key ring with a red metal cylinder attached and a black plastic latch at the end.
"What is this?" I ask picking up the small object that has some weight to it.
The only thing I can think is it's a vibrator, but I am sure my mom would have given me that in private. We had the talk when I was ten, but at sixteen, we had the talk again. That time she gave me a vibrator and told me to learn my body. She explained that every woman is different, so if I ever expect a man to know what to do, I have to be able to show him what I like.
This conversation mortified me, of course. My eyes glued to the worn Barbie rug I had in my bedroom, while my face turned the color of the rug. I took the vibrator with shaky hands and a few days later my curiosity got the better of me, and I used my first vibrator, gifted by my mom, in my childhood bedroom. It was a bit of a mind-fuck at first, but I haven’t looked back since. I named him Ben and loved him as my first mechanical boyfriend. About five years ago, I had a funeral for him when he gave off some sparks and not the sexy kind.
He's buried next to my old pet fish in my parents’ backyard. I house sat that weekend while my parents went on vacation to The Dells in Wisconsin. I held the ceremony and Aria laid a white carnation in honor of Ben.
"It's pepper spray. You can never be too careful in a big city like New York, all alone." Mom looks at me meaningfully and pats my hand, and we all clink our glasses for the toast. A toast, to pepper spraying the shit out of someone. Huzzah!
"I lived in Chicago for years but you never gave me pepper spray while I lived there. Why now?"
"We lived right down the road. If you needed help you could always call us. But here, we are a two hour flight away, how can we help when you need us?"
My mom is shaking her head, looking at me like crazy is the new black, and so her logic should make total sense, before returning her attention back to the menu.
"Yes but..." The waiter arriving cuts off my rant.
We place our order. My father and I decide on the Prime Rib, while Grandma and Aria get the salmon, and my mom always has a burger. No matter how fancy we go, she will insist on a burger. Unless they serve hot dogs, then she will get a dog. Though I have a feeling she might turn her nose up at New York hot dogs. We passed a hot dog vendor while I took a walk with them earlier in the day and she snorted and rolled her eyes as he asked if we wanted a hot dog. I heard her mumble under her breath, “Nothing beats a Chicago dog.”