Chapter 6
MALLORY
Which said fuck me better? The yellow lace or the red satin?
Both were newly purchased off the clearance rack just for tonight.
And Vegas. Wearing my ratty flannel robe, I stared at the options I put out on my bed before my shower.
I thought of Tom. From the photos I saw, he was handsome.
Bridge’s classroom was across the hall from his and she said he was nice.
Got along well with his students. A little goofy.
Bridge hadn’t said he was hot. Or sexy. Or had big dick energy. Or… well, she wouldn’t. Compared to Mav, Tom probably looked like a garden gnome to her.
“Done in the bathroom?” Maggie called through my closed bedroom door.
“Yes!”
My roommate and I had gone to high school together but hadn’t ever hung out.
But after college, I’d heard she was looking for a roommate to sublet because her old one had moved out.
I was desperate not to move in with my parents and jumped at the opening.
We were friendly, but not tight, which worked out fine.
As an agricultural rep, she traveled a fair amount.
Plus, she had a boyfriend who lived in Havre, a few hours away.
She stayed with him as much as she was here.
She’d been hinting at moving in with him because they’d gotten pretty serious, which meant I’d have to float the entire rent on my own.
A teacher’s salary wasn’t huge, and while it was consistent and had good benefits, renting solo would cost more than owning.
At least for the little house I had my eye on.
Mrs. Jonsdottir, who’d been a teacher at the elementary school for over forty years, had the cutest little place and I wanted it.
Bad.
Crazy bad. Hopefully Maggie could relocate to Havre at the same time I bought my dream house.
Mrs. Jonsdottir mentioned time and again that she wanted to sell and move closer to her children who’d long ago moved out of state. Every time I saw her, I reminded her I wanted to buy it from her, and she always said she’d talk to me first before she did anything. But she’d yet to sell.
In the meantime, I was saving hard for it and was careful with my expenses. Fortunately, for the Vegas bachelorette trip, I’d only needed to pay airfare and food. Hotel was covered.
I looked around my room. Even though I’d lived here for over a year, it felt…
temporary. I felt that way. Like I didn’t know where I belonged.
I needed something of my own. A place where I could paint the walls and walk around in my underwear.
That I could do with what I wanted. Or fuck who I wanted.
When I wanted it. And where. It wasn’t like I could get a guy to fuck me on Maggie’s mom’s hand-me-down kitchen table or over the back of the couch she’d picked up at the thrift store.
“I’m too old for this,” I muttered to myself.
I snagged the yellow lace panties, slipped them on. They didn’t say seductress. I was not one of those. I had no clue what I was doing outside of watching porn and pretending my vibrator was an actual dick.
Go-sh, I was so nervous! Dinner with Tom was one thing, but being with him alone? Naked? He would see me. Only me. I couldn’t hide behind my clothes or my sass or sarcasm. I wanted him to make me forget my own name.
“This is what happens, woman,” I said aloud to myself. I wasn’t getting a pep talk from my brother on this one. He knew about the date, but we didn’t talk about our sex lives. I made that easy by not having one. “Get your shit together. Get naked. Get some dick-made orgasms.”
After the pizza and pep talk the night before with Bridge, I’d coordinated via text with Tom for a date. Tonight. It was a school night, so neither of us were going to do anything wild and crazy. Well, I’d take wild and crazy as long as I was in bed by midnight.
By in bed, I meant asleep.
My cell rang and I grabbed it from the bedside table.
CHERYL.
“Fudge. Sugar. Dang. Carp. GAH!” I practically shouted. I hated to watch my cuss words, but if there was a time to swear, it was now.
She only called when she needed something, like money.
I glanced at the ceiling, then swiped the screen to answer her call. If I didn’t talk to her now, she wouldn’t stop. I wasn’t going to let her mess with my date.
“Hey, Cheryl,” I said, dropping onto my unmade bed.
“How’s my pumpkin?”
I rolled my eyes.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Does something have to be up? Can’t I want to talk to my only daughter?”
And it started.
“Yes,” I said. “How’re things? Dad?”
I could see her shrugging through the phone. “Fine. The shop was closed for two days. A water main burst down the street.”
“I heard about that.”
Small-town life meant nothing was a secret. When a tree fell on Bridge’s and Lindy’s house over the summer, news had spread within a few hours, and they’d had the entire town drive by to see it. I had to admit, it was a spectacle.
“Maybe you can stop by and visit with him since he’s been a little bored without anything to do while he was off.”
All he probably did was sit in his recliner, smoke, and watch TV, perfectly content.
“Sure.”
“Bring some beers with you. Oh, and a quart of milk. Eggs. OJ. Bread.”
She was out of money. Again.
“What happened to the extra cash I gave you at the beginning of the month with the rent?” I asked.
She sniffed. “There was a problem with the car and–”
“Dad fixes it at work.”
“Like I said, a water main broke.”
“So he couldn’t fix it because of the water main?”
“He was busy.”
“I thought you said he was bored.”
I couldn’t miss the huff through the phone.
“What’s with all the questions?”
“Because I paid your rent this month and gave you a little over. You should have enough for extras… and I don’t mean beer or your gin.”
“What are you saying, that I’m not working hard enough?”
So much for being her little pumpkin.
“My salary only goes so far. I’m paying my bills and yours.”
“All Miss High and Mighty now with that big job.”
“I’m a first-grade teacher, not a hedge fund manager. The resort offers you overtime, I’m sure.” If I had to pick up tutoring over the summer, she could add on some hours. “That’s time-and-a-half?”
“Overtime?” She spat out the word as if it was foul tasting. “Your father needs me home to feed him his dinner.”
“You mean open his beer,” I muttered to myself.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Why are you being so difficult?” I heard the familiar flick of a lighter, then a deep inhalation.
The amount the two of them spent on cigarettes a month could cover their food bill.
“After all the things we used our money on for you growing up, I’d think you’d be a little more grateful.
Do you have any idea what I could have become if it wasn’t for you? ”
There was the knife she always liked to poke me with, laced with the poison of guilt and passive aggressiveness. The same old story she told about how I was an accident. That I’d never been wanted and that I, personally and solely, ruined my mother’s life.
“Yes, I’m well aware you were to become the next top model or whatever it was, but you got pregnant with me and had to back out.”
“You took my beauty, the least you can do is–”
I’d heard enough of this week’s round of Mallory bashing. I was used to it, but it still sucked. “Just text me a list of groceries and I’ll see if I can drop them by tomorrow. I have to go.”
I hung up without saying goodbye, then tossed my phone aside, snagged the pretty yellow bra. My mother wasn’t going to change. Not unless there was a time machine and she swallowed.
“Shit!” I shouted at the ceiling, not caring about swearing. Let it go, Mal. Let it go.
Yes, let it go, because I had a history teacher to fuck.