Texting My Valentine

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

TORI

“ I ’m deciding for you. You need to get laid.”

I roll my eyes at Cleo’s latest outrageous statement. You’d think I would’ve built a tolerance to her don’t-give-a-single-fuck attitude by now, but her brashness still shocks me sometimes.

She tosses her fiery red hair, puckering her lips. “Or shall we start slow?”

“That is so gross,” I mutter. “I’m going to pretend I don’t know what you mean by that.”

“You can pretend all you want.” Cleo grins, in her element. “But the fact is, you’re stressed. And there’s only one surefire way I know to deal with the ups and downs of life… you go down on a?—”

“Oh, please.”

I’m relieved when Lily cuts in. She’s the yin to Cleo’s yang. She met her man in high school, and they’ve been sweethearts ever since. They’re engaged to be married this summer. She’s sitting at my vanity unit, brushing her long blonde hair.

She’s like a princess, whereas Cleo has more of a sensual ‘party girl’ vibe going on. Me? I’m the in-between chick. I’d call myself artistic, but even my friends don’t know about my secret hobby.

“No,” Lily continues, “She doesn’t need a string of one-night stands. She needs love.”

Cleo mimes puking. “Just because you found your Romeo doesn’t mean the same tactic will work for the rest of us. Some of us lowly women…”

Cleo pauses, wincing when there’s a crash in the next room: Mom’s bedroom. She raises her voice, yelling down the phone. “What do you mean we can’t move in?”

Cleo raises an eyebrow at me.

“Ignore it,” I say, my cheeks burning. “Go on with whatever you were going to say.”

“We have to content ourselves with… how shall I put it? Therapeutic bouncing on pogo sticks.”

I laugh. Now it’s Lily’s turn to mime a healthy dose of disgust.

“Don’t listen to her.” Lily spins in the chair, facing me. “You don’t need that. You need love.”

From the next room, Mom yells, “Maybe I will find somebody else! Somebody who appreciates me! Somebody who doesn’t have a secret wife!”

Lily lowers her voice. “Do you want to go and talk to her?”

“So we can discuss her latest disaster?”

I feel like a bitch when I say this. But jeez, what else am I supposed to say? We’re in here discussing my love life—or lack thereof—while Mom goes through another dynamite breakup. It’s the same routine, always has been, always will be, it seems.

She finds an inappropriate man, moves too fast, and then acts shocked when it ends in disaster.

My guilt twinges when I hear her crying loudly from the next room.

“I really think you should talk to her,” Lily says softly.

“It’s fine.”

“Either way,” Cleo goes on. “Your boss is pretty cool, Tori, but this Valentine’s texting night is the best thing she’s ever come up with.”

She’s talking about the Valentine's event at the bar where I work. The concept is simple. Men and women who are intent on a meeting with Cupid put their cellphone numbers into bowls, then text until love, apparently, blossoms.

“Did it ever occur to you that I got the night off so I didn’t have to go to work?”

Cleo shrugs. “It’s not our fault it’s turned out to be the hottest event in the city. Anyway, we have to go somewhere .”

“It could be fun,” Lily mutters.

“So now you’re ganging up on me?” I grumble.

Lily giggles, leaving my vanity unit, and pinches my cheeks. She shapes my mouth into a smile. “It should be illegal to be so grumpy on Valentine’s night.”

Mom’s crying grows louder.

“Tori…” Cleo presses.

“I know, I know.”

I stand up, mentally noting that my reluctant tone won’t win me any Daughter of the Year awards. Walking through our apartment, I try to turn myself into the sympathetic person Mom needs.

It’s difficult. I won’t lie.

Before Dad passed away, he and Mom were involved in a messy divorce. If I ever had any misconceptions about what love was or could be, they fixed that fast.

Mom is sitting on the edge of her bed, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shuddering as she sobs.

“I’m fine,” she whimpers.

She sounds like a child, as she often has throughout the years. The notion frequently occurs to me that I’m the one who has to parent her. Talk about a breeding ground for resentment. But I try to keep that at bay.

Whatever else is true about us, we’re family.

I sit beside her and place my hand on her arm. “What happened?”

“It turns out my Prince Charming isn’t so charming after all,” she says bitterly. “The whole apartment bit was a lie…” She glances at her packed suitcase in the corner of the room, her eyes red and rimmed with tension. “It turns out he’s married.”

“Oh,” I mutter. I’m not sure what else to say.

She tilts her head at me. “Did you know?”

“No,” I answer truthfully.

“But you’re not surprised.”

“I just…”

I don’t know how to tell her that she always chooses the worst men without causing an argument.

“You don’t have to treat me with kid gloves like I’ll shatter if you’re honest.”

She can’t know how absurd that statement is.

“Spit it out, Tori.”

“I want you to be okay, Mom,” I tell her.

“ But …”

“There’s not a but.”

She folds her arms, looking very much like a child. It annoys me, but I try not to let it show.

“There is, so why don’t you just spit it out,” she scoffs.

I sigh. “Let’s just say I didn’t pack my suitcase.”

Okay, that was a mistake.

She throws her arms up, letting out a warbling cry that could shatter glass. She’s an accountant, but with this scream, she’s in the running to be an opera singer.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she screeches.

“Mom, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Just explain.”

“Let’s just say you’re not exactly the best example of how to build a functioning relationship!” I tell her.

Crap. There goes my temper.

I wonder who I got it from…?

“And let me just say.” Mom leaps to her feet, pointing her finger at me. “That it would be nice to have a daughter who supported me from time to time. God . I’m going to the store to buy a gallon of wine.”

“Mom—”

“Just leave it, Tori.”

She marches from the room, slicing her hand through the air.

The door slams loudly.

I return to the bedroom. “Let’s get to this party before she comes home.”