Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
AVA
“Why do you have a pair of handcuffs?” I ask my mom.
I twist them in my hands, feeling the weight of them, and I have a horrible suspicion these aren’t from a sex store or a children’s toy department but from some black market deal, because they look exactly the same as the cops use.
Don’t ask me how I know.
“For the highway demonstration,” she says, as though it’s a stupid question.
“We’re all handcuffing ourselves to whatever we can find.
And if we can’t find anything good enough, we’ll form a circle and cuff ourselves to each other.
” She looks excited at the prospect. My mom lives for stuff like this.
Protests and agitation and being at one with the earth.
And if it involves annoying the authorities, even better.
I remember the first time she got arrested. I was twelve and had to go and stay with my friend, Alice, whose mom asked me in a very low voice if I wanted her to call child protective services, because there was clearly something wrong with my mom.
“Won’t they just search you and get the key to unlock them?” I ask, sliding my finger over the lock mechanism. Once these babies are on Mom’s wrist they’re never getting off without the key. They’re sturdy as hell.
She beams. “The key won’t be on me, it’ll be in me.”
I blink. “What?”
“We swallow the keys. That way we have them somewhere safe that the authorities can’t get to.”
“Okaaaay…” I try to find the right words. “And how do you get them back?”
She cocks an eyebrow at me. “How do you think?”
I try to banish the image of that out of my brain. “Where is this protest anyway?” I ask weakly.
“At the State Capitol,” she tells me, completely unaware of my horror. “There’s a lot of media interest. We might even get on TV.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose with my fingers. “Try not to defecate while the cameras are rolling.”
“It’s a natural thing, Ava,” she chides.
“We eat, we digest, we go potty.” Another thing about my mom, despite her protests against everything, she doesn’t swear.
Not even the s word. “We’re ruining this earth and not because of poop.
It’s the buildings and the roads and the one-use plastic.
If I don’t try to save it for you and future generations, who will? ”
“Thank you, I think,” I say.
“You can always come along. I can order another pair of handcuffs, these only took two days to get delivered.” She sounds hopeful.
“I have to work,” I remind her.
“Of course.” Though she’s fundamentally against capitalism in any shape or form, she has a grudging respect for what I do. She tells her friends, it’s for the kiddies. They need books.
If I have to work for ‘the man’, then at least I’m doing good in the world.
I don’t tell her that yesterday’s Fizzy Friday descended into absolute chaos.
Thankfully, everybody had made it to the bar before the singing started.
I’d been stone cold sober and had cleared up the office after everybody left.
If Myles had seen the mayhem it would have confirmed every prejudice he has about us.
When I finally arrived at the bar an hour later, somebody had set up the karaoke machine and three of our editors were throwing up in the bathroom.
Myles was still working when I left. I went to knock on his door but I could hear the echo of his voice in yet another video call. Instead, I wrote him a note telling him there was some champagne left if he wanted a glass and that he’d find it in the fridge.
And then I’d wished him a happy weekend. Surely I deserve a halo for that.
“So, tell me more about your vacation,” Mom says, bringing me out of my thoughts. “Does everybody really sunbathe topless in Spain?”
“It’s spring. Nobody was sunbathing.”
“But you got a tan,” she points out. “It must have been warm.”
“It was.” It was perfect. Here in Charleston we know about warm sunshine.
The average temperature in the summer here is eighty-five degrees.
But it can be an unpleasant kind of heat.
The kind that covers you in sweat the moment you walk out of your door in the morning, and by the evening you return all sticky and covered in dust and small insects.
“And how about the men?” she asks, lowering her voice. “I bet they were handsome.”
“I thought you were against relationships between men and women,” I say, confused by how excited she looks at the prospect of me having some kind of vacation fling.
“I never said that. I just said that marriage was oppression, and it is. An outdated institution that gives all the advantages to men and none to women.” She lowers her voice.
“But we all have needs, darling. Sexual ones. You can’t ignore mother nature.
” Her eyebrow lifts up about two inches.
“And if anybody needs to have their needs met, it’s you. ”
“Mom!”
“How long has it been now?” she asks me. “There was Michael, but that was years ago. Then Daniel, but the less said about that man the better. And I have to admit, I’ve forgotten the names of the rest of them.”
She hasn’t forgotten, I just never told her. I learned pretty quickly not to bring men home to meet my mother. They usually left shaking and talking gibberish.
“My needs are perfectly fulfilled, thank you.”
“Are you sure? Because you look pretty twitchy to me.”
“I don’t.” I look down at my hands and realize I’m twisting my fingers. Hastily I pull them apart. “I’m just jet lagged from the flight.”
“You came home a week ago.”
“It was a long flight.”
She sighs. “With a lot of carbon emissions. At least you don’t fly very often. I saw a documentary the other day about all these business people in New York who have private jets. It’s disgusting.”
My thoughts turn to Myles Salinger. I try to imagine bringing somebody like him home to meet Mom. She’d probably kill him.
Then my mind drifts back to the way he looked as he took that call, his body strong and powerful.
Everything about him so perfectly honed it should be illegal.
I’m a sturdy woman but I suspect he could pick me up with one arm and not even bat a lash.
I’m still holding the handcuffs and I imagine him clipping them around my wrists, his eyes flashing as he tells me I have to do exactly as he says.
“Are you okay, darling?” Mom asks. “Your cheeks have gone all red.”
“I’m fine.” I hand her back the cuffs. “I just need to get going. I have a lot of work around the house to get done.”
“So, we’ll see you tomorrow at three,” the receptionist says. I say goodbye and turn the business card over in my hands. New Dawn Fertility Clinic. Making it happen your way. So this is it. I’m going to do this. A little frisson of excitement rushes through me.
Within a year or two, I could be a mom. I’ll be completely responsible for another human being’s life. The weird thing is, I’m not afraid, I’m excited.
I’m ready for this.
Pulling up my online calendar, I type ‘private appointment’ in the box that covers from two-thirty p.m. to five. It shouldn’t take that long, but I don’t want to come back to the office and have everybody ask me where I’ve been and if I’m okay and whether I had a job interview somewhere else.
This way I can come back when everybody’s gone home for the day and catch up on my work.
Sliding the business card into my purse, I stand and walk to Myles’ office and rap lightly on the door.
“Come in.”
I definitely heard it this time. Even so, I gingerly push the door open, steeling myself for some kind of rebuke.
He’s sitting behind his desk, his jacket off, his shirt sleeves rolled up.
It’s a pale blue this time. The shirt, I mean, not just the sleeves.
I’ve never seen a man fill out a shirt the way Myles Salinger does.
Everything about him is suave and sophisticated, but the way the fabric strains against his muscles is – to use his words – mildly indecent.
It makes me think about things I shouldn’t. Like how warm his skin must feel through the cotton fabric. And how hard his muscles are. Like steel, I imagine.
“Take a seat,” he says, and I do as I’m told. I’m wearing pants today. Fifties style ones, tight but with full coverage, at least to my calves. On top, I’m wearing a white shell blouse, loose and airy, because the warmer days are really kicking in.
“Thanks. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be out of the office for a couple of hours tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment.”
He blinks. “Is everything okay?”
“I hope so.” There’s no way I’m telling him what the appointment is for. By the time I have to have that kind of conversation, hopefully he’ll be long gone and I’ll have a new boss. “I’ll make up for the time afterward.”
“You don’t need to do that. And you don’t really need to ask me either. I’m not your boss.”
“But you’re in charge of the office,” I point out. “And you seem to get annoyed when we’re not earning our money.” Like when he got fed up about donuts and Fizzy Fridays.
He blinks. “I wasn’t annoyed. I’m just getting used to how differently things are done here.” His eyes capture mine. “Are you sure you’re okay? Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No.” I say it so fast it surprises us both. “I’m fine. It’s routine. I just thought you should know.”
He nods. “I appreciate that,” he says softly. “Thank you.”
“Okay then.” When I stand, his gaze flickers quickly from my face to my legs and back again. If you’d blinked you’d have missed it, but I didn’t blink. And a rush of warmth goes right to my cheeks. “That was it. See you later.”
“Goodbye, Ava.” The way he says my name sends a shiver through me.
Ugh. Maybe Mom was right. I should have found a Spanish lover.