8. Jeanie
8 /
jeanie
Whacking Off Celery Sticks
The next morning, wrapped in a new hotel robe, I slip through the adjoining door and into Mom’s room. I stop in my tracks and rub the sleep from my eyes.
“You booked a penthouse?”
My gaze roams the space with high ceilings, tall windows, multiple bedrooms, and a massive veranda facing the ocean. The east-facing doors are open, causing the white sheers to rustle in the warm breeze. Waves crash in the distance.
“How often do we get to Miami?” Mom appears, teetering on platform sandals, looking like a mermaid in a teal-colored swimsuit with a full neck of pirated jewels.
“Almost every year to attend the National Restaurant Expo,” I say, reminding her.
“True. But do we ever come for vacation? Divorce is a special occasion. I thought we’d celebrate.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek and totters away.
“Then why am I in the small room?” I ask .
“Don’t start, you two.”
Dex chimes in with a parental tone from behind the counter of a full-size professional kitchen. He’s preparing breakfast. Freddie leans on the island, focused on his phone.
I give Dex a sassy look. He points a spatula in my direction as if he’s saying watch yourself .
Mom joins them at the counter with her gaze laser-focused on her iPad. She’s reading the obituaries again. Dex settles a freshly made Bloody Mary near her hand.
“How about this guy?” Mom says, then reads aloud. “‘Maria is survived by her husband, George, who was a photographer for Playboy .’ I could use some new sexy pinup photos. Look at this picture of them. Poor George.” She holds up her iPad as I near.
I steady the tablet. Maria was a one-hundred-year-old mummified raisin, while George is a younger silver fox who’s exotic and gorgeous.
“Bravo, Maria.” I cock a brow. “But what about Captain Edwin?”
“I’ve got aerial sex tapes to remember him by,” she says with a conspiratorial grin.
“And a coffin,” Freddie says helpfully.
“What?” I follow the direction of his hand and find a pearly white coffin sitting on the balcony in the blazing sunshine. A seagull stands on top.
I scowl. “Please tell me there’s not a dead body in there.”
Mom shrugs.
“It’s comfy,” Freddie says. “I slept in it last night.”
“What’s wrong with you?” I ask him seriously .
He bares his teeth, revealing a pair of costume vampire fangs.
I shake my head. Knowing Freddie, he’s been digging through the party supplies in my room. He’s always had trouble with boundaries.
“Grandma, why read those if they upset you?” Dex slices grapefruit.
“Death notices don’t make Grandma sad. She’s vetting potential romantic conquests.”
I steal an extra doughnut from Freddie’s plate. Dex has been baking again. I take a bite but quickly spit it out in my hand. It tastes like mold-crusted cigarettes. I hide the evidence before Dex sees.
“Dex, it’s like this. Sometimes, when a woman reaches a certain age, she needs a younger man to make her feel uncertain about said age.” Mom’s hand moves to her Bloody Mary where her knobby fingers stroke a long celery stick.
I think I’m the only one who notices her whacking off the veg until Freddie’s mouth drops open. I cover his eyes with my palms until she stops.
“Stop. I don’t want to know.” Dexter waves a kitchen towel like a white flag.
“Jeanie, explain it. Use your nice mom-speak,” Mom says.
Both impressionable teens stare at me, one more innocent than the other.
My mom’s ferocious sexual appetite I can explain, but translated into responsible parent-speak? Not a chance. I glance at the ceiling, considering.
“Hmm ... well ...” I release an exaggerated breath. “ I’ve got nothing. Oh, wait, I know.” I clap. “Remember that educational cartoon I showed you in the third grade? Mommy, Where Did I Come From ?”
Dexter drops his spatula.
“Oh, stop, Jeanie.” Mom turns to Dex. “I just want to fuck George’s brains out. Okay?”
“Grandma!” Dex slaps his hands over his reddening face.
Freddie giggles. “Dude, that’s messed up. Your mom made you watch a sex ed cartoon?”
“Your parents explained sex to you with a doughnut and cream-filled cannoli,” Dex says with an eye roll.
“They own a bakery. They only speak the language of carbs—as do I.” Freddie picks up a doughnut and pumps his finger through the hole.
I snort but then think better of it. Instead, I bat the doughnut away from his hand. It lands on the floor and rolls away.
With a flutter, the coffin seagull flies in, snatches it, and sails back out the open door. It happens so fast, we only pause for a few seconds before returning to our conversation.
“Because of that cartoon, I don’t ever want to have sex when I grow up,” Dexter says before washing off his spatula and returning his attention to his smoking skillet.
“But sex is fun,” I mutter to myself. “As long as everyone makes it to the finish line, at least one percent of the time. Two, if they’re lucky.”
I bob my head, becoming depressed. Have I ever made it to the finish line? When was the last time I was even in the race? I glower as I sink onto the barstool beside Mom.
“Two percent?” Mom asks, appearing appalled.
“I think I need some coffee.” I wave to Dex.
“I think you need a date with a porn star,” Mom says under her breath.
Dexter hands me a cup of coffee, but it’s a disturbing shade of pea green. I place my lips to the rim and slurp. Like a soldier, I try not to wince as I swallow what tastes like organic, toxic ass.
“Mmm, okay ... delicious,” I lie because I like to encourage Dex, no matter what. My eyes burn and water as my stomach roils at the smell.
“Dad wants to know when you’re leaving, and so do I,” Dex says to me.
The room falls silent. Mom places her iPad aside, giving this conversation her full attention. Now that it has teeth, she’s here for the bloodbath.
“Then Dad can ask me himself.” I lace my fingers together and place my hands on the counter.
Mom lets out a whine. “But we just got here.”
“I think you need to get on a plane today,” Dex says.
Despite our nice chat, he’s still mad I’m here, and I’m mad he neglected to tell me about the wedding.
I drum the countertop with my fingertips. If I share my plan to steal back his dad, Dex may never talk to me again.
I clear my throat. “Actually, I’m here with my boyfriend.”
Freddie reaches an arm across the back of my chair like Casanova .
“Ew, no.” Disgusted, I swat him away.
Dex throws a towel at Freddie’s head, and he holds up his hands like he can’t help being a total perv.
“You sure about this, Jeanie?” Mom asks.
I know what she’s hinting. It’s one thing to mess with Roman and Sophia and pretend I have a boyfriend. It’s another to pull Dex into my crazy scheme.
My teeth catch the inside of my cheek.
It’s not a total lie. Nathan and I do have plans for a sort-of date.
“Yes, I have a date tonight with a very nice man,” I say, trying to keep a straight face.
Dex folds his arms and leans back on the counter, appearing suspicious. His fatherly BS meter must be flashing red.
“Okay, he’s not my boyfriend,” I say, “but it is a date—of sorts.”
Though we will only ever be friends.
“And?” Dex juts his chin, prompting me for more info.
“And ...” I roll my eyes. “I promised Sophia we would attend a dinner thing tonight.”
“Think of it as an act of peace,” Mom says, smiling because she wants to stay.
I’m waiting for Dex to explode, but then he says, “Totally weird, but whatever.”
“That’s it?” My lips pinch at his very chill reaction.
Dex shrugs. “I’m done trying to figure out the adults in my life.”
“That’s because you’re more adult than both your parents,” Mom says .
“That includes you, Grandma,” Dex tells her.
“Burn.” Freddie makes a sizzling noise.
Mom and I spend the afternoon shopping in the Design District. We pamper ourselves with new haircuts. Plus, there’s the unfinished issue of buying real underwear. I’ll need them to get through the week.
What I learn on our outing is that everything and everyone in Miami is beautiful. The weather, the beaches, the people, their pets, and their cars. Nathan fits right in.
I, on the other hand, don’t. He’s all tropical and sultry, while I’m all Midwest mom-bot. By the time we return to the hotel, my insecurities are eating me alive.
I know why I’m going out with Nathan—to use him. It’s not nice but it’s true. But I’m unsure why he’s bothering with me. What’s in it for him?
Shifting uncomfortably in front of a mirror, I grab at the fabric of my new dress wrapping around my thighs, stretching it out. I perform a few unladylike ballet moves to loosen the fit, but the midsection still hugs my curves too tightly. This new bra lifts the girls so high, they rival the peaks of the Grand Tetons. And my hair? If I’m lucky, the beach waves will last for fifteen minutes before I look like a sea troll.
Mom reaches out to straighten my dangling earring. “It’s too late to back out.”
“Is it?” I glower at the strappy stilettos I’m supposed to wear .
“Stop it. You’re treating yourself to a nice night out with a handsome younger man.”
I study her. “I never told you Nathan was younger.”
“Moms know things.” She bobs her head, not giving any info away.
Whatever she’s found, I suspect it was online. And I don’t want to know about it. Unless ...
“Is he an ax murderer? Does he collect toenail clippings? Does he dress like a man-baby and need to be burped and changed? What is it?”
“You’re safe. Mostly .” She grins.
“Am I doing the right thing?” I fiddle with my tangled necklace, becoming agitated.
She fusses with my hair. “Crashing wedding festivities with a fake date in hopes of stealing the groom? Absolutely not. Your plan is diabolical, and I’ve never been so proud.”
What she’s not saying is that Roman isn’t worth the trouble. She knows I won’t listen.
“This isn’t my thing,” I say, frowning. “I’m the nice one.”
“I know, sweet pea, but a villain isn’t born, they’re made with one hell of a traumatic backstory. The pieces are finally coming together for you. Mama is proud.”
She shakes my shoulders, and I laugh.
“Now go.” She spins me toward the door and pats my behind.
Sweaty palms balance the air at my sides as I toddle down the hall. The last time I wore heels, Dex was in elementary school.
I press the elevator button and the door immediately opens. Inside, the mirrored wall reflects my yellow dress, but all I can focus on is my panicked expression.
Am I really doing this?
I step inside the cab and stand very still, not wanting to disturb one curl on my head. It’s been sprayed with so much product that I’ll surely be responsible for a new hole in the ozone.
The elevator descends and stops on another floor. The door opens, and Nathan appears exactly like before.
This time, though, everything is different, and it’s not just because I’m wearing clothes.