Chapter 1
Chapter One
Aila
“Yaaas!” My mother bursts into my bedroom without knocking. “Yippee! I got the invite, Aila! The invite to the island!”
Pulling off my headphones, I give Mom my undivided attention. “Does all this joy have something to do with that dating site you joined?”
My mom goes through boyfriends the same way I go through paper towels. Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but she sure keeps busy. In the last five years alone, she’s dated and dumped a round dozen “life partners.”
Let me see… There was Si Leblanc up in La Pas. He was flavor of the month for a while. But my mom dumped him after he revealed himself to be what she calls a “cheap bastard.” Then there was Hank Maddix, now long gone. Turns out he had another side piece in Minnesota.
Who was the latest? I think it was Mister Mo Rosenthorn.
He was sweet but unwilling to commit. All my mom’s boyfriends get six months to put a ring on it before she kicks them to the curb.
I suppose that’s one thing I should admire in my adorable, scatterbrained mom—she never allows a man to overstay his welcome.
But did she ever leave broken hearts in her wake? No. There is something about a middle-aged man’s mindset that remains obstinately flameproof. They’re all about the comfort, not the passion, when it comes to relationships. The most an older man will ever feel for his partner is… fondness.
Ugh. Such a lame word. I’m all about the valleys and the peaks when it comes to emotions.
It’s like the endless succession of boyfriends smell the “available” aura without Mom even having to advertise it, bless her heart.
“Dating sites?” Mom scoffs. “No app or site can compare when it comes to Landslide.” Sitting on the edge of my bed, she shows me a handwritten letter. “It’s official, Aila. We’ve been invited to spend the summer at the chalet inn on Landslide.”
Scanning the poorly printed lettering, I stop reading to mention it.
“You’re seriously considering going to a place where they write their invites by hand?”
Rolling her eyes, Mom sighs. “Landslide is unplugged. No internet. Just read it, dammit!”
Dear Ms. Amelia O’Hara, the magnificent breadth of his shoulders and the brawny pop of muscle made by his deltoids. His body was thick and ripped, with perfectly defined tendons and muscles: neck, chest, torso, legs.
I would give anything to see you naked. The words came out of me in a longing sigh.
Hooking his arm behind his neck, Theron pulled his t-shirt over his head.
Somehow, I was too paralyzed to move. I tried to sit up so that I could run my hands over his proud chest and taut six-pack, but I was immobile.
I… I’m frozen. Break my spell.
A clink as he unbuckled his belt. The zizz as he unzipped. Hauling out his erection, my midnight visitor took himself in hand. Stroking the thick shaft, he growled an order.
Play with yourself.
The spell broken, I remember frantically rubbing my clit, trying to make it feel the same as when he touched me. It was sublimely unreal for us to be watching each other as we masturbated. I knew then that he would have given anything to be able to fuck me, but something was holding him back.
As my excitement mounted, nothing on earth could have held me back from climaxing. I tried to tease it out to last a little longer, but the sight of his hard cock being pumped inside his fist was too tantalizing for me to withstand.
Our eyes locked as I held my breath.
I’m coming.
My orgasm was fierce and strong. And intensely satisfying. Triumphant.
I escaped from that creepy motorhome. I am alive.
I realized I’d closed my eyes as the waves of sexual delight engulfed me.
And when I opened them, he was gone. Again.
Michelle and Laura are there to say goodbye. Mom stored our furniture and boxes in Laura’s garage, and Michelle says she will hang onto our mail for us until we come back. I guess there is an upside to renting month to month after all.
The diner where my mom and I worked was sad to see us hand in our notice, but it’s not like they were expecting anything different. They knew Mom would be moving on after seeing the extensive “Work Experience” column on our résumés.
“And if there’s anything urgent, you can forward it to us, care of the Angle Inlet post office.” My mom’s eyes are alight with optimism. “Aren’t you girls super jel about my good fortune? You do not want to know how much I’m saving after canceling all my dating subscriptions.”
“Shoo, Amelia. Stop trying to rub it in.” Laura waves my mom towards the taxi. “Go. Have fun. Don’t forget to send us a postcard.”
Michelle is looking a little green about the gills as she pastes a smile on her face.
“Nothing you ever say is going to convince me that you’re not running away from that dating fuckup you had over Christmas, Amelia O’Hara!”
I’m already sitting in the backseat, but that catches my attention. “What dating eff-up is she talking about, Mom?”
The cab driver slams the door the moment Mom ducks into her seat. “Nothing, Aila. Please don’t tell me you’ve never had one of those crazy dates.”
Settling down to look out of the window and watch Winnipeg whip by, I keep my sassy thoughts to myself.
No, Mother, I don’t have crazy dates, because I hardly get to have any dates at all. Not while I have to be the parent in this flip-flopped dynamic.
“And please don’t call me ‘Mom’ while we’re on Landslide, Aila. I don’t want the men to think I come with any baggage.”
I know I’m not the baggage my mother is referring to, but I have never been the sort of person who jumps to conclusions anyway. She loves me, of that I have no doubt. But there’s been a distinct shift in her usually laid-back attitude towards men as my mom gets older.
She’s not desperate, not by any means—maybe jaded or pessimistic is a better way to describe it.
“Sure thing, Mom.”
Leaning my head back against the seat, I try falling asleep. I’ve been trying to have the same dream for four years.