by Andi Burns
“Clearly. So that’s the scoop from the office. What’s up with you? You’ve been strangely quiet about the menfolk lately. Tell me you’re not giving up men for Lent or something.”
“Good Lord, no!” I shudder at the very idea. “Though, really, with the way things have been going lately, this dry spell might just last a while.”
“Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?”
“I think I’m cursed.”
Elaine nearly chokes on her ginger ale, and I feel like a jerk for a minute. The girl can hardly keep anything down, and here I am making her choke on her drink in the middle of lunch.
But I’m not joking.
“No, seriously. I think I’ve been cursed by the Magic Penis of Christmas.”
It’s a testament to how well she knows me that she doesn’t question this statement at all.
“I’m going to need a little more context, Molls.”
“Sure.” I take a sip of my iced tea and settle in to explain. “So, remember how I told you about that guy I met at Mahady’s around Christmas?”
“Yea...what did you call him? Tall, dark, and?”
“Talk, dark, and delicious. And he was. God. He had a solid four inches on me, and I was wearing heels. And he had these gorgeous broad shoulders. He was the shit that pornos are made of. I’m telling you, Elaine, the man is fucking gifted. We had a great night—some of the best sex I’ve ever had. I was looking quite forward to round five. We hadn’t even done it in the shower. So, imagine my surprise when I woke up to a note.”
Elaine nods sympathetically, as any best friend would.
“And don’t get me wrong, I didn’t want his number or anything. But a good morning orgasm would have been nice.”
“The polite thing to do, really.”
“Exactly. And I think he cursed me. I haven’t felt so much as a zing since late December. Before that, really. So, I think it’s fair to say that I’ve been cursed by a man with a magic penis.”
“Damn. That stinks.”
“You’re telling me. I just need to get back out there. Get my mojo back. But I have been attracted to literally zero men in way too long. I don’t know what to do at this point.”
“What can you do?”
“Well, Stella has this friend who reads Tarot.”
“Of course she does.” Elaine rolls her eyes and lets out a laugh.
“Listen, my fake aunt is the shit.”
“You’re not wrong, but I thought she was your real aunt?”
“Not technically. Her niece Kathleen was engaged to my dad a while back, but they never actually got married. Kathleen was a pain in the ass, but, as you know, Stella is quite lovely. So I kept her.”
“A very wise decision.”
“I thought so. Anyway, she has this friend Sage who reads Tarot and he offered to give me a revenge spell to reverse the curse, but it sounds dicey. For all I know, Magic Penis Man really did have a flight change. I mean, he did leave a note.”
“A note you spilled tea all over, if memory serves.”
“Yea, and it was a really good Blood Orange herbal blend. I was sad to have spilled it. Anyway, it sucks that I haven’t gotten laid in months, but I’m really not sure that warrants trying my hand at witchcraft.”
“Fair enough. Maybe if you hit the clubs this weekend, you’ll have better luck?”
“You forget—I have favors to work on this weekend for your engagement party. You still want me there an hour early? I can come at noon, if that’s better.”
“Noon would be glorious. I hope I’m feeling better by then, but the odds are not on my side. But at least Everett is divorced, so I only have to deal with my mother and not his ice queen of an ex-wife. And don’t worry about the favors. I told you, I can—”
“Stop! I won’t even hear of it. I made adorable favors for Mandy’s wedding, and we’re hardly close. You’re having an engagement party, and I’m damn well making the favors. They are so cute—wait until you see them!”
“I appreciate it so much, but I hate to give you one more thing to do.”
“Hush. Besides, I bought that damn Cricut. I might as well put it to good use.” I smile cheekily and sign the bill our server has left.
“Well, thank you. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you make.”
“You will. I’m one crafty bitch.”
“Can’t argue with that logic.”
“And you are one exhausted bitch.”
“Also true,” Elaine admits.
“Let’s get out of here. You want me to drive you home?”
“No, but thanks. Simon’s coming to get me. He’s hanging out with Daryl now, so I’ll walk back with you to the office.”
“That’s a plan, lovely. Just don’t puke on the two block walk.”
“I’ll do my best,” she offers with no conviction.
Poor girl barely made it around the block before tossing her cookies. We managed to get to Chesapeake Shores not too long afterward, and her sweet Simon took one look at her and scooped her up and into the car. I think he’d wrap her in bubble wrap if he could. And I think she’d let him, if it curbed the nausea.
Now I’m sitting in my office staring at the fourteen phone messages I’ve managed to accumulate in an hour and a half.
One is from Simon, checking in on E. That I’ll allow.
One is from my dentist, reminding me of my appointment next week. Much appreciated.
The rest are from various family members. They’re a little needy, my crew.
I remind myself that it could be worse. Elaine’s mother is a vicious hag. My parents are perfectly nice people. And so are their spouses. And their various exes. And all of the children those relationships spawned. Well, except for Winn. He’s kind of a dick. He’s also a fifteen-year-old boy, so we’re fairly sure the dickishness will pass.
My phone buzzes as if to remind me that I’m ignoring it and the messages it holds. I sigh and scroll. What could today’s crises be? Last week, my stepdad’s parrot needed to be rushed to the emergency vet because it choked on a cracker. Let’s hope today is less hectic.
Looks like my mom’s cleaning lady bailed, and she’s checking to see if I know of anyone. Okay, that should be easy enough.
My Uncle Barry, on my dad’s side, wants to know if I can help my cousin Janey move into her boyfriend’s place next weekend. Also easy. And I always liked Scott. I’ll have to get them a housewarming gift.
My Aunt Crystal (Barry’s third wife) asks if I have time for lunch next week. I can easily make that work. She’s vegan, so we’ll have to go to the Green Kitchen. I text her back to see if Thursday is good.
My stepsister Ava texted four times with a hair dye crisis. If I’ve told that girl once, I’ve told her a hundred times...
Molly: You’re PMSing, aren’t you?
Ava: Molly! OMG. Where have you been?! My hair is orange!!!!!! And it fucking burns!
Molly: You did not answer my question.
Ava: No. I swear. I just wanted a change.
Molly: You know I can smell lies, right?
Ava: Okay, fine. You’re right. You’re always right.
Molly: That’s more like it. Never make hair decisions on the eve of your period, love. They only end in disaster.
Ava: Will you swing by CVS and get me hair dye? And some Reese’s cups? I can’t go in public like this.
Molly: Give me a sec.
Ava: Also, your dad asked if you could get him more of that coffee he likes.
Molly: Yes to Dad, no to CVS.
Ava: (crying emoji)
Molly: Boxed hair dye is where it all went wrong, Av. We’re not going back down that road. But be ready at 10 tomorrow. I’m coming to get you. Find a hat. We’ll get tea and scones at Drip and pick up the coffee for my dad and then I’m taking you to my stylist, Christian. He’ll get you all fixed up. <3
Ava: You are the best.
Molly: You are not wrong. Love you.
I filter through the
rest of my texts and put out fires like it’s my job. After spending a few hours writing copy for the summer line, I pack up and head out.
And don’t tell Ava, but I do swing by CVS—not for boxed hair dye, but for Stella’s meds. And, of course, I grab Reese’s cups, because I’m good like that. And then, I head home.
Well, not my home, exactly.
My landlord sold the house I was living in. It was all for the best really; I didn’t love it there. And he was a bit of a creeper. So I started searching for a place. I even toyed with the idea of buying, but then my dad called to say that my Aunt Stella fractured her ankle and wanted to know if I would stay with her until I found a place.
It’s plain to see that I really can’t say no to any of my family members, but no one on earth could say no to Stella. She’s a total badass. She’s 81, and she’s the coolest chick I know. And the fractured ankle? That was a bowling league injury.
She swears like a sailor, cooks like a dream, practices yoga, and carries condoms in her handbag.
I want to be her when I grow up.
I pull into the driveway of Stella’s brick rancher and head inside. You’d think, given her injury, that she’d be resting on the couch with her foot propped up. Nope, not Stella. In fact, she’s nowhere to be found. Her hairless cat, Clover, meows indignantly and winds around my legs.
“Stella!” I call down the hall, smiling at my own awful Marlon Brando imitation.
“Right here, Love.” She peeks her head out of her bedroom door, flaming locks permed and teased into an impenetrable hair helmet. “Help me with this clasp, would you?”
I stride toward her, taking in her outfit as I go. She is definitely not dressed for a relaxing night in. Her purple sequined sweater dips low in the back and her pleather leggings are, well...pleather leggings. The air cast detracts slightly from the look she’s going for, but the black suede peep-toe bootie on the other foot makes up for it.
“Would my black beaded chandelier earrings be too much?”
“They’re lovely, but they might compete with the necklace.”
She nods in agreement and then spritzes her perfume, drowning herself in a cloud of White Diamonds.
I back up a solid three feet (this ain’t my first rodeo). “So, where are you off to tonight? I am 100% sure the doctor said no line-dancing for three more weeks.”
“He did, sadly. If he weren’t such a handsome devil, I’d tell him to shove his medical advice where the sun don’t shine. But, he’s pretty to look at, and I want to be out of this darn cast as soon as possible, so I’ll abide by his rules. The girls and I are off to that club on the highway. What’s it called? The Blue Streak.”
Stella and her friends are headed to The Blue Streak on a Friday? Of course, they are…
“It’s drag night,” I say.
“Yes. And half-price martinis. And no, I haven’t taken any pain pills today. I’m fine, really. It’s just a dull ache. And I’d much rather have an Appletini or two than those horse-pills Dr. Dreamboat prescribed.”
I can’t argue there.
“How do I look?” she asks, turning. She spins really well for someone in her 80s and also in an aircast.
“Gorgeous, as usual.”
“Thanks, dollface. Now, don’t wait up for me. Ida’s son is our designated driver tonight, and he’s an insomniac, so we’ll be home after two, I’m sure. I left a plate of chicken parm in the fridge for you. Are you heading out later? You know you’re always welcome to come with us.”
“I know. And I promise I will, but not tonight. I’m going to change into comfy clothes, devour that chicken parm, and get to work on the favors for Elaine’s engagement party. It’s on Sunday, and I’m way behind.”
“Oh, that’s right. Well, I can help tomorrow afternoon, Love. And how is Elaine feeling?”
“She’s a mess. Poor girl ate five tortilla chips for lunch and couldn’t even keep those down.”
“Poor dear. We should get her some ginger tea. That might help.” She grabs her clutch, and we head out to the living room.
“Good thinking. Have fun tonight, Stella. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” I joke.
“Oh, Molly, you know how foolish it is to set limits for me.” She laughs, gives me a hug, and settles in to wait for Ida’s son.
It’s two hours later and I’m dressed in my cozy clothes and admiring my handiwork. On the table in front of me sit 36 lavender mugs, each emblazoned with the phrase “Love is brewing” in fancy script. That Cricut was worth every penny.
Now that those are done and stuffed with tiny bags of coffee beans, I’m melting chocolate and chopping toffee for decadent coffee stirrers. Come at me, Pinterest.
It’s easy work, more time-consuming than laborious, so my mind tends to wander. I’m ecstatic for Simon and Elaine. They are two of the best people I know, and I couldn’t be more thrilled that they found their happily-ever-after together. Add in a pregnancy and they are over the moon. We were all a little shocked; they must have been back together all of twenty-four hours before he knocked her up. But it really is good news. Elaine’s biological clock has been banging like a gong, and Simon lives to give E whatever she wants. See? Everybody wins.
That would not be my version of a jackpot. Don’t get me wrong—Elaine is blissed out (when she’s not puking her guts out), and I’m so happy for her. But a husband on deck and a baby on the way? Not for me.
I’m that girl. The one who knew in junior high that I was never going to college for my Mrs. degree and that I certainly wasn’t ever going to be anybody’s mommy.
And yes, countless people have chuckled at my life plan, shaken their heads, and assured me that I’d change my mind.
I haven’t.
I won’t.
And look, it’s not like I hate kids. I don’t. In fact, I rather like them, and it’s not a stretch to say the feeling is mutual.
I also like swimming, but I don’t have a pool. I don’t need that kind of commitment in my life.
I have enough commitments. My family is my first priority. They always have been. And there are a lot of them. My parents divorced when I was really young; I have no memory of them as a couple. And they have each gone on to have several serious relationships. They’ve each gotten married (and divorced) again and again. My mom is on husband number five and my dad is on wife number four, though he was engaged more times than he ever actually tied the knot. And each subsequent relationship has brought children and stepchildren and various other relatives with it.
And with that sheer number of people, there’s always a crisis. Or a celebration. Or a missed call. Or a spontaneous houseguest. My family are needy as hell, but I love them, and I’m happy to help them. And in my past relationships, that’s always caused a problem. Every guy I’ve ever been remotely serious with has complained that I spend more time helping my family than I ever did with them.
For some strange reason, I’m a magnet for men who are absolute messes. Attractive? Check? Built like brick shithouses? Check. Jobless, aimless, and clueless? Check, check, and check. I consider it wise on my part that I’ve not been lovestruck and bamboozled into some fake fairytale. Nope. I’m too savvy for that. I know my limits and I know what I need.
And what I need is regular, raunchy sex.
Too bad I haven’t been getting any lately. It’s been a hell of a dry spell. For months now, the whole scene has been lackluster. I used to revel in the thrill of the chase. Now, I’m chasing boredom by binge watching TV shows on Netflix.
Well, except for the Magic Penis of Christmas. He was an anomaly in more ways than one. That man knew exactly what he was doing; he needed no direction from me. As an added bonus, he gave directions like a pro. I need more of that in my life. More bossy, magical Christmas Penis goodness.
Waking up alone in bed that morning was a strange experience for me. Ok, wait. That sounds weird. I always wake up alone, but on the morning after my night with Marc, I felt lonely. And that was strange.
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br /> How could I ever feel lonely. At any given time, I have a dozen relatives who need my time and attention. I have needy co-workers and a best friend who is always by my side. And Stella, my roommate, my adopted aunt, my partner-in-crime. And I’ve got a crew of guy friends who always have my back.
So, yea, loneliness is not something I’m used to feeling. But that morning, I felt bereft as I lay there in bed listening for telltale signs that Marc was still around. But the silence was too loud to ignore, so I ended up crawling out of bed to make some tea. That’s when I saw his note explaining that he had to take an early flight because of the impending weather. A feeling of sadness washed over me, and it was not the least bit welcome. I rarely bring guys home to my place, and when I do, I’m quick to let them know that sleepovers are not my thing. I don’t feel even a teensy bit bad when they leave in the middle of the night. I’m not one for messiness and I’m sure as hell not one for sharing breakfast with my one-night-stand.
But when I realized that he was gone, and totally out of my life—no last name, no number, I felt so lonely. I missed our connection. And yes, I missed the chemistry we shared. But I also missed his sharp sense of humor and his deep gravelly voice. I wished, just for a moment (and, ok, a few moments since) that I could see him again.
But that’s impossible. I don’t even know his last name. And he was only in town for a night. So, no more magical penis for me. Christmas miracles don’t happen twice.
I park my rental two blocks down from my sister’s place. The road is lined with cars, and this is the closest spot I could find. I’m not complaining, though. Elaine’s made a home here. And if anyone deserves good people surrounding her, it’s certainly my sister. So, I walk the two blocks, gift in tow.
I had absolutely no idea what to get these two for an engagement gift. I was determined to do my own shopping—delegating that task to an assistant is my dad’s signature move, and these days, I’m living by the philosophy that if Edward would do it, I probably shouldn’t. Not my dad is sinister or anything. But he’s not much of a role model unless you’re striving for a cold demeanor and a general air of emotional detachment.