by Laura Hopper
What I think I really need right now is my mom. Or, more accurately, my mommy. I want the mommy who makes me feel safe and snug, not the person I saw doing the horizontal bop this afternoon. I want to crawl next to her in her big comfy bed and watch reruns of Friends like we used to do when I was in middle school and my dad was away. Back then, I didn’t think about sex, my mother’s or mine. Ross and Rachel’s romance was the only sex that mattered at the time.
From my bedroom, I hear my mom’s shower turn off. I know she’s probably wrapping her hair in a towel and putting on her thick white terry-cloth robe. I cast my homework aside and pad down the hallway to my mom’s room. “I’ll Be There for You” is already playing in my head.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Spring break. Danielle’s parents and brothers will be at a lacrosse tournament in Orange County, and Danielle invited me to spend a few days with her at her grandparents’ house in Palm Springs. The opportunity to get out of town was too good to pass up. Sadly, Sloan has to stay home and work at the pizza place. Brett wanted to come with us, but Danielle’s grandmother said no boys allowed. Too bad; I would have loved some chill time with Brett.
Luke flew to Boston by himself to visit his brother and sister. Things have been strained and awkward between us since our fight in his kitchen. We haven’t spent any real time together, and we haven’t addressed the issue of our looming expiration date. I’m honestly not sure where we stand.
The night before we left for the desert, Danielle was at Charlie’s house. He was in the shower and she was playing Candy Crush in his room. Charlie’s phone, which was near Danielle on Charlie’s bed, was lighting up with text messages. Out of curiosity, she picked up his phone, only to see a text from some girl he met in summer camp four years ago. The girl’s name is Eve, she lives in San Francisco, and she sent very graphic messages about all the things she wanted to do to Charlie in bed. Danielle scrolled through the history and found that this pornographic conversation had been going on for weeks. Charlie reciprocated the sexting, offering up his fantasies and desires as well.
“He told her he wanted to squirt whipped cream all over her and lick it off,” Danielle told me. “Charlie and I did that on Valentine’s Day. It was my idea.”
Charlie came out of the shower, wearing a towel. He approached Danielle and dropped the towel, revealing a boner and an urgent need for sex. Danielle looked at his penis, then up at Charlie, and said, “Maybe Eve would like to take care of that for you.” Charlie quickly lost his erection, his mojo, and his girlfriend.
In Palm Springs, Danielle and I do some much-needed relaxing. For four days, we sleep late, then get iced coffees and bring them to the pool in her grandparents’ backyard. We swim and tan all day long, only going inside to eat the tuna sandwiches and cookies her grandmother makes us for lunch.
Every afternoon, we FaceTime with Sloan, who seems to be gunning for Employee of the Month. She’s taken on extra hours and swears she hasn’t been to a single party since we’ve been gone.
“No boy action?” Danielle asks her.
“Nope,” Sloan answers swiftly.
“So what have you been doing after work?” I ask.
“Not much,” she says. “Just chilling.”
Later, Danielle and I discuss how impressed we are that Sloan has been so committed to putting in the hours at work. She also seems to be avoiding parties and doing stuff with boys she would probably end up regretting. I guess she meant it when she promised herself she’d wait for a guy who means something.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with hooking up,” I say, smiling, trying to shed the uptight moniker Luke attached to me.
“Honestly, I think I could go for a meaningless hookup right about now,” Danielle admits.
I’m surprised that Danielle seems so strangely unaffected by her breakup with Charlie. She doesn’t appear to be unhappy or wounded at all.
“Maybe I was ready,” Danielle admits. “Things were getting kind of boring.”
“Still,” I say, “it had to piss you off when you found those texts.”
“Oh my god, yes,” she admits. “I wanted to kill him. But mostly because it was a blow to my ego, not because I was heartbroken. We were bickering a lot, and he just isn’t as funny as he thinks he is.” It’s true. Charlie does try to entertain everyone with his often nonexistent wit. It can get tiresome.
“So you can just move on? It’s that easy?” I ask.
“No, of course not. I’m thinking about him a lot. But I don’t really miss him, and that’s how I know it was time to break up. Whatever he was doing with this Eve person was probably for the same reasons. It was time to end it, but neither of us knew how.”
“Wow,” I say. “You’re so well-adjusted.”
“I think I want a little taste of the single life,” Danielle says. I can see that Danielle is ready for a change. Ready to experience something new and different.
Everything Danielle says about Charlie is the opposite of how I feel about Luke. I miss him terribly, and I don’t think it’s time for us to end things. And, probably most important of all, Luke was absolutely right. He was right that sometimes people need sex with no strings attached. As hard as it is to admit, my mom is a woman who is coming out of a marriage that lacked a spark. She deserves to have some crazy, grownup fun, even if it throws my worldview into a tailspin. Danielle, too, is ready for a fling without a commitment. People need different kinds of sex and affection at different times of their lives.
Right now, I need Luke. He and I will be going our separate ways, but for now, the spark still sparkles, so why extinguish it before we have to? Why push something away that makes me so happy? I grab my phone and send him a text: I miss you.
A few minutes go by, during which I agonize about the fact that he hasn’t replied. What does it mean? He doesn’t miss me? He’s already moving on? Then I realize that it’s eleven p.m. in Palm Springs, which means it’s two a.m. in Boston. Maybe he’s asleep. I must convince myself that he’s asleep in order not to obsess about him and why he’s not responding to my text.
Luke is going to leave right after he graduates, in just two short months. He will be three thousand miles away, meeting new people who are definitely going to find him as irresistible and captivating as I do, as everyone does. And Luke will win their hearts. I can see him now, everyone’s best friend and the object of many girls’ fantasies. I don’t think I can stand it. It would make me insane to be in San Diego, knowing that Luke’s charm is working its way around the greater Boston area. I can’t try to hold on to him. It wouldn’t work for either of us.
I will do my best to enjoy every morsel of Luke for the next two months, and then I’ll let him go free. It’ll be better that way. Better for my sanity.
Danielle and I watch Pitch Perfect for about the millionth time and then go to sleep.
In the morning, I wake before Danielle and I reach over to turn on my phone. The time it takes to power up is sheer agony. I make sure the phone is on silent and hold it under the blanket so that the light doesn’t disturb Danielle.
Two texts. Both from Luke. The first one: I miss you too. I miss you like crazy. I think about you all the time. I love you more than anything. I have one very important question. The second one: Will you go to the prom with me?
I let out a squeal that wakes Danielle out of her comatose slumber. Whoops.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I get back from Palm Springs a few days before Luke is due home from Boston. My time away has served to dissipate the awkwardness between my mother and me. I don’t ask my mom what she was up to in the four days I was gone. I figure our new system for maintaining a happy house is don’t ask, don’t tell. The truth is, I really don’t want to know.
Mom takes me shopping for a dress to wear to Luke’s prom. I can’t remember the last time my mom and I spent the day together. I am reminded that she’s pretty fun to be with, and find that we desperately needed a little bonding time. We keep th
e conversation away from sex, unpleasant run-ins, prophylactics, Reeboks, and romance. We concentrate on the task at hand—the need to find the perfect dress. I have been informed that the general prom rule is that senior girls wear long gowns while younger girls, if they’re lucky enough to be invited, wear shorter dresses.
At the department store, we take nearly twenty-five dresses into the fitting room. My mom serves as my dutiful attendant; she can get pieces on and off hangers in a flash. She immediately knows if a dress will or won’t work, and she can tell when a stitch here or a hem there is the answer to a perfect fit. We laugh pretty hard when the saleswoman brings us dresses with bows, sequins, or ruffles. We both know that’s never going to fly.
I fall in love with a shell-pink dream of a dress. It’s delicate and beautiful—the ideal combination of adorable and sexy. The dress has spaghetti straps, a snug bodice, and a flouncy short skirt. Mom brilliantly pairs the dress with high-heeled, strappy silver sandals.
“Mom, it’s all so expensive,” I say. “I don’t want you to spend too much.”
“It’s the prom.” She says it as though it’s my wedding. “And you’re going to look so beautiful.” She may be single and horny, but she hasn’t lost the ability to be a doting, generous, sentimental mother who only wants the best for me.
I am picking Luke up at the airport on Saturday evening and I am strangely nervous, which I suppose is because we haven’t seen each other in more than a week, and the last time we were together, things were tense to say the least. However, given our recent conversations, I’m confident that we’re back on track. We haven’t discussed the unresolved issues, but he told me he missed me and loved me and, at this point, that’s good enough for me.
I get to the airport way too early and wait by my car at the curb outside baggage claim. At long last, Luke emerges from the terminal, and the sight of him takes my breath away. Whenever I get off a plane, I feel slimy and disgusting, but Luke somehow looks like he’s walking out of a catalog. His jeans, shirt, and hair are just the right amount of rumpled. I run up to him and throw my arms around him. He lifts me up and I bury my face in his neck. He also smells delicious despite spending the last six hours in a cylinder of germ-ridden, recirculated air. I can’t keep my hands off him.
In the car on the way home from the airport, I tell Luke about my lazy days by the pool in Palm Springs. He tells me about his visit to Boston College and the dorm he hopes to get. I hear about the night Luke, his brother Jackson, and Jackson’s boyfriend, Brady, went out and did karaoke. They drank beer and sang eighties pop songs all night.
We go back to my house, where I finally feel comfortable enough to be with Luke. I mean really be with Luke. Mom is out with Reebok hairy-ass man and she said, in no uncertain terms, that she wouldn’t be home before eleven. I think she’s allowing me a little freedom in order to enjoy some herself. Luke and I get back to my house and go directly to my room. Even though I know we’ll be here alone for the next two hours, I still close my door.
“I missed you so much,” Luke says, grabbing me around the waist and pulling me to him.
“I missed you too,” I say. “So much.” I reach up and comb my fingers through his thick hair, which has gotten longer since we started dating, the waves a little messier.
He pushes me up against my bedroom door. His chest meets my chest, his hips meet my hips. Our lips find each other. The kisses start out soft, then turn hungry and urgent. He kisses my ear and down my neck to my collarbone.
“God, you smell good. I could eat you.” He sighs.
I pull my shirt over my head, revealing a new purple bra I bought with this reunion in mind.
“Wow,” he says. “Recent purchase?”
“Yep,” I say. “It’s for you.” I then step out of my shorts to reveal a matching purple thong.
“You’re killing me,” Luke says, breathing heavily. “Turn around, let me see the full picture.”
I give Luke a little twirl, showing him my new ensemble.
“Nice tan,” he says.
“Come here,” I say, pulling him to my bed. I push the stuffed animals onto my floor, not so much because I need to make room, but because I don’t need reminders that I’m about to have sex in the same bed I once referred to as my “big-girl bed.”
I lie down, still in my matching bra and thong. Luke whips off his shirt and then takes off his jeans and underwear in one fell swoop. He stands there wearing nothing but his leather braided bracelet, and I take in his body, dripping in flawlessness. I am aware how things have changed. I can now take the time to stare at him, every inch of him, for as long as I want. With the lights on, I lie on my bed, practically naked, and I’m happy to know he’s looking at me as well.
He lies on top of me, his body covering mine. He wraps his arms around me, puts his hands under my butt, and presses me up to him. We kiss and kiss and kiss, our bodies moving in a syncopated rhythm. He moves his hands from my butt up my back and starts to take off my bra.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. I walk out of my room and close the door behind me.
In anticipation of seeing Luke, I bought something other than the new underwear. My time with Danielle inspired me. I walk into the dark kitchen and open the refrigerator. I reach up to the top shelf, behind the milk and orange juice, grab the red and white metal can, and hurry back to my room.
Luke is lying on the bed, his erection waiting eagerly for my return.
“Whatcha got there?” he asks, referring to the hand I hold behind my back.
“Ta-da!” I say, revealing the brand-new can of Reddi-wip.
Luke’s eyes open wide. “What do you plan to do with that?” he asks, his eyes twinkling knowingly.
I sit on top of Luke, straddling him at his waist. I remove the red cap, point the plastic tip at his torso, and spray the white creamy sugar in a small mound on his chest.
“Ah! That’s cold,” he says with a laugh, and when the tip of his tongue peeks out, as it always does when he laughs, I spray a dab of whipped cream on it and then suck it off his tongue.
“What’s gotten into you?” he wants to know. “The sexy purple stuff, the whipped cream. You’ve been planning.”
“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” I say, and I spray the whipped cream in a straight line from his chest down to where his body hits mine. I lean down and lick him, using my tongue to cover his chest and stomach in the sugary goodness and then lick him clean. After I’ve worked over Luke’s entire body, he takes the can from me and returns the favor.
He removes my bra and thong and instructs me to lie down. Luke is very strategic about his placement and has impressive control over the spray can. He puts a tiny dab behind my ear and licks my neck. He then squirts a little pile on each of my boobs and takes his sweet time making sure he gets all the whipped cream off my skin. It is nearly impossible to stay still when he draws a thin line down my side from my ribs to my hipbone. Instead of licking it clean, he delicately uses his tongue to make little waves in the white stream. I can barely stand it. I practically beg him to have sex with me.
“What’s your hurry?” he asks teasingly.
“I can’t take it anymore,” I admit.
He puts the can down, swiftly puts on one of the condoms I placed on my nightstand, and lowers himself onto me. While he kisses me tenderly, he enters me. Our bodies are sticky from the whipped cream and every time he moves up and down, our skin clings together as if trying not to let go.
“Can we take a shower?” Luke asks when we’re finished, indicating the mess of leftover whipped cream and sweat that is caked between us. I check the time and see that we still have plenty of time to ourselves.
I take him into my bathroom and hang two towels over the shower door. We step in and allow the hot water to wash away the remnants of the evening.
“That was incredible,” he says. “I didn’t know food and sex could be such a good combo.”
“You’ve never experimented like that be
fore?” I ask.
“Nope,” he says. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, aren’t you lucky to have me around to show you a thing or two?” I say with more than a hint of irony.
“I’m very lucky.” He says it so sincerely that it seems he’s no longer talking about whipped cream.
“Glad you enjoyed it,” I say.
“You’re full of surprises,” he says, picking up the shampoo and squeezing some into his hand.
“I have another surprise,” I say. He looks at me as if to ask, What else can you possibly have up your sleeve? Here goes. “You were right.” I soap up my body and reach out to him to spread soap on his shoulders and arms.
“I was? About what?” he wants to know.
“That sometimes sex is just sex, and that’s okay,” I say.
“Where is this coming from?” I am aware of the oddity of the serious conversation we’re having while standing in my shower.
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” I say. “The thing with my mom. She does deserve to live life fully and freely. And you’re leaving for college soon. You should be free to make the most of that time as well.”
“We don’t have to think about that now,” he says, rinsing the shampoo from his hair.
“I know, but I want you to know that I understand.”
“Well, there’s something else you should understand.” He pulls me close so we stand under the hot stream together.
“Sex when you really care is better. Sex with you is the best I’ve ever had.”
“It is?” I ask, overcome with relief.
“It is,” he says.