by Tara Sivec
“I joined The Facebook and sent them a message,” she tells me with a roll of her eyes, like it’s the dumbest question I’ve ever asked.
Her face says it all. A stranger might think my mom is smiling and happy to see her daughter, but a stranger would be wrong. My mother’s face is clearly looking at me saying, “Eighteen hours of labor with you, and I had to find out from Sharleen you know famous people. Eighteen. Hours.”
“Her relationship status says ‘It’s Complicated.’” Aubrey snorts. “I love your mom.”
“Heidi’s father was on my last nerve when my sister helped me set up The Facebook yesterday. I’m not changing it until he apologizes for putting the empty milk carton back in the fridge. Twenty-seven years of marriage and that man still doesn’t know where the garbage can is.”
“I’m sitting right here!” my dad shouts from behind me as he gets up from the couch along with Jameson.
“Good!” she yells back at him. “The garbage can is located three feet from the fridge, where it’s been for the last twenty-seven years!”
All I can do is stand here blinking as I stare at the woman who birthed me, who doesn’t even own a cell phone, because she firmly believes they cause cancer, and who once typed into Google, How do I Google something?
I’m still asleep. That’s got to be the only explanation for what’s happening right now. This is a guilt dream brought on by the fact that I have a new job I have yet to tell my mom about. And if she hears about it elsewhere first, I’ll hear about it for the rest of my life. She’ll pull it out at a random Thanksgiving ten years from now, just to make sure I never forget.
“Dinner was lovely, Mom.”
“Yes, it was. But remember when you lied to me when you were twenty-five?”
If only this could be just a bad dream.
“Since my daughter doesn’t care enough to tell her mother about her life and her new friends, what else was I supposed to do but take matters into my own hands?” my mom asks.
“And we’re very glad you did, Peggy,” Jameson tells her as he and my father join us in the doorway of the living room. “Aubrey and I have been living on takeout and room service. I’m dying for a home-cooked meal.”
“Sharleen called me the other day to tell me about how she saw Heidi at work and got to meet a real, famous actor,” she states. “And she just went on and on about what they do at EdenMedia. It was a little confusing. She kept talking about the back door. I have no idea about half of what she was telling me. She was still a little loopy from the laughing gas, ya know. So I said to her, ‘Sharleen, he’s just like anybody else. He puts his pants on one leg at a time like any other man.’ Except for Elizabeth Watson’s son, on account of how he likes to wear dresses now, but that’s neither here nor there. So, who’s hungry?”
My dad wraps his arm around my shoulders as my mom leads everyone into the dining room, and he gives me a squeeze as we trail behind.
“You doing okay, kiddo?” he whispers.
“I don’t know. Mom has Facebook now. And she didn’t go into a twenty-minute diatribe about how my new job is embarrassing and how she’ll never be able to show her face in church again.”
“Oh, she got all that out of her system with me when she hung up with Sharleen.” He laughs. “She’s coming to terms with it. She just wants you to be happy. Are you happy?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m getting there.”
He gives me another squeeze as we enter the dining room before dropping his arm from around me and walking over to take a seat next to my mom.
The table is filled with at least ten casserole dishes, three baskets of homemade rolls, and four Jell-O salads. I watch as Jameson and Aubrey’s eyes light up when they see all the food, and my mom tells them to sit down and help themselves. Much to my surprise, it’s actually a really nice lunch. My mom doesn’t immediately start grilling me about work or tell embarrassing stories about me growing up. We mostly just talk about Jameson and Aubrey and their life in the Hollywood spotlight, and how they try to lead as normal a life as possible.
After we’re finished eating and Aubrey and I have cleared away all the dishes for my mom, I make a pot of coffee and bring a tray filled with cups, cream, and sugar into the dining room. When everyone has their mug filled the way they like it, Aubrey quickly excuses herself and goes back into the living room, returning a few minutes later with a stack of books in her arms that I immediately recognize.
Butterflies start flapping around like crazy in my stomach when Aubrey walks right over to my mom and sets the stack down in front of her. The stack of half-naked men covers. My mom has been pretty cool so far this afternoon, but that’s probably because my job and what they do there hasn’t literally been shoved right in her face. Out of sight, out of mind and that whole thing.
I hold my breath and wait for my mom to shove her chair back from the table and go running from the room to get as far away from those books as possible, hoping to God Aubrey isn’t easily offended. Much to my surprise, my mother actually picks up the book on top of the pile, flips it over, and starts reading the blurb on the back.
“Oh jeez, this sounds spicy!” she quips with an excited smile.
“You said you wanted a few extra copies for your friends, so I brought three of each and signed them all. I hope that’s enough,” Aubrey states.
I couldn’t be more surprised right now if my dad jumped up on the table and started stripping.
“You asked for her books?” I question, unable to hide the astonishment in my voice.
“Of course I did! Your father and I are supporters of the arts, Heidi.” She purses her lips and gives me an exasperated look like I’m the one saying crazy things.
“You still have a velvet painting of dogs playing poker hanging in the spare bedroom,” I remind her.
“We’re broadening our horizons.” My mother shrugs, setting the book down and picking up the next one to study it.
“You do know what she writes, correct? That’s a really broad horizon. No offense.” I wince, glancing at Aubrey.
“None taken. I write smut. Everyone knows I write smut.” She shrugs.
“Don’t you dare belittle what you do, young lady,” my mom scolds her. “It must be a lot of hard work to come up with an entire story in your head and put it down on paper.”
Aaand now I’m back to hearing The Twilight Zone theme song in my head.
“I need to get busy cleaning out the gutters,” my dad announces, finishing off his coffee and setting the mug down on the table as he gets up from his chair. “Jameson, I got an extra pair of gloves you can use to help me.”
“Dad! He doesn’t need to help you clean the gutters!”
Sure, I’m friends with the guy, but come on. He’s still famous. He walks on red carpets and just did an appearance on The Tonight Show last month, and my dad is ordering him to do yard work like he’s a neighbor kid from down the street.
“Are your hands broke?” my dad asks Jameson.
“No, sir.” He chuckles.
“Then you can help me clean out the gutters. Aubrey, you can hold the ladder,” my dad instructs as he heads out of the room and Jameson pulls Aubrey’s chair out for her.
“Take a plate of food out to that bodyguard of yours sitting in his car on the curb,” my mom adds as I continue sitting there shaking my head.
“Oh, he’s fine. He’ll eat on his break after he drops us back off at the hotel,” Aubrey tells her as she stands.
“The poor man is sitting there just staring at the house. Take him a plate.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Aubrey laughs, giving me a wink as Jameson grabs her hand and pulls her out of the room, leaving my mom and me alone.
Which I now realize was probably my dad’s plan all along.
“Are you mad at me?” I whisper after a few quiet minutes, breaking up the silence in the room that was punctuated only by the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room.
“Why in the wo
rld would I be mad at you?” my mom asks in shock, getting up from her chair and taking the empty one next to me.
“Because I’ve been avoiding you and didn’t tell you what they do at EdenMedia,” I murmur sheepishly.
“Your father and I have sex.”
Eew! Not the response I was expecting.
“Oh, don’t make that look, like you’re going to throw up the green bean hotdish you just ate,” she scolds. “I might not be hip with the times, but you’re an adult and you have to make your own decisions. I can’t exactly forbid you from working at a place just because they record dirty books that aren’t typically something I’d read. Especially now that I’ve met someone who writes those types of books, and I think she’s wonderful and sweet. I’m sure your dad and I have done all the stuff she writes about, so who am I to judge?”
Again. Eeeeeeew! Too much information!
My mother has never spoken to me about sex in any way, shape, or form. The only reason she had the talk with me about my monthly visitor was because my cousin Michelle got hers for the first time when she spent the night at our house when we were eleven. I was in the bathroom with her at the time, because young girls do everything together, including pee, and when I saw what was going on, I ran out of the room, screaming for my mom, crying that Michelle was going to die. After getting Michelle situated, my mom pulled me into her room, sat me down on the bed, and said, “Welcome to being a girl. This is what will happen every month forever. Any questions?” Of course I had a thousand questions, but I was mortified. No way was I going to ask my mom anything. I learned about sex from secret internet searches and talking about it with my girlfriends. Sex just wasn’t something you discussed with your parents. Ever. To hear my mom talking about it so cavalierly right now is insane. Insane and gross.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away about EdenMedia and what they do there. I didn’t really know how to tell you. Especially since I know you have your heart set on me finding a teaching job,” I explain.
“And I’m sorry for making you think you couldn’t talk to me about it.” She smiles sadly.
“I just didn’t want you to be disappointed in me. I know you want me to be a teacher, but….”
“It wasn’t what you wanted,” she finishes. “Don’cha know I just want you to be happy? No matter what it is you’re doing. Unless it’s illegal. Or takes you farther than a few hours’ car ride away from us. Or involves drugs of any kind. Cindy Carlson’s son Billy—you remember him from middle school and when I chaperoned the eighth grade dance and he got suspended for putting vodka in the punch? He started smoking the pot and dropped out of college, and now he lives in Cindy’s garage and delivers pizzas. There’s nothing wrong with delivering pizzas; it’s an honest living, but he’s constantly delivering orders to the wrong houses, and Cindy is thinking about doing one of those interventions. Are you smoking weed?”
I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing.
“No. No I am not smoking weed.”
“Then there’s nothing for me to worry about. You do whatever you need to do to bring a smile to that pretty face of yours. Even if you have to do it working in a place where they record P-O-R-N,” she says, spelling the word out in a whisper.
I never thought in a million years I’d ever be having a conversation like this with my mother, the woman I thought was incapable of change.
“I can’t believe you actually asked Aubrey to bring you some of her books. What are all those Post-It notes doing in them?” I ask, pointing over to the stack she left on her other seat, where all sorts of multicolored pieces of paper stick out between the pages.
“Oh, I asked her to mark all the dirty parts so I can skip over them. I also bought some pretty rolls of contact paper I’m going to cover them with before I give them to the girls,” she tells me happily.
Okay, so not everything has changed, but this is definitely a step in the right direction. I should probably take this moment to tell her about my podcast, but I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.
“So, tell me about this Brent person Aubrey mentioned before you got here. Is he single? Does he have a good job? What do his parents do? Does he want to have kids? What’s his last name? I’ll send him a friend request on The Facebook and invite him over for dinner.”
Chapter 14
Heidi’s Discount Erotica, Episode 4
“Welcome to Heidi’s Discount Erotica, do-do-do! I’m going to try something completely different for this podcast: no wine. I know, I know, it won’t be as magical as the other three previous podcasts, but at least I won’t make any poor choices when it’s finished. Hopefully.
“Anyhoo, I see I have a bunch of new listeners since my last podcast, which is just crazy. I don’t know where you’re all coming from or why you’re here, because honestly, this thing is a train wreck, but welcome! And I’m sorry if you only tuned in because you heard from a friend that some awkward woman does nothing but drink an entire box of wine and then records herself rambling nonsense, mostly about her good-looking neighbor who is way out of her league. Don’t worry; there will still be rambling. It’s what I do. But for the time being, the wine is safely locked away in the back of my fridge, behind the jar of pickles that is roughly two years old that still has one lonely pickle floating in the juice that I will never eat and will also never throw away, because that’s just wasteful, and the Tupperware container that could be leftover spaghetti from three months ago or homemade slime I made for one of my classes and forgot to take to school when I still worked there. The color suggests slime, but it could really go either way at this point.
“Let’s see. What’s happened since my last podcast a week ago? Oh! Yes! Well, my mom now knows where I work. It went much better than I expected, and she’s actually reading some of the books that are recorded at my place of employment. Well, she said she would read them, and she seemed really excited about it, which might be for the best since some conversations with your mom are better left un-had.
“Meanwhile, I know you’re expecting an update on my hot neighbor. Well, I don’t think I told you guys about how I tried to kiss him and it ended very, very badly. Let’s just say, at the end of the last podcast, I sent him a text I shouldn’t have. He came over to make sure I was okay, and wine made me go in for a kiss and accidentally punch him. Now I’m back to hiding in bushes whenever I come home and he happens to be outside, because the thought of making eye contact with him again after the last time I saw him makes me want to throw up a little. I spent three hours in my hydrangea yesterday afternoon, and today I have scratches in places no woman should ever have scratches because of that stupid bush.
“Another listener named LoveMyBoo4Ever commented on my last podcast, ‘What’s the worst that could happen if you just ask sexy neighbor out?’ Um, well, he could say no! He could laugh in my face. And then I’d have to move, and I really, really like my cute little bungalow and the street I live on. I don’t want to move. But I also can’t live like this. I need to be bold and fearless. My mother knows what I do for a living now, and I didn’t spontaneously combust when she found out. I know I won’t actually die if I face him again, but it sure feels like it right now.
“Which brings us to today’s reading assignment, given to me by my new friend, which will hopefully get me back on the bold and fearless track. Have I mentioned to you guys that she’s an author? She’s in the middle of writing a new book and gave me an excerpt from one of the chapters she just finished for me to try out. So, here goes.
“Ahem.”
*Cough, cough.
“It’s fine. I’m fine. I can do this without wine. Just read it really fast and get it over with. Don’t think about the wine in the fridge behind the lonely, old pickle and spaghetti slime. It’s probably fermented by now and doesn’t taste good. Who wants to drink wine that doesn’t taste good? Certainly not me.
“Ahem.”
*Cough, cough.
“Do you thin
k wine gets sad if you don’t drink it? I mean, I know it doesn’t have feelings. That’s just ridiculous. But when I was little, I had a huge collection of stuffed animals in my bedroom. Probably around two hundred, littering every surface. I remember going to school and almost crying, because I just imagined them sitting on my bed, being all sad and lonely that I left them there and wasn’t home to play with them. I swear I could hear their little cries of pain all day long. What if that box of wine is in my fridge, crying? It’s so cold and dark in there, and it doesn’t understand why I’ve abandoned it.
“Okay, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll reward myself with one glass of wine if I can get through this excerpt without blushing. That sounds good, doesn’t it? Like when I would reward my students with stickers if they did well on a spelling test. I’ll just think of this as an adult spelling test.
“Ahem.”
*Cough, cough.
“‘The delicate scrap of lace from my thong is immediately ripped off of me and tossed to the side. Ryan’s… tongue swirls around mine, probing deeper and driving me crazy. I quickly drop my hands to his jeans, ripping open the button and yanking down the zipper, dipping my hand right into his boxer briefs and pulling out his hard, swollen…’ Uh, um… ‘…pulling out his hard, swollen…’ Rooster! ‘I pump my fist up and down his… length a few times, until he reaches between us and takes himself in his hand, guiding himself to my…’ Flowering lady garden!”
*
*
*
“Uuugh, I’m sorry! Wine time! Folks, I promise I’ll study more next time. This is Heidi’s Discount Erotica, signing off. LoveMyBoo4Ever, if you’re still listening, I’ll be in my hydrangea bush until further notice.”
Chapter 15
“Thank you for calling EdenMedia. How may I direct—”