Heidi's Guide to Four Letter Words

by Tara Sivec

“I told you it was a good idea to bring her a cardigan. It’s freezing in here. Where’s the thermostat? I’m just gonna adjust it a little.”

  “Peggy, don’t touch the thermostat. We have more important concerns. There’s a squeaky floorboard. Do you hear that? Rinky-dink construction, that’s what this is. Our daughter is working in a place with rinky-dink construction. I need my toolbox.”

  The phone slowly slips from my hand and I completely forget about the person on the other end of the line as I sit behind the reception desk, watching my worst nightmare come to life.

  My parents are at my place of employment.

  Oh jeez. My parents are at my place of employment!

  Like two tiny yet completely destructive tornadoes, they barrel around the room, adjusting the thermostat, opening the blinds, rearranging the stack of magazines on the coffee table, fluffing the decorative pillows on the couch, rapping a fist against each wall, and complaining about which one is load-bearing and which one isn’t.

  “Mom, Dad, what are you—”

  “Not now, Heidi,” my dad cuts me off as he goes back to the squeaky floorboard by the door and starts jumping up and down on it. “You hear that? This needs fixing immediately. The floor could give out at any minute. Someone get me my tools out the trunk of the car.”

  Please, for the love of all that is holy, let this natural disaster stay contained in the lobby and disappear before anyone knows they’re here.

  “Yoo-hoo! Is anyone here? I brought lemon bars!” my mother shouts down the hall, holding the pan of her famous lemon bars out in front of her like she hopes the smell will waft toward everyone working today and they’ll all just abandon their work and come running.

  “Mom! You can’t just yell down the hallway at a recording studio,” I scold, getting up from my chair with a sigh and coming around the desk to stand next to her. “Everyone is really busy this morning. They don’t have time for lemon—”

  “Did someone say lemon bars?” Dave yells excitedly as he flings open the door to one of the studios and power walks toward my mother. “Hi, I’m Dave! You must be Heidi’s mom.”

  “It’s just a dream,” I mutter to myself. “Any minute now, I’m going to wake up and this will all just be a dream.”

  “Young man, you have a dangerous situation on your hands over here with this floor,” my dad informs Dave as he continues to jump up and down on the floor, the squeak of the loose floorboard almost as annoying as my parents being at my work right now.

  Dave shoves an entire lemon bar in his mouth while grabbing three more to take with him, pointing his handful of treats at my dad.

  “Oh yeah. That thing has been squeaking since the day we opened,” Dave says around a mouthful, bits and pieces flying out of his mouth while he speaks.

  “Dave, don’t talk with your mouth open,” my mom tells him, pulling a napkin out of her purse hanging over her shoulder and handing it to him.

  “Okay, so it was really nice of you to stop by, but we have to get back to work now,” I speak in my calmest voice, keeping the irritation buried deep.

  Grabbing my mother’s shoulders, I turn her body away from Dave and start gently pushing her back toward the door.

  “Don’t be rude, Heidi!” she admonishes, stopping in the middle of the room and refusing to move any closer to the door. “Your father and I wanted to see where you work and meet all your co-workers. Where’s Jameson? Is he working today?”

  “Jameson is super busy. Everyone is super busy. Today isn’t a good day. Tomorrow probably won’t be a good day either. Maybe Friday five years from now will be a good day. You should come back then.”

  “Jameson!” she shouts at the top of her lungs, completely ignoring me.

  I hear another studio door open down the hall and let out a defeated sigh as I watch Jameson and Aubrey come into view, huge smiles on their faces as they walk toward my mom.

  “Peggy! I thought I heard your voice,” Jameson says with a laugh, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek before stepping out of the way so Aubrey can give her a hug.

  “Jameson, you’re not busy right now are you?” my dad asks him as he bounces up and down over by the door.

  Squeak, squeak, squeak.

  “Just trying to finish up a few more chapters of this audiobook by the end of the day today,” Jameson replies before taking a bite of the lemon bar my mom thrusts into his face.

  “Good. Go out to my trunk and grab my toolbox. You can help me fix this board,” Dad instructs as he bends down to get a closer look at the floor.

  “Dad! Jameson doesn’t have time to go get your toolbox; he’s working. You don’t need to fix anything here. I’m sure we have people who do that, right?” I ask, looking at Dave with wide, pleading eyes so he’ll help me and get my parents the heck out of here.

  “Oh sure. We have a maintenance guy.” Dave nods, shoving another lemon bar in his mouth.

  Thank G—

  “What’s his name?” Dad asks with a raise of one eyebrow.

  “Don’t know.” Dave shrugs.

  “What’s his phone number?”

  “Yeah, don’t know that either. Jessica used to always get ahold of him if we needed something fixed. Heidi, did Jessica leave you his name and number?” Dave asks.

  “We don’t have time for that now,” my dad complains. “Jameson, go get my tools.”

  “Sweetie, while you’re out there, can you grab the two other pans of lemon bars and the coffee carafe from the backseat? There’s also a vase of flowers, a tablecloth, and two lilac-scented candles,” mom informs him as she sets the pan down on the coffee table. “This lobby needs some sprucing up. Aubrey, help me move this coffee table over by the window where there’s more natural light.”

  “And, this is the break room where we take our breaks. That concludes your tour of EdenMedia, so how about I take you back to Dad and you guys can go home?”

  I try to back out of the doorway before my mom gets a chance to walk into the small room and start redecorating it, but it’s no use. She shoves right past me and takes a seat at the table. I shouldn’t be surprised. A tour that should normally take roughly five minutes, since this is a pretty small building, took over an hour. When I tried to just walk her right by the studios where people were busy recording, she insisted on walking inside and introducing herself, while spending entirely too long scolding the audio narrators on their choice of seating while they record, listing all the ailments they could possibly face without proper back support. She also reorganized the supply closet, convinced one of the producers to stop smoking, made plans to cook lunch for two of the narrators after she gave them a lecture about nutrition when she saw their choice of snacks sitting on a table in their studio, telling them they couldn’t touch her lemon bars until they had at least one vegetable, and vacuumed the entire place.

  “Mom, we really need to get back to work.” I sigh as she makes herself comfortable at the table.

  Aubrey accompanied us on the tour, and I quickly shoot her a look that says “Help. Me.”

  She just shrugs. “I’m not here to work. I’m just here to watch my husband work, and to annoy you when I get bored. Sorry. I’m bored.” With a laugh, she flops down on a chair next to my mom. They both look at me expectantly. Since my parents have already made enough of a scene this morning—the sounds of a hammer being smacked against the hardwood floor in the lobby, along with my dad shouting orders at Jameson, haven’t stopped since Jameson came back inside with my dad’s toolbox an hour ago—I figure it can’t get any worse. At least Dave didn’t fire me when my mom asked him to lift up his legs while he sat at the DAW, so she could get the vacuum under the desk. It’s probably a wise decision at this point to keep her contained to the break room until my dad is finished.

  Sitting across from Aubrey and my mom, I watch in silence as she hefts her purse up onto the table and begins pulling things out of it. Namely, all of Aubrey’s books that she gave my mom when we had lunch at my parents’ h
ouse a few weeks ago. True to her word, each book has been covered with different floral contact paper so you can no longer see the naked man-chest covers.

  “I finished each of your books, Aubrey, and my goodness, you are a wonderful storyteller!” Mom gushes. “The ladies at church read them after I did, and they all want you to come to our next book club meeting.”

  Grabbing the book closest to me, I flip through the pages before giving my mom a quizzical look.

  “Um, Mom? Where are all the Post-It notes?”

  She clears her throat, brushes imaginary lint off her shirt, and refuses to make eye contact.

  “Post-It notes? What Post-It notes?” she asks, feigning confusion, still brushing absolutely nothing off the front of her shirt.

  “The Post-It notes you made Aubrey put on the pages with all the dirty parts,” I remind her.

  Aubrey is doing her best to smother her laughter with her hand over her mouth, but it’s no use. A giggle escapes, and she quickly covers it up with a cough.

  “Oh, those Post-It notes. Honestly, Heidi, I don’t have time to keep track of a bunch of Post-It notes, especially ones that stop being sticky after a while. The wind must have blown them off.” She shrugs.

  “Really? The wind?” I question, still flipping through the book in my hand. “There seems to be a lot of dog-eared pages in this one. You must have really liked… chapter thirteen, page 127. Let’s just see what you liked so much about this page that you had to fold down the corner of it.”

  My mom quickly snatches the book out of my hand before I can read from the page. Thank God for small favors. Just a quick skim of that page and I saw several references to male and female parts and something about chocolate sauce.

  “Oooh, yeah, chapter thirteen,” Aubrey muses. “I remember that one now. That was a good one. Jameson and I tested that one out to make sure it would work. You have to heat the chocolate sauce in fifteen-second intervals just to be on the safe side.”

  “My… friend from church figured that out the hard way,” Mom says with a sad shake of her head.

  “Really? Your friend? Which one?” Aubrey asks in amusement before giving me a quick glance. “You know all your mom’s friends, Heidi, right?”

  “Just a friend. She’s new. Heidi doesn’t know her,” my mom quickly adds before I even have a chance to silently nod.

  “Seriously, what’s her name? Maybe I should give her a call and explain the fifteen-second intervals thing to her for future reference. I mean, it is technically my fault I didn’t put the proper heating instructions in the book.”

  “Oh, it’s fine! I’ll be sure to pass the information along,” my mom laughs uncomfortably as her cheeks start to redden.

  I know. I know what’s going to happen next, but just like with a train wreck, you can’t help but inch a little closer and see what’s going on. I could put an end to Aubrey’s line of questioning, but a twisted part of me wants to hear my mother admit it. Wants to hear her say out loud that she really liked the books and no longer thinks they’re something dirty or something you should never talk about enjoying.

  “She could be getting ready to give this thing one more try and she doesn’t even know the proper way to do it,” Aubrey states, picking her phone up from the table in front of her. “That sounds like an emergency room trip waiting to happen. We should just call her right now.”

  “Okay, fine!” she shouts. “It wasn’t a friend; it was Heidi’s father and me. Chocolate sauce was on sale at the grocery store the other day, and you know I can’t pass up a good sale. It was buy one get one free. Anyhoo, Heidi’s father now has a blister on his pee-pee and he’s very sensitive about it, so don’t say anything to him.”

  Aubrey doesn’t even bother to cover up her amusement at this point; she just throws her head back and lets the laughter fly. Me, on the other hand? I’m sitting here regretting every decision I’ve ever made in my entire life that has led me to this point. I just wanted my mom to admit she read the dirty parts and prove to her that these books aren’t the work of the devil that no one should ever talk about, not tell me about my father’s blistered pee-pee—a phrase I never thought I’d think about in my entire life, and one that will give me more nightmares than the memory of the two of them coming into EdenMedia like wrecking balls.

  “Don’t give me that look, Heidi Marie Larson,” my mother admonishes. “These books have opened up my mind, especially now that I’ve met the author and she isn’t a pervert.”

  “That’s what she thinks,” Aubrey whispers so only I can hear her, letting out a little snort of amusement at her own words.

  I’m too busy being completely shocked about what just transpired in here to find amusement in what Aubrey said. When I was younger and something sexual, or even something closely resembling anything sexual, came on the television, my mother would put her hand over my eyes and start humming loudly until that part was over. I grew up being literally shielded from anything involving sex. And now here my mother is, talking so freely about my father and… chocolate sauce that I have the urge to cover my own eyes and start humming until she’s finished.

  “Well, Heidi, you were looking for an opportunity to tell your mom about that other thing you’ve been doing,” Aubrey says through her laughter, giving me an exaggerated wink as she refers to my podcast. “I think this might be the opening you were looking for. Nothing says Heidi’s Discount Erotica like a blistered pee-pee.”

  “Stop saying blistered pee-pee,” I mutter in annoyance, my stomach churning with the knowledge that I will never be able to look my dad in the eye again.

  My mom is looking at me expectantly, Aubrey is just smiling at me like a loon, and I figure, what the heck? Things couldn’t possibly get any worse. Taking a deep breath, I blurt it out at once.

  “I started recording a podcast, which is kind of like a radio talk show except it’s not live, where I just read the dirty parts of romance novels to help me stop being so awkward and shy and gain some confidence with… men.”

  “And by men she means her sexy neighbor, Brent,” Aubrey adds, which earns her the dirtiest look I can muster.

  “I thought you two were already dating?” my mother asks in confusion.

  “No! He doesn’t even know I exist. Okay, fine. He knows I exist; he just doesn’t think of me in that way,” I mumble.

  “I need to know more about this young man before I can tell you what to do and how to fix it,” she states.

  “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” I sigh.

  “What’s his middle name?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do his parents do for a living?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What kind of hobbies does he enjoy?”

  “I-I don’t know.”

  “Goodness, Heidi! Do you know anything about him?”

  “He works in construction. He’s really nice. And… um… he, uh, does thoughtful things like mow my lawn and bring my garbage cans back up to the side of my house and stuff. Oh! And he likes lemonade. I know that for a fact, because he always asks for seconds whenever I give him a glass.”

  Aubrey and my mom just stare at me from across the table like I’m an idiot.

  Am I an idiot? How am I supposed to know everything about Brent when I can’t even have a conversation with him about the weather without giggling like a preteen talking to the first boy she’s ever had a crush on?

  “Oh, Heidi. This is just sad,” my mom says with a shake of her head.

  Great. My mother, who tried to burn off my dad’s you-know-what is sitting here judging me.

  “Actually, this could be good. This is the in you need,” Aubrey explains. “You just go over to his house after work today and tell him it’s time the two of you get to know each other.”

  “Oh, okay,” I laugh sarcastically. “I’ll just march right over there and order him to take me out.”

  “Exactly!” Aubrey says excitedly.

  “I was ki
dding! I can’t do that. I’m not ready. I haven’t even gotten up the nerve to read anything word-for-word on my podcast yet! I said the words lady garden in my last one!”

  My heart starts racing and my palms get sweaty as my mom pipes up.

  “Lady garden is so 2009, Heidi. I’m with Aubrey. Just knock on his door and take charge!”

  Before I can make anymore protests, my dad pops his head in through the doorway.

  “Got the floorboard fixed. Jameson was no help. He had to leave halfway through to go record some namby-pamby lady book,” my dad mutters in annoyance.

  “The correct term is erotic romance novel, Henry. Don’t make fun of those types of books that provided us with hours of entertainment this past weekend.”

  My dad shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot in the doorway and lets out a low growl. “Fine. Whatever. Let’s go. I need to change my bandage.”

  Before I can throw up all over the table, my mom gets up from her chair and pats me on the shoulder as she walks behind me.

  “Don’t worry about his burned pee-pee,” she says in a loud whisper. “He’ll be fine in a few days. I’ll call you later to get all the details about your date with Brent.”

  Once she’s gone and I can breathe again without the threat of my breakfast coming back up, Aubrey gives me a wide smile.

  “I swear to God, if you ever write a scene about a burned you-know-what, I will never speak to you again.”

  “I don’t know; that might be just the scene to pull you out of your comfort zone and read the actual words that are printed.” She laughs.

  “This is not funny. None of this is funny.”

  “You’re right. It’s not funny that you’re a grown woman who doesn’t even have the confidence to flirt with your next door neighbor.”

  “I’m not good at flirting, okay? That doesn’t make me a bad person!”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Aubrey reaches across the table and picks up one of the books. “But it’s limiting your enjoyment in life.” She flips to a particular page before sliding the book over to me. “Read that scene on tonight’s podcast. The heroine asks the hero for oral sex. It will help you get some much-needed confidence to ask Brent out after you’re finished recording.”