My Parents Are Sex Maniacs

by Robyn Harding

  “So,” Russell says, with a finality that indicates the subject is closed, “your mom and your algebra teacher, huh? Is he hot at least?”

  25

  The first time Mr. Bartley—or Dave, as we are instructed to call him—comes over for dinner, it’s a little weird. Okay, it’s a lot weird. First of all, teachers are not supposed to be invited into your home. And secondly, my mom is acting like a total spaz.

  “Okay,” she says, fluttering around the table like a butterfly on speed, “Louise can sit here . . . Dave, you can sit next to me over here. And, Troy, you can sit at the head of the table, since you’re the man of the house.”

  I roll my eyes at her obvious attempt to make my brother feel important. Mr. Bartley catches my look and gives me an understanding smirk.

  When we’re seated, my mom hurries to the kitchen to retrieve the casserole from the oven. She returns wearing green oven mitts and carrying a large glass dish. “Baked red lentil and wild rice casserole. It might not sound very good, but it’s actually quite tasty. And it’s so good for you.”

  “I’m sure it’s great,” Mr. Bartley says. Then he turns to Troy and me. “Have you ever noticed that your mom’s a little obsessed with fiber?”

  “No, I never noticed,” Troy says sarcastically.

  “Me either,” I join in.

  “Don’t gang up on me!” my mom cries, looking positively thrilled.

  As we eat the casserole (it really isn’t that bad), I can’t help but enjoy the evening. If it weren’t for the fact that he’s my teacher, Mr. Bartley—I mean, Dave—is not a bad guy. He’s actually kind of funny. And I have to admit that my mom practically glows every time she looks at him. It’s still kind of weird that my mother is dating a teacher, but at least they’re not physically affectionate with each other. That would be too much to take.

  Two weeks later, Troy and I have dinner plans with our dad. Before we leave, I visit my brother in his room. “I don’t think we should tell Dad about Mom and Mr. Bartley. Dad’s had a rough year, and it might be too much for him to take.”

  “Yeah,” Troy says, fiddling with a Rubik’s cube he will never solve, “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Good,” I say, happy that my brother seems to have developed some normal feelings recently. “We won’t mention it then.”

  When we’re at Red Robin, we keep conversation light, avoiding depressing topics like Mom and Dad’s impending divorce, her blossoming new relationship, and the fact that Dad was nearly murdered by his former best friend.

  “I’d like to take you kids away for a few days,” he says, dipping a steak-cut fry in ketchup. “Maybe camping or something.”

  “Sure!” Troy, who loves camping, says.

  I, who do not love camping, say, “I don’t know if I can get time off work.”

  “I’m sure they can spare you for a day or two,” my dad chides.

  “Or just you two could go?” I suggest.

  “We’ll work something out,” he says, taking a sip of Diet Coke. “I’ll talk to your mom about it when I drop you off.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” I say, eyes darting nervously to meet my brother’s. With her kids out of the house, my mom and Dave would undoubtedly be sharing a romantic dinner a deux at this very moment.

  “Yeah, she won’t care,” Troy concurs.

  My dad gives us a look. “I’d like to run it by her anyway. I don’t want to step on her toes—you know, in case she has plans with you kids.”

  “She doesn’t,” I say quickly. “We never have any plans with her.”

  “That’s true,” Troy adds hurriedly. “She works all the time now. We never do anything together.”

  My dad laughs and shakes his head, turning his attention back to his burger.

  On the drive home, my heart is in my throat. I don’t know if I can take another family confrontation. At least when my dad was up against Keith Marshall, he’d had the advantage of speed, but Mr. Bartley is much spryer, and he’s muscular. Len won’t have a chance! And who will break it up before Dave kills him? Troy? As if! I just hope my dad will remember Dave’s lifesaving role in his last skirmish and think twice about challenging him.

  When we pull into the driveway, my dad puts the Infiniti into park and turns off the ignition. “Looks like mom’s asleep,” Troy says, indicating the single light shining from the kitchen. “We’d better not disturb her.”

  My dad looks at me in the passenger seat and then over his shoulder to Troy in the back. “I know about your mom and Dave Bartley.”

  “You do?” we say in unison.

  “It’s a small town. She knew I’d find out eventually, so she called me and told me.”

  “A—And you’re okay with it?” I stammer.

  For the first time, there is a glint of sadness in his eyes. “I have to accept the fact that your mother is ready to end our marriage and move on. She’s a wonderful woman and she deserves to be happy.”

  “Umm . . . okay.”

  “So,” he says, rubbing his palms together, “let’s talk to her about that camping trip.”

  With my father’s acceptance, my mom’s new relationship suddenly doesn’t seem so devastating. Dave is a nice guy and he obviously makes her happy. So maybe it’s not so bad?

  And if I’m okay with my mom’s new relationship, then I should be able to accept Russell’s new sort-of boyfriend too. When we’re sitting in his basement listening to music one Friday night, I summon the courage to ask him about it. “How are things with that guy you’re seeing?” I ask casually.

  Russell plays with the laptop in his lap, moving from one bass-pounding techno song to another indistinguishable one. “I’m not seeing him anymore.”

  “Oh?” Oops. I hope I don’t sound too happy.

  “He’s trying to convince himself that he’s straight.”

  “And you don’t think he is?”

  Russell looks at me frankly. “Trust me. He’s not.”

  “Well . . . that’s too bad.”

  “It’s too bad for him,” Russell says flippantly, inspecting the playlist on the screen. “He’s going to live a lie until he can’t take it any longer and then he’s going to break some poor girl’s heart.”

  We are silent for a while, immersing ourselves in the music. At least Russell is immersing himself in the music; I’m still thinking of the appropriate response. I’m afraid to speak in case my incredible happiness at having Russell all to myself again comes out. Not that his previous relationship substantially cut into our time together, but it’s more of a symbolic thing. With Russell unattached, it’s sort of like I have a boyfriend—without the sex, of course.

  Finally I say, “He’ll be just like that gay senator in New Jersey or wherever, who had a wife and two kids when he finally came out.”

  Russell looks at me pointedly. “He was the governor. And I don’t know if my guy is really the political type.”

  Internally, I flinch at the “my guy” reference, but outwardly I smile sadly. “It’s a shame,” I say.

  “Yeah,” Russell mumbles, and I can tell he’s trying hard to mask his sadness. Then, turning up the volume, he says, “Check out the sampling on this track.”

  And so my summer progresses . . . I work, I spend time with Russell, and occasionally I meet Leah Montgomery and some of the gang for pizza or coffee. Only once do I see Sienna, and it’s from a distance. Troy and I are renting a video when she and Daniel Noran walk into Blockbuster. I’m already at the till and just about to exit when they arrive. Sienna is looking in the other direction, but Daniel Noran looks right at me. Luckily, he’s such a self-absorbed dink that he has no idea who I am. But I’m surprised and a little disturbed by the intensity of my reaction to this Sienna sighting. I have Russell now. I don’t need her anymore. So why did I experience such a pang in my heart when she walked in?

  As my brother and I drive home from the video store, I decide to focus on the positive. After the tumultuous months my family has end
ured, we’ve finally hit some smooth sailing. My mom is happy, my dad is accepting, and my brother hasn’t punched a wall since March. I slowly maneuver the car into the driveway. Before I turn off the ignition, I turn to face Troy. “We’ve had a rough year, but things are finally looking up, aren’t they?” I smile at him.

  My brother gapes at me like I’ve just proposed marriage to him and hops out of the car without a word. But this doesn’t dampen my hopeful mood. Despite my lingering sadness about Sienna, I am definitely moving on with my life.

  26

  Three weeks before school resumes, my mom summons Troy and me to the breakfast bar. Dave is standing a little behind her, looking rather nervous and uncomfortable. “Sit down, kids,” my mom says, her demeanor calm in comparison. “We’d like to talk to you.”

  I’ve been anticipating this conversation. With school looming on the horizon, it would be wise to discuss how we’re going to handle our new relationship with Dave. Obviously, we’ll have to go back to calling him Mr. Bartley. And I’m sure he wants to instruct us to play it cool when he gives us higher marks than all our classmates.

  “Dave and I have something to tell you,” my mom says, glancing back at him and smiling. “We . . . uh . . . ” She clears her throat. “This may come as a bit of a surprise to you both but . . . ”

  Oh my god, they’re getting married! I turn my face away to stare out the darkened window, trying to hide the disturbing emotions this stirs in me. This is much more serious than I’d expected. Does that mean he’ll be moving in here? Walking around in his underwear? Even if he doesn’t walk around in his underwear, everyone at school will think he does. And how does one treat their algebra teacher / step–dad? I wonder if I could get them to postpone the wedding until I’ve graduated?

  My mom continues, “We’ve got some very exciting news. Dave and I—” again, she turns to smile at a nervous Dave— “we’re going to have a baby.”

  I feel the color drain from my face and I nearly topple off my seat. My mother is pregnant? She can’t be. She just can’t be! Why doesn’t she just take out an ad in the school newspaper: Louise Harrison’s Mom Having Sex with Math Teacher. Suddenly, I can see the appeal of wall punching.

  My mom looks at me. “Are you okay?”

  I’m so shocked I can barely speak. It’s unbelievable that she doesn’t realize how this will impact Troy and me at school. Finally I stammer, “I—I thought you were too old to get pregnant.”

  “Obviously I’m not,” she retorts.

  But what I really meant was, You’re too old to be banging my math teacher.

  “You’re going to have a new little brother or sister,” my mom continues, looking from Troy to me. “We weren’t expecting it to happen so soon but . . . well . . . ” She looks at Dave lovingly. “We’re just thrilled.”

  Troy says, “It’ll be kind of fun having a baby around here . . . Sort of like a puppy, but with no fur.”

  I could throttle him! I glance at Dave, who looks about as awkward as I did after trying to seduce Russell.

  Jumping off the barstool I say, “Well, I, for one, am not thrilled. I think it’s disgusting that you have to advertise your sex life to everyone in town.”

  “Louise . . . ” My mom turns to Dave in exasperation. “What are you even talking about? This is a precious new life!”

  “And I suppose this means he’ll be moving in here and you guys will be doing it all over the place!”

  “Yes, Dave’s going to be living with us, but as far as ‘doing it’ all over the place—”

  But I don’t want to hear any more. “Forget it,” I interrupt her, stalking to the telephone table and picking up the car keys. “I’m out of here.”

  “You’re not taking the car, young lady,” my mom says. “This conversation is not finished.”

  “Let her go, Denise,” Dave finally speaks. “She needs some time to process all this.”

  Alone in the car, I fight back the tears that are threatening to obscure my vision. Rage courses through my veins, turning my cheeks red. Like it wasn’t hard enough having one parent who was a sex maniac, now I’ve got two! The thought of my mother waddling into Red Cedars, all pregnant from having intercourse with Mr. Bartley, turns my stomach. They’ll probably walk through the halls holding hands, while all the kids picture them screwing in my house. Oh god! They were screwing in my house! When? Where? Did they keep it in the bedroom or did they do it in the shower, which I use every day? On the living-room sofa, where I watch TV? Or on the dining room table, where I eat?

  I will change schools and go live with my dad. The rest of them can be a happy family without me. Troy can stay there and play with his furless puppy and forget he ever had a big sister.

  When I reach the end of our road, I instinctively turn left toward Russell’s house. I need a friend right now, and he’s the only one I feel comfortable sharing this news with. Leah would probably be supportive too, but since she had Mr. Bartley for math last year, this information might be a little disturbing to her as well.

  A few minutes later, I pull the Mazda into the driveway of Russell’s unassuming, two-story home. A light emanates from the living-room window and I pray that he is there. Hurrying up the concrete steps of the darkened front porch, I ring the doorbell. Moments later, Russell’s stepmom, Tanya, answers.

  “Is Russell here?” I ask, forcing an upbeat tone. Tanya and I have met on a few occasions. Despite her thick makeup and low-cut shirts, she seems like a very down-to-earth woman.

  “Hi, hon. Sorry, he’s not here right now.”

  A lump forms in my throat. “Do you know where he is?”

  Tanya lowers her voice. “He and his dad had words again. He needed to cool off, so I let him take the Thunderbird for a drive.”

  “Any idea where?”

  “Sorry, babe.” She looks at me then, her eyes narrowed. “Are you okay? You look a little upset.”

  “Oh no!” I say brightly, backing away from the door. “I’m fine. I just felt like hanging out with Russell . . . no big deal.”

  Back in the car, I hurriedly reverse out of the driveway. I don’t want to dissolve into tears there in the front yard and end up being invited in for tea and sympathy by Russell’s stepmom. But when I’m a safe distance from his house, I pull over and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. I really need to talk to someone, but I’m not sure where to turn. And then, a sudden thought brightens my mood. I know where to find Russell.

  As I drive up the winding hillside highway, I remember Russell’s words. “Sometimes I come up here and just sit by myself and listen to music.” He’s got to be at the scenic make-out spot, blasting his techno tunes and stewing on his father’s controlling tendencies. Well, just wait till he hears that my mom will soon be walking around school in a T-shirt emblazoned with Your Math Teacher’s Baby on Board. That ought to put things into perspective for him.

  I ease the car over the rutted path, the headlights casting an eerie glow on the deserted road ahead. Instinctively, I press the door lock button. This is just the kind of place where a serial killer would hang out, waiting for some horny teenagers to mutilate. A chill runs through me. Once I find Russell, I’ll suggest we go talk at a Starbucks or somewhere else well-lit and secure. Entering the clearing, I immediately spot the Thunderbird and my heart surges with happiness. Parked beside it is a sporty little silver car and, in the distance, an aged station wagon. Cutting the headlights to give the other occupants some privacy, I pull into the spot next to Russell’s.

  Hopping out of the vehicle, I move toward the passenger window and peer inside. It takes a moment for my eyes to become accustomed to the dark, and when they do, I’m surprised to find the driver’s seat empty. Then my attention is drawn to some movement in the backseat, some movement that can only be described as writhing. Peering into the darkness, I can just discern the outlines of two figures that appear to be . . . making out! Oh no! Russell isn’t up here rehashing yet another argument with his father. He’s h
ere making out with that guy!

  Quickly I step away from the vehicle, but it’s too late. Something has alerted them to my presence—probably my face pressed up against the window. In the dark, I can just see Russell’s shocked, almost frightened expression. But after a second he recognizes me. “Louise,” he says, his tone a mixture of relief, confusion, and annoyance.

  “Sorry,” I reply, continuing to back away from the Thunderbird. “I—I didn’t know . . . ”

  I have almost reached the safety of my car when the passenger door of the Thunderbird opens and a silent figure bursts out. With a hand held to his face, Russell’s lover rushes over to the silver sports car and fumbles in his pocket for the keys. He’s trying to hide his identity, but there is no mistaking him: the perfectly styled hair, the broad shoulders in the mint-green polo shirt, the chiseled jawline . . . “Oh my god,” I mutter as he opens the door with a blip-blip and hops into the silver BMW. Reversing out dramatically, he speeds over the rutted path, probably doing all sorts of damage to the car’s suspension.

  By this time, Russell has emerged, looking rather disheveled and more than a little pissed off. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

  “What am I doing here?” I gasp. “What are you doing here with Daniel Noran?”

  27

  It was a rhetorical question, of course. I know exactly what Russell was doing there with Daniel Noran. But it was just so hard to believe! Sienna’s ultra-cool, ultra-popular boyfriend was secretly gay? Even in my most vicious revenge fantasies I hadn’t envisioned this scenario. But despite the fact that this is perhaps the most brutal payback I could have wished upon my former friend, I don’t feel anything resembling happiness. I can admit, if only to myself, that I still care about her.

  Russell and I are seated on the hood of Tanya’s Thunderbird now, both of us largely immersed in our own thoughts. “Wow,” Russell says, staring at the faded denim covering his knees.