MILF: Wrong Kind of Love

by Erin Noelle

  Speaking of my mother, that’s the whole reason for this anti-wedding rant anyway. At the sprite age of forty-one, she’s decided now is a good time to have her first one, with someone else’s husband, no less.

  Now, I’m all for my mom being happy and shit, ‘cause after all, she was an okay mom to me growing up, even if she wasn’t around much. She was always working two jobs to provide for us, making sure I had the latest designer clothes and shoes and was able to participate in all the sports I wanted to, and although she never attended any of my games, I understood. More importantly, I don’t want her to spend the rest of her life alone, seeing as though I’ll hopefully be getting my own place in the next few months; I just wish she could’ve found someone a little less married.

  Never one to date much, and I sure as hell wasn’t aware of her affair, you can imagine my surprise when she called me with the news a month after I left for my junior year of college, studying abroad in Barcelona. I was speechless, pissed even, but I didn’t express my displeasure, not wanting to burst my mom’s bubble of joy. All I could say was, “I hope you’re happy,” and accept it for what it was. Reality.

  “Gray, baby, why are you awake?” Jess rolls over in the bed to snuggle up to my body. I don’t move my arms from behind my head to reciprocate the action, but I don’t stop her either.

  “My internal clock is all jacked up. It’s mid-afternoon in Spain right now,” I grumble, keeping my stare focused on the ceiling.

  She runs one hand across my chest, down my torso, and then stops it right at the waistband of my boxers. “Are you nervous about your mom’s wedding today?”

  Is she fucking kidding me? She wants to act like she’s about to grab my cock, and then asks me a question about my mom?

  “Nervous? No. Wishing I didn’t have to go? Abso-fucking-lutely,” I snap grouchily while suddenly sitting up, throwing the sheet and her arm off of me in the process. Hastily, I climb out of bed and pick up my jeans and t-shirt off of the floor, where I threw them the night before.

  “Wait! Where are you going?” she whines. “I’m sorry I said anything. Please, get back in bed. I want to show you how much I missed you. We have ten months to make up for. I don’t want you to leave yet.”

  Damn, I don’t remember her being this annoying before I left. Maybe it’s just my jet lag that’s causing her voice to grate on my nerves. I lean over and chastely kiss her lips.

  “Sorry, babe, I gotta get home. Lots to do today, and I’m sure Mom’s not too thrilled I didn’t stay over there last night, since she hasn’t seen me in a long time either,” I say, trying not to sound like a dick as I get dressed. “I’ll check in with you later.”

  Not that I wasn’t all about burying my cock back into some smooth American pussy as soon as I got home, ‘cause damn those Spanish women obviously weren’t aware of what a bikini wax was, but the truth was my mom and Mark were having a pre-wedding dinner over at the house with some of their friends, and it was the last fucking place I wanted to be, especially once I found out Adam wasn’t going to be there. Once I had done my obligatory ‘I missed you, Mom’ and ‘my trip was great’ spiel, I hightailed it out of the house as fast as I could.

  “Okay, baby. Call me later. If you change your mind and want me to come with you, just give me a little notice.” She smiles, reaching up to hug my neck, which in turn causes the covers to fall below her perky tits. For a brief second, I contemplate hopping back in bed and having my way with her one more time, but just at that moment, my phone chimes with a text message. I take the well-timed alert as a sign I better not.

  I let myself out of her apartment, saying a quick goodbye to her roommate, Amber, in the kitchen on the way, and pull my phone out of my pocket as I step outside. The already hot and humid early June morning air slaps me in the face as I bound across the parking lot, reminding me yet again why I want to move the fuck out of Georgia as soon as I finish school.

  Once I’m inside my truck, with the air condition on full blast, I look at my phone to see who texted me.

  Adam: What time r u going home? I’m not going without u.

  I type out a quick response before shifting the transmission into drive and pulling out of the parking lot.

  Me: Headed there now.

  Adam: K. Making sure Mom’s good, then I’m on my way. I hope u have something strong to drink, big bro.

  I laugh out loud and remember the one good thing coming out of all this craziness. My best friend is now going to be my stepbrother, and even though we won’t live together, it’s still kind of cool in a weird way.

  Me: Never doubt me, little bro. C u soon.

  Fifteen minutes later, I pull up in front of the house I grew up in and hop out of the truck, irritated Mark’s Mercedes is parked in my spot in the driveway. Fucking shit! They haven’t even said ‘I do’ and he’s already pissing me off. I really need to get my own place soon.

  Throwing the door open, I stalk inside and wave hello to my mom and aunt, who are standing in the kitchen, discussing something about the wedding. Then, completely ignoring Mark where he’s sitting watching TV in the living room, I go hide out in my room as I wait for Adam to get here.

  It’s going to be a long fucking day.

  THE GYM IS MY MECCA—THE PLACE I start each day, and occasionally, the place I end it too. Along with Adam, it’s been the saving grace for my sanity over the last nine months. Without both of them, I’m not sure where I’d be right now.

  Soon after Mark announced he wanted a divorce, accompanied with the fact he’d been having a lengthy affair with Celeste Daniels, a woman I considered a friend for the last fifteen years, I didn’t leave my house for weeks. I rarely showered, didn’t eat much, cried constantly, and was convinced my life was over. Dejected and desolate, my heart was broken, and overall, I was just plain depressed.

  Then, shortly thereafter, the anger set in…and oh boy, did it ever.

  One evening in October, after the final meeting with Mark and our attorneys, I celebrated the filing of our divorce petition with a bottle of wine all to myself, which in hindsight might not have been the best idea. With the alcohol fueling the fiery rage already present in my bloodstream, I took one of Adam’s baseball bats to a few pieces of furniture in the house that once held sentimental value to me, things Mark had bought for me, and incidentally, a few windows may have gotten in the way while I was blindly swinging the aluminum pipe, pretending different things were Mark’s face.

  While the entire event was quite therapeutic, it’s not exactly what you want your son and one of his friends to walk in on, which they did. The following day, Adam suggested I join a gym to take my hostility and aggressions out on the machines and punching bags. So to make him happy, I checked it out, and I’m now officially addicted to it.

  In addition to the mental and emotional healing the workouts provide, I’ve also dropped a little more than twenty pounds and two dress sizes, leaving me in the best shape of my adult life. Not that I was exactly overweight before, but I admittedly had stopped worrying about being a size four some time ago, as I concentrated more on raising my kid and taking care of my house. Seemingly, I only succeeded at one of those tasks. Thank God I have a good kid.

  “Morning, Ms. Sullivan,” Holden, one of the personal trainers at Equinox, greets me enthusiastically as I enter the foyer and swipe my membership card through the magnetic reader. “You’re later than usual today. I was starting to think you may actually take a day off.”

  “Friends don’t let friends skip leg day, Holden. You know better than that.’’ I grin at him behind the welcome counter. “And for the hundredth time, it’s just Mia. You make me feel old with that ‘Ms.’ business.”

  He chuckles and shakes his head as I pass through to the women’s locker room. “You are far from old, Mia,” he calls out after me, and I just laugh.

  After stashing my bag into a locker, I plug my earbuds in and hurry out to the elliptical machines, anxious to get my blood pumping and my thoughts o
ff other events happening today. The minute my arms and legs begin stirring, my mind switches gears and I allow the adrenaline to take over my movements. Ah, such a sweet escape from reality.

  The two hours pass in the blink of an eye, and by the time I step out of the showers, the much welcomed serenity has settled in. Much like a junkie with his drug fix, I’ve pacified myself for the time being, but I’ll be back again. Soon.

  Straight from the gym, I drive to the day spa, excited and anxious for my afternoon of pampering. I can’t remember the last time I indulged myself like this, and if today isn’t the day to do it, then there’s not one.

  The receptionist checks me in, and after a short ten minute wait, I’m called to the back for my first appointment—a hot stone massage. Having never had a professional massage before, when the ninety minutes are up, I make a mental note I need one of those at least weekly from now on.

  Straight from the massage table, I move into the facials room, and then to the nail salon, leaving my hair appointment for last. By the time I sit down in the chair in front of the stylist, I’m so relaxed I’m afraid I can’t sit up straight.

  “Afternoon, Ms. Sullivan.” The young blonde smiles warmly at me, and I make a silent vow to look into getting my name changed as soon as possible. After today, there’s a new Mrs. Sullivan, and hearing people call me that makes my skin crawl. “What did you have in mind for today? Just a cut, or did you want to add some color in as well?”

  I stare at her through the mirror, then at my straight, limp brown locks before shrugging my shoulders indecisively. “I’m not really sure, honestly. I’ve had this same boring hair for the last ten years or so, and I’m ready for a change. I’m open for anything as long as I keep enough length to pull it up in a ponytail.”

  She listens intently as she walks around the chair, lifting sections of my hair here and there. After a few quiet moments, she lifts her eyes to meet my reflection. “All right, I’ve got it. Let me go mix up some colors and I’ll be right back.”

  True to her word, she returns quickly, juggling three different bowls of what I’m assuming is hair dye, and goes straight to work. I brought my e-reader with me, thinking I’d have a little time to read while she was applying the color, but Amber—which I soon learn is her name—is quite a Chatty Cathy.

  She starts off by talking about how she moved here from a small town in Tennessee to go to UGA a few years ago, but she just wasn’t ‘college material’, her words not mine, so she dropped out to go to cosmetology school. In addition, she has a roommate and isn’t currently dating anyone, but a fortune teller told her she’d find the love of her life this year.

  I slip in an ‘oh, I see’ and a ‘yes, I understand’ every once in a while, but it’s really not necessary, because she only stops to take the necessary breaths to not pass out. At some point, I begin to tune her out and think about setting her up on a date with Adam—I’d guess they’re about the same age—but I decide against it. I may come off as the weird, over-involved mother, which would most definitely indicate something’s probably wrong with my son if he can’t get his own dates and has his mom setting him up. Yep, leave that alone, Mia.

  Finally, she announces she’s finished and I’ll need to sit under a dryer for about twenty minutes before washing it out. I perk up at the reprieve from her gabby jaws and am pleased to get a few chapters of my new book in before she announces it’s time to move to the sink.

  After a thorough wash and conditioning treatment, Amber leads me back to her station, where she combs out my hair and begins cutting away. Immediately, she starts up again about how her roommate has some asshole boyfriend who just recently returned to the city and how she’s bummed, because that means her friend will never want to go out since she’s stuck up his ass all the time—again, her words.

  I can’t help but chuckle at her dramatic life problems, and before I know it, I find myself blurting out, “Well, hun, it could be worse. My ex-husband is getting married today to the woman he was screwing for years behind my back, a family friend nonetheless.”

  She stops moving and her jaw drops open as she looks at me with pure pity. “Oh my God, are you kidding me?” she asks, furrowing her brow. “What a dick! I hope you slashed his tires…and hers too.”

  “Nah, I just took his house and half of his bank account.” I smile up at her, but it’s empty. I didn’t want the house and half of his money. I wanted a husband who didn’t fuck other women, someone who would love, respect, and cherish me forever. But I had to learn the hard way nothing lasts forever.

  “Well, good for you. He’s a dumbass,” she resumes her work on my hair with a shake of her head, “and just wait until he gets a look at you once I’m finished with you. He’s gonna realize he made a big mistake.”

  Turning me away from the mirror, she finishes with the cut and then begins to blow dry my I’m-not-sure-what-color hair with a round brush. About twenty minutes later, Amber sets the tools down on her station and claps her hands together, grinning from ear to ear.

  “You look fabulous. Are you ready to see it?” She’s bouncing on the balls of her feet she’s so excited.

  “Yep. Ready as I’ll ever be,” I reply, nervous but eager to see what she’s done.

  The chair slowly spins around until I’m staring into the mirror, looking at I don’t know who. I gasp, bringing my hands to my face, in complete awe of my new look. Long layers of rich chocolate brown tendrils with blonde and caramel highlights seamlessly streaking through it cascade around my heart-shaped face, really emphasizing my big blue eyes and high cheek bones. It’s absolutely perfect.

  And then, for some damn reason, I start to cry.

  “Oh no, if you don’t like it, I can fix it,” she says disappointedly as she snags a couple of tissues from the counter. “Please don’t cry. I’m so sorry.”

  Dabbing the Kleenex to my cheeks, I swallow back the lump in my throat and smile warmly at her. “I absolutely love it. I don’t want you to change a thing. It’s exactly the fresh start I was hoping for.”

  “So tell me about Spain, man. Did you dip into any of that foreign pussy or what?” Adam asks as we sit on my bedroom floor, playing video games to kill time until the dreaded event.

  I glance over at him briefly, picking up a strange tone in his voice, but when he grins mischievously over at me, I assume the jet lag is just screwing with my head. Returning my focus back to the TV screen, I scoff, ”Dude, how fucking long have you known me? I was there ten months. What in the hell do you think?”

  “Well, I didn’t know what the deal was with you and Jess while you were gone...not that I thought you’d make it that long without getting any ass,” he replies with a light chuckle.

  I throw my controller down after my player dies yet again. “Fuck no, man. I can barely make it ten days without, much less ten months.”

  “But I’m guessing you and Jess are back together now, since you stayed there last night, right?”

  Shrugging, I pick up the beer bottle next to me and take a long pull. “I don’t fucking know. I’m not sure what in the hell I want now that I’m back. It was a nice homecoming fuck, but I’m different than when I left. I’m ready to finish this last year of school and get out there in the real world…away from Athens, away from Georgia altogether. There’s so much more out there than this fucking city and girls like Jess.”

  A knock at the door interrupts us, and Adam’s dad peeks his head inside my room without waiting for me to tell him to come in. That shit ain’t gonna work.

  “Hey, boys, we need to leave for the church in about thirty minutes. Go ahead and put your suits on.” Mark peers down at the bottle in my hands and scrunches his nose up in disapproval. “And if you could refrain from drinking any more until the reception, that’d be superb.”

  He closes the door before I can tell him I’m not his fucking boy, and he’s not going to tell me when nor what I can drink. I haven’t had a daddy my entire life, and I sure don’t need him trying to act
like one now.

  Adam rolls his eyes and then guzzles down the rest of his beer. Then standing up from the ground, he tosses the empty bottle in the trash can and looks over at me, still sitting down. “Sorry about him…about all this.” He scrubs his hands up and down his face with frustration. “I really had no idea this was going on or I woulda put a stop to it. I love your mom and all, and I’m glad they’re happy, but the pain my mom is going through right now makes me want to kill both of them for being so damn selfish.”

  Rocking forward up to my knees, then all the way to my feet, I throw my empty bottle away with the rest of the six-pack already in the waste basket. “Man, I can’t even imagine,” I admit, truly feeling bad for Adam’s mom as I walk into my closet and grab the suit my mom bought for me to wear today. “I know in that one email you told me about her destroying everything in the house one night, but has she gotten any better?”

  “Better, but not great. She’s been releasing most of her stress at the gym, and I think she’s trying to start up her own business,” he explains, stripping out of his shirt and shorts and putting his suit on as well.

  “Well, that’s cool. I’m glad she’s got something to focus on now. I always loved your mom. With mine working all the time, I think I spent more time at your house than I did my own growing up.”

  “Yeah, she’s a pretty cool lady.”

  We finish putting on our matching slate gray suits and each of us does a once over in the mirror, making sure we look good. Physically, Adam and I have similar builds. We’re both a little over six feet tall, and because we’ve both played sports all of our lives, we’ve always had toned, muscular bodies. His bottom-half is a little thicker than mine, where my chest is a little broader, but more or less, our physique is pretty alike.