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My mother fixes me with a determined look. “So tomorrow Ruby and I will spend a spa day at that lovely Serenity Glow spa downtown, and then you and I will have dinner, and the rest of my visit, I’m all yours,” my mother announces to me. “How does that sound?”
It sounds horrible. It sounds like the worst idea in the history of bad ideas.
It sounds like there’s no way for me to change my mother’s mind.
25
RUBY
For some reason, Paxton is being rude, weird, and distant, and it’s really ticking me off. Last night he sent me a cranky text saying, Do not encourage my mother.
I shot back an irritable reply. I’m not an idiot.
I’m a little nervous that she’ll quiz me about the relationship and I’ll slip up, but if she tries, I think I can just be vague and then change the subject.
She’s standing out front waiting for me at the Serenity Glow spa at ten a.m. when my cab pulls up, and she greets me with a kiss on both cheeks. “You will call me Margaret,” she says firmly.
The spa is pink stucco with a big gold-lettered sign. It just screams hoity-toity.
We are greeted by an attendant when we enter and directed to a changing room where we don silky-soft slippers and big fluffy robes that feel as if we’re being swallowed by clouds. We put our belongings in lockers and settle into comfortable chairs in a big, fragrant room. A staff member gives us each a menu of services to read over.
After a minute, Mrs. Saul glances up at me, puzzled.
“I must be reading this wrong,” she says to me. “It does not say a va-jay-jay facial, does it?”
I look over at what she’s reading.
“Apparently it does.”
She frowns at the menu board. “Okay, how does your hoo-ha get a facial? Do they not understand basic anatomy?”
I run my gaze down the long list of services they offer. “Apparently not. They also offer vaginal steaming.”
She looks deeply alarmed. “They better keep that steam away from my down-under.”
I burst out laughing. “Hoo-ha? Va-ja-jay? Down under? Mrs. Saul, I mean Margaret, will you say literally anything to avoid saying the word vagina?”
“My dear, I’m much older than you. In my generation, a lady did not say the word vagina. Oh, for heaven’s sake! You just made me say the word vagina! My grandmother is rolling over in her grave right now!”
She looks appalled for a moment, then bursts out laughing.
I join her as the attendant walks up to us. She’s a tall, slim Asian woman with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, wearing the pink-and-maroon scrubs that all of the employees here wear. She smiles at us. “Hello, my name is Junko. Did I hear you talking about the vagina facial? It’s one of our most popular treatments.”
“That’s a possibility. We’re still deciding,” I inform her with a serious expression. “Can you please list all of the treatments that you have available for the region that is located south of my belly button?”
Junko works that out in her head, and then nods enthusiastically. “There are so many. There’s the Vajacial, and the steaming that you were just talking about. There’s waxing.”
Mrs. Saul shudders.
“There’s pubic hair dying in a variety of colors. Imagine going home to your husband and your pubic hair is all the colors of the rainbow.” she enthuses.
“Yes, just imagine,” Mrs. Saul says, her expression perfectly serious. One corner of her lip quivers as she fights not to laugh, and it takes everything I have not to burst into giggles.
“There’s vattooing.”
“Ouch!” Mrs. Saul winces and crosses her legs.
“Oh, it’s just a temporary henna tattoo!” Junko assures her. And she continues on down the list. “There’s vaginal bleaching. Or, if you would like things to be a little more colorful, we can dye your labia a lovely pink. There’s hair extensions, if you’re getting a little sparse down there. We also have—”
