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After returning the diary to my bedside table, I strolled to the bathroom, and on impulse, I turned on the bath taps. I filled the tub to the brim, stripped off, and as I glided in, I allowed the warm, soapy water to soothe my weary body.
I closed my eyes and revisited the conversation I’d had with Lolly and Calvin yesterday afternoon. Twelve months seemed like a long time. But then again, January was already nearly over.
Could I really do this Memphis, naughty twin thing for one year?
I tried to imagine what my next forty-seven men may look like and what wonderful sexual adventures we would explore.
Twelve months? Fifty-two sexual experiences?
If it made me feel as good as I did right now, then hell yes, I could.
Chapter Eleven
My cell phone rang, and I squinted at my bedside clock and groaned. I only slept for three hours.
Groaning, I plucked my phone off the bedside table.
Only two people ever called me—Mom and Lolita.
I hoped like hell it was Lolly. It seemed that every time I spoke to Mom these days, one of us would be crying before the end of the call.
My heart sank when I saw the number on the screen.
Gritting my teeth, I pressed the answer button and forced nice into my voice. “Hi, Mom.”
“Jane, how are you?”
“I’m great. How about you and Dad?”
“We’re good.” And that was where the conversation stalled. Every call was like this. I checked the clock on my nightstand and pondered how long it would take this time before she asked me to come home.
Mom cleared her throat, and I knew it was coming. “Now, Jane, I want to ask you something, and I want you to think seriously about it before you answer.”
“I’m not coming home, Mom.”
“Jane Ann!” That was Mom’s angry identity for me. My middle name was only spoken in forceful tones and always produced a mental picture of my Aunty Ann, the woman I was named after, who had the biggest boobs in the world.
“Mom, I’m not coming home while Alexander and Chelsea-Lea still live in Mildura. I’ve told you that a dozen times.”
“Why are you so angry at them?”
I wanted to launch down the phone and tear her throat out. “Jesus, Mom, why don’t you get it? He had sex with dozens of women while we were engaged to be married,” I said, slow and robotic, spelling it out for her as if she were a child.
“That was over three years ago.”
Three years, three months. “And?”
“Well, don’t you think it’s long enough to move on?”
“I have moved on, Mom. That’s why I’m one thousand miles away living on the Gold Coast, and he’s still in Mildura.”
“But Chelsea-Lea was your best friend. You’ve been friends since you were born.”
“Which is exactly why the bitch should’ve stayed away from Alexander.”
“Don’t swear at me. What on earth has gotten into you?”
“I didn’t swear at you, Mom. I swore at . . .” I huffed, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not coming home, so please stop asking. It only leads to fights.”
