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How would she know what I’ve seen and what I haven’t? And suddenly it all clicks. Charlene wanting to try new things and then deciding against it. Charlene’s box of I thought I might toys. They were never her idea; I just didn’t realize that until now.
With her mother’s traveling sex shop lying all over the kitchen, I can see exactly how Charlene came to believe this is normal, expected even. Prior to this moment, it hadn’t occurred to that her mother might influence those choices, mainly because I’d believed she and her mom weren’t all that close. This alters my perception of the antics she often pulls, and I have to wonder if she only suggests half the things she does because she’s been brainwashed to believe I won’t want to have sex with her otherwise.
A phone buzzes from somewhere amid the sex toys on the counter, and Whensday moves things around until she finds it. “Oh my! I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to get going!”
Charlene helps transfer the toys into Ziplock bags, which her mom dumps into a small suitcase. I don’t offer my assistance until everything is packed up since this whole situation is uncomfortable enough as it is. I carry the suitcases out to the little RV. Charlene is extra skittish once we’re outside, close to the Winnebago. I might need to push for more information about the whole RV thing considering the way she keeps pulling at the collar of her shirt as I load her mom’s bags. Once I’m finished, I get a hug from her mother and head back inside so they can say their goodbyes.
I pace the kitchen for a minute, then peruse her fridge for something to drink. Charlene has wine, but it’s in a box. I’m not sure I’ve ever consumed wine in such a fashion, but I believe the conversation we’re about to have requires alcohol, so I retrieve two glasses from the cupboard and fill them. Generously.
A minute later Charlene returns. Her back is to me, so she hasn’t noticed me yet.
I don’t say anything as she stands there, facing the door, fingers flexing on the knob, the other hand at her throat. Eventually she turns, working the buttons of her blouse free.
“Shit!” she yells when she sees me standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the counter.
“I didn’t mean to startle you.” I hold out the glass. “Would you like some wine?”
Her lips flatten into a thin line, but she crosses the kitchen and grabs the glass. Some of the wine sloshes over the edge and lands on my foot, soaking my sock. She either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. She tips her head back and chugs the contents. A dribble of wine spills down her chin, and she swipes it away with the back of her hand.
“Your mother seems . . . nice.” Based on the glare I get, I’m not sure that was the best conversation starter.
“Really, Darren? That’s what you’re going with? My mom seems nice?” She steps around me and heads for the fridge. Wrenching it open, she pulls out the box of wine and slams it on the counter beside me. There’s a fine sheen of sweat on her brow and her neck. Her hands shake as she fills her glass and drains it, again.
As she fills it a third time, I would like to point out that it typically only takes her three glasses of wine to get a buzz, but I don’t want to make her more upset.
“I’m sorry.”
Charlene freezes with the glass halfway to her mouth. “What are you sorry about? That my mom is a lunatic? That you lied about your parents? That you tried to boss me around over text messages?”
I’m not sorry about meeting her mother. If anything, it gives me a much better idea of who Charlene is. But I’m also uncertain if I can explain fully what I am sorry about, so I address the parts of that question that I can. “I didn’t lie, and I was concerned.”
“Really? Because I’ve seen a picture of you with your parents, and neither of them looked like Cherry or Rod.”
“Rod and Cherry may have created me, but they didn’t raise me. My grandparents did. They actually adopted me.”
Her defiant, suspicious glare changes to confusion. “I don’t understand. You told me you were raised in a strict house that lacked affection, and privacy was not permitted. Those were your exact words.”
“And that is very much the truth.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were raised by your grandparents?”
“I didn’t think it was necessary.” I swallow down the panic that comes with being forthcoming about my family history. I’ve never told anyone about this. Not even Alex knows. Well, I’m sure he does now, but I’ve kept this terrible secret my entire life. Because it’s very much the reason I’m as fucked up as I am. And the reason for the NDA agreements. “Please come sit with me so I can explain.”
