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Leaving a job I loved was a huge risk, but when I walked into that lecture room on that very first day, I knew I’d made the right decision. It felt right, and not just because my professor was incredibly hot. Watching him perform chest compressions on that cat, I knew that was what I wanted to be doing. Any reservations I’d had about my career change being some kind of midlife crisis evaporated in that moment. I wanted it more than anything, and I was prepared to do whatever it took to get there—even if it meant moving back home.
Going home wasn’t a choice; it was a sacrifice I had to make in order to get what I wanted. I couldn’t work at the studio and study, because my scholarship required me to work part of my tuition off within the university. That left me with barely enough time to study as it was, without throwing another job into the mix. I didn’t love working in the president of the university’s office—technology and I have a love-hate relationship—but I didn’t have a choice. I’m pretty sure the president hates me, but I suppose I’ve given him good reason to, between wiping the entire system clean of all the mid-year results and forwarding his personal emails to the whole alumni. It took a lot of convincing that I wasn’t a terrorist, or a cheat. I was just a very talented klutz.Slowing down just before the exit to the freeway, I turn into the strip of shops where Sexytime Land is. If I’d known Mom was going to be running so late, I would’ve stopped here first. I park the car outside the drugstore, which is a few doors down, hoping I can fool Mom into thinking I’m going in there. It’s not that I don’t want her to know where I’m really going. I just don’t want her following me in there and embarrassing me, which is exactly what she’d do.
“Becca, is that a sex store?” Mom whispers. “Can we go in?”
“What? No. Well, it is a sex shop, but we’re not going in there. Isn’t it enough that we’re going to a strip club?” I grumble.
“Then what are we doing here?” she presses.
“I just need to go into the drugstore for a second,” I say, hoping she leaves it at that.
“What for?” she asks.
Jesus, is nothing off limits?
“Extra-large condoms,” I snap. “And something to get rid of this headache.”
The one forming at the thought of going into a strip club with my mother.
“Just stay here, okay?” I force myself to smile as I climb out of the car. “I won’t be long.”
I half expect her to follow me, but to my relief, she stays put. Increasing my pace, I stroll inside, wanting to get this over with as quickly as possible. I casually walk over to their expansive toy section, not embarrassed that I know exactly where it is. Embarrassing my friends is what I do, and nothing does it better than sex toys.
I frown as I try to decide which option to go with: the fist or the more traditional penis-shaped dildo. My concentration is interrupted when I hear an all-too-familiar voice calling my name. I cringe and poke my head around the side of the aisle. Sure enough, there’s Mom, flailing up and down the center of the store, calling out to me.
“Becca! There you are. How cool is this place?” She giggles. “It’s huge. Not like the pokey little back-room sex shops I’m used to. Then again, the last time I was in one was when your father and I got one of those—”
“Really not something I want to hear,” I growl, cutting her off.
She looks hurt. “But I thought we were friends.”
“Nope. We can never be the kind of friends who talk about this shit, because you’re my mother,” I reply. I sigh, knowing that I sound harsh, but I’ve put up with this kind of shit too many times. “You’re wonderful and you know I love you, but I’m sorry. I draw the line at anything that is going to scar me for life. Which, coincidentally, is pretty much everything that comes out of your mouth.”
She sniffs and lifts her head, like I’ve offended her. Probably because I have.
“You’re as bad as Midge,” she finally huffs. Midge being her ninety-three-year-old friend from church. “You should’ve heard her react when I suggested a swinger’s—”
“Mother! I’ll leave you here,” I threaten, glaring at her. “And what kind of church are you going to, anyway?”
“Being left here wouldn’t necessarily be a bad thing…” She giggles and glances around. “Can I be honest with you about something?”
Oh God, she’s whispering. This can’t be good. I’m terrified as to what is coming next.
“Uh—”
“The ceremony we’re having next weekend?” She cuts me off.
