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“Why? What happened? Are you okay?” She pauses while I study her face and try and figure out what’s going on. “No, we haven’t gone in yet. It’s fine.”
Mom glances at me and rolls her eyes, which only slightly eases my anxieties. Mom has been known for playing down the seriousness of medical emergencies, on occasion. I have vague memories of age five, when she insisted on waiting until after her show finished before taking my grandad to the hospital. It turned out he had suffered a pretty serious heart attack.
Luckily, he was okay—well, until he died six weeks later after choking on a Twinkie.
“Oh shut up, Alec. Of course I’m going to come to the hospital. I’d never hear the end of it if I didn’t.”
She turns to me and shakes her head. I smirk, feeling sorry for Dad, because somehow, I feel like he’s the one who’s not going to hear the end of it.
“What’s going on?” I ask her when she finally hangs up.
“Oh, it’s fine.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Your father insisted on trying to change the brake pads instead of calling the mechanic, like I told him to. Of course he ran over his foot and he’s pretty sure it’s broken in two places.”
I start the car up.
Mom looks at me in alarm. “What are you doing?”
“Driving you to the hospital, what does it look like?” I frown.
“No, you’re going in there.” She points to the club. “You can’t miss this. Jake would be crushed. It’s bad enough that I’m missing it. We can’t both not be there.”
I don’t have the heart to tell her Jake probably won’t care if she’s there or not.
“What about Dad—”
“He’s fine,” she says, waving her hand. “If he wasn’t so stupid and had just listened to me in the first place, then I wouldn’t be missing this, too, would I?”
“I guess not. Okay, so how are you going to get there?” I ask.
“I’ll catch a cab.”
“No way.” What kind of daughter would I be if I let my mother drive herself to the hospital, after my father broke his foot? “At least let me drive you over there.”
“Tell you what: you get out and I’ll give you the money to catch a cab home and I’ll take your car,” Mom suggests.
I hesitate.
“Go on, Becca,” she coaxes, knowing she almost has me. “It’s fine, I promise. It’s not going to kill you to have a few drinks and loosen up a little.”
I stifle a laugh. Only to Mom do I appear uptight.
“Fine,” I say. “But if you have any trouble at all, just call me and I’ll be right over there.”
“Okay, but I’ll be fine.”Chapter TwoBeccaMy heart flutters with anxiety as I march up the steps of Stripteeze and push through the heavy glass doors. After such a shitty day that has really affected my mood, I’m hoping for a fun night where I can just forget everything else.
The moment I spot Jake, my mood lifts a few notches. He’s surrounded by a group of his friends, who are chanting his name. I laugh when he turns to face me, because the hot pink wings and matching sash he’s wearing, that’s been embroidered with Pussy-Whipped, really suits him. Especially with the way he’s now waving at me like a maniac. All he’s missing is the wand and some fairy dust to really complete his look.
“Hey,” I say, when I reach him. I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him on the cheek. “That shade of pink really suits you.”
“You’re late.”
Jake narrows his eyes. I hand him the bag I’m holding, knowing that gifts make everything all right. How can you be angry at your best friend when she comes bearing a giant fist-shaped dildo?
“I know, I’m sorry, but I have a good reason.” I nod at the bag. “I had to stop for this. The fact that I went into a sex shop with my mother to get you that should be enough reason to forgive me,” I add in a hopeful voice.
“Speaking of, where is your mom?” he asks, looking around. “Didn’t she invite herself along?”
“No, she misunderstood your question and then you invited her,” I remind him. “But lucky for us, just as we got here, Dad called. From the hospital.”
“Holy shit, what happened?”
“He rolled the jeep onto his foot and Mom had to go pick him up.” I smile gleefully.
“And you look really fucking happy about that.” He chuckles.
“I’m not happy about the bit where Dad got hurt,” I say defensively. “Just the part where Mom isn’t going to be here to discover I hired a chick to shoot ping-pong balls out of her cooch and into your face.”
I cringe, because Mom, ping-pong balls, and cooch are words that never belong in the same sentence.
