“Fuck,” I grunt again, but this time it sounds a lot like hopelessness.
*****
A couple of hours later and I’m pulling into my mother’s driveway. I feel exhausted but I’m not surprised. It was an intense scene and I had to do a lot of mental Olympics to stay in the moment, and then afterward I gave Harley the aftercare she deserved, holding her in the shower as she leaned back into Miko’s touch while he washed her hair. I also noticed Miko needed a little aftercare too so I offered to give him a massage which I think helped him with his Dom drop. And then Harley had insisted on cooking and so I stayed for a late lunch, even though I was itching to get home. To check that Jessica was okay, that she’d done her physical therapy and that she wasn’t alone. as Mom was on call for a birth today.
I don’t like my sister being home alone, which is why I’m relieved when I see my mom’s car still in the driveway.
Taking my bags with me, I open the front door and am surprised to hear music blasting from upstairs. My mother is in the living room, sitting on the couch wearing her noise-canceling headphones with her legs folded under her. She’s reading a book, her reading glasses at the end of her nose and a highlighter poised in her mouth like it often is.
“Hey Momma,” I call out as I drop my bag and walk toward her. “What the fuck is going on upstairs?”
Seeing me, she slides her headphones off and they hang around her neck as she uses the highlighter as a bookmark.
“Taylor is over.” Mom shrugs. “They’re having fun.”
“That festival smuggler,” I tut.
Mom’s eyes narrow on me. “She’s the only one of Jessica’s friends who has actually stuck around. I’ll not hear a word against her.”
“Is she wearing a mask?”
“Of course she is. Don’t insult me or your sister.” It’s Mom’s turn to tut and it’s much louder and firmer than my own.
“So you haven’t been called out?”
Mom glances at the phone resting on her full stomach which is covered with one of her many linen smock dresses. My mom wouldn’t be my mom if she wasn’t floating around the house draped in loose linen, her graying locs piled on top of her head and the scent of patchouli and sage following her everywhere.
“Not yet, but I can feel it’s going to happen soon. The mother’s a Leo and Mercury has just started to retrograde in Leo so I’m ready for a possibly very eventful birth.”
Yeah, my Momma taught me about the stars growing up.
It’s why I’ve decided to not give too much attention to thinking about Maeve getting me to climax a couple of hours ago. I discovered from one of her videos that she’s a Cancer and I had a notification from one of the astrology sites I’m signed up to this morning about the new moon in Cancer. Considering Cancer is a Moon sign, that only increases the pull of the sign, especially over a Scorpio sun sign like myself, as connected as us Water signs are.
But while I’m a Scorpio sun, I’m also an Aries moon and a Taurus rising which means I can be focused and determined when I want to be, when I need to be, and right now I need to get this blonde Irish girl out of my head. All I have to do is put my mind to it, and put my mind to it I will.
“Let me go make us some food,” I say, my voice still pitched above the thumping noise coming from upstairs. It’s been a few days since I cooked for my mom and Jessica.
“Don’t go to any trouble.” Mom waves her hand around and looks like she’s about to stand up.
“I want to,” I say. “Sit down. Read. Fill your book with highlights.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” She leans back against the couch’s soft cushions. “You were just with Harley and Miko, weren’t you? How are they?”
I used to blush or mumble or feel self-conscious when my mom would make any reference to my work, but these days it doesn’t prompt any sort of weird reaction. I’ve never lied to my mother about what I do and she met Miko and Harley countless times when we were all together.
“They're good. Still at each other’s throats half the time.” I roll my eyes.
“It’s their love language.” Mom smiles softly.
“Fighting? Conflict? Being on-off and on-off again?”
“Research actually shows that people who fight a lot tend to be more in love than those who don’t.”
“Bullshit, Mom!” I declare.
“Not to mention how much arguing, and obviously the making up afterward, can increase sexual desire,” Mom says and is there any surprise I’m a sex worker and a sexual health and intimacy advocate when my mother has always talked to me like that?
“I’m not convinced.” I pull a face.
