Page 8 of Something like Desire

“Gemini.”

Maren’s eyebrows knit together and she massages her temples. “Oh boy,” she says. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for.”

“It isn’t that bad, is it?”

“Your mom’s an Aquarius and he’s a Gemini, and you don’t think that’s bad?!”

“Wait, what part of that is bad?” I say, trying not to freak out. “You know I don’t know shit about astrology, Maren!”

She blinks quickly like she’s surprised this information isn’t common knowledge, even though we’ve been best friends for eighteen years.

“Well, for starters, they’re both adventure seekers. They usually have great conversations. And their sex life? Just... please don’t even ask me to comment on that. But I will say this—it’s kinky.” She almost says more, but instead just cringes and rubs the back of her neck.

“I see,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “Well, I hope your astrological reading is very wrong this time.”

Maren sighs quietly. “When is it ever wrong though, Lexi? It’s not my interpretation—these arefacts. The laws of astrology. It’s literally written in the stars.”

There’s no point in arguing with her about this—I’ve tried before with zero success—so I don’t bother replying. I just go back to spying.

A few minutes of silence pass as we watch them finish their meals and start the cuddling and caressing again, talking constantly like they’ve known each other forever, until I finally ask, “What do you think they’re saying to each other?”

“Hmmm,” Maren pulls her long curls into a bun on top of her head and watches them for a few seconds before grimacing slightly. “I just upset you... are you sure you want me to guess?”

I nod solemnly. “I can take it.”

Nicholas drapes an arm around my mom.

“Baby, I can’t wait until not just my arm is around you but my legs are straddling you too, if you know what I mean,” Maren says in a deep husky voice, kind of like what you may expect if you were feeling lonely one night and called a phone sex line, which is how I also would expect sleazy-looking Nicholas to sound.

“Oh honey buns, I can’t wait,” Maren says in a high-pitched voice, which sounds a lot like my mom when she’s excited about something—like half-price paper towels or new episodes of a gardening show.

I watch in horror as my mom slides off her chair and onto his lap. Maybe Maren has some spot-on lipreading skills that I didn’t know about.

“I don’t think I can wait until we get to the car,” Maren continues squeakily. “Take me right here, big boy, right now. Whip it out.”

“Okay!” I cry, nudging her. “I get it.”

“I knew you weren’t ready for it,” Maren says softly, shooting me an apologetic glance. “I probably should have done the PG version.”

We watch in silence for another twenty painful minutes, observing their playful and seriously flirtatious body language, until they finally signal for the bill and Nicholas pays.

They stand and amble toward the door, hand in hand.

“Quick,” I say, and Maren and I duck down in our seats, which we probably don’t have to do because Nicholas hasn’t met me, and my mom has the observational skills of a goldfish. I wait a few seconds, then peek out the window and see Mom and Nicholas strap on helmets and get on his motorcycle. She’s seated behind him, with her hands gripping his waist and a goofy grin on her face. My parents’ Toyota Camry stays behind, parked near the road, like a forgotten hunk of metal. “I hope they’re going to see a movie,” I groan.

“I’m sorry, Lexi, but I doubt it.” Maren starts the engine and pulls out of the parking lot, staying a few cars behind Nicholas’s ride.

On Cedar Glen Road, Nicholas turns on his left blinker and bile instantly rises in my throat. “Oh shit,” I whisper at the sight of the flashing neon sign down the road. They’re heading for Heart Hotel. The pink building is an eyesore in the otherwise respectable neighborhood. It’s the sleaziest hotel I’ve ever seen. Think rent by the hour, with rose petals on the bed, mirrors on the ceiling, and a heart-shaped Jacuzzi tub. I know because I used to go get action there the summer after high school when I first lost my virginity. No one goes to Heart Hotel foranythingother than getting laid.

“Sorry,” Maren says softly, resting a warm hand on my forearm. “This looks like a sealed deal.”

Nicholas goes to the front office and comes back with a key, and Mom follows him—practically skipping like a child on her way to a birthday party—to a room on the second level. Talk about sex-hungry. This is mortifying in every sense of the word.

Maren and I listen to Nirvana’s entireNevermindalbum and Maren downs the Stakeout Stash: three 7-UPs, a bag of gummy bears, four chocolate bars, and two packages of Twizzlers. I would have joined her in the feast, but my appetite vanished right around when my mom and Nicholas started feeding each other at the restaurant.

I search Spotify for Limp Bizkit and grunt along with “Break Stuff,” getting more and more amped up for The Confrontation. When Mom and Nicholas are done acting like horny teenagers and finally leave the room, they better be ready for the wrath of Lexi. I’m going to read them the list I made in my phone’s notes app:Twenty Ways That You’re Ruining Lives.

By the time the door actually opens, my willingness to confront them fades because they come out wrapped up in each other’s arms—all smiles and slowly ambling across the parking lot. Mom’s glowing as brightly as the hotel’s gaudy sign, and her grin lights up her entire face. I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t think she could smile that much—and just like that, all my anger gives way to this hollowness, this realization that things really might never go back to how they used to be.