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“Aw, honey, okay, that’s fine,” Mom complains before sighing. “You still coming over soon?”
“I sure am,” I tell her. “I’m volunteering with Arielle a lot right now, but I’ll come over as soon as I can. I’ll let you know.”
“Good. I can’t wait to see you. We can play in the garden.”
Oh, no. Mom said ‘play’, and of course my phone’s voice controller’s still turned on. And with the nice speakers in my little bug of a car, my phone decides to start playing my book again.
I try to turn it off, but I’m in stop-and-go traffic and can’t seem to close it.
"What’s that? Is someone with you?” I can hear the interest through every syllable, the hope in her tone.
“Ah . . . just someone next to me, Mom. Their windows are down and they’re yelling into their phone, that’s all.”
“Oh, okay,” Mom says as I scramble to try and turn off the book without rear-ending the pickup truck in front of me.
I manage to hit a button, and thankfully, not the truck because that hitch would destroy my cute car, but it’s not the ‘stop’ button. Instead, I guess I hit the fast forward because my car fills with the sound of . . . oh, sweet Jesus.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck me, fuck me harder!”
“Riley, what is THAT?!” Mom screeches as the blood drains out of my face.
“Ah . . . sound file,” I reply, tapping the phone again, but nothing happens. “I had an . . . audiobook up.”
“She spasms underneath me, her sweet, silken pussy milking my cock of every last drop—” my radio continues, and I groan, my brain going into circuit overload. Why can’t I get this damn audiobook to stop?
Mom is on a roll. “I know you are a grown woman, but your choice of books could use work, Riley!”
Swallowing my pride and feeling my face burn, I grit my teeth. “Turn off Baby Daddy!”
The partial silence that fills my car is a relief until Mom sighs heavily, letting me know the call’s still connected.
“Mom, it’s just a—” I start, but she’s not having any of it.
“Riley, I thought I raised you better than that. To be driving while listening to . . . that,” she complains. “You could have gotten into an accident! And to think, what would you tell the police? Oh, I’m sorry, Officer, that I got into an accident. I was too busy listening to porn.”
It’s not porn. I know that, but there’s no sense in explaining to Mom. And as if that’s bad enough, she’s not done.
“Or worse, what if you were trapped in the car and they had to cut you out? You’d have that smut playing while they’re trying to help you. At least tell me you have on clean underwear?”
What is it with moms and clean underwear? Do they think people go around turning their skivvies inside out to get another day of wear? I certainly don’t, and even if I did, would the doctor in the emergency room notice as they cut my clothes from my body? I doubt it. Shoot, I’d probably pee myself if I did get in an accident just from shock and fear. And then no one would know if my pretty, lacy panties were fresh or not. So there, Mom.
But she’s right. Ugh. You win, Mom. “Mom, I know, I know! It’s just a book. Listen, I’m gonna let you go so I can focus on driving in embarrassed silence.”
“Okay, but we’re not done talking about this,” Mom says.
She’s wrong on that one. I’m never discussing this horrifying moment with her again. Once was too many times.
“Bye, Mom,” I say, not agreeing with her.
“Bye, honey. See you soon.”
Mom hangs up, and I sink into the seat, wishing a sinkhole would open in the road beneath me so I could fall even deeper into that. It’d make avoiding that future conversation with my mom that much easier.
Taking advantage of the clear lanes ahead of me, I hurry down the street to the Alex Lighthouse bookstore.
Parking in the lot, I take a moment to breathe deeply, trying to calm my pounding heart. It’s not just the embarrassing conversation with Mom but pure fear running through my veins.
Is this going to go okay? Is Mark going to be everything I’ve built him up to be?
I look into my makeup mirror, and I see scared, wide eyes looking back at me.
Taking a final steadying breath, I get out of my car and walk with determined steps toward the entrance.
The whiff of paper and air conditioning that hits me when I open the door helps. Alex Lighthouse is one of the last of a dying breed of bookstores, what Barnes & Noble used to be when they were at their peak, but better. There are overstuffed chairs everywhere, half of them filled even at this hour by bookhounds reading a little bit of everything, with quiet music filtering over everything to give the entire space a romantic, hushed importance. It’s the sort of place where you could spend an entire day and still feel like you want to come back the next day. This place is special.
