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“Emma? Where are you? Are you okay? Are you hurt?” That was so not the voice I wanted to hear while my boyfriend was going down on me.
Ever.
I sat bolt upright, my eyes wide. Simon noticed my panic and let go of my legs.
“It's my fucking mother.” I gritted my teeth. I stumbled around the bed looking for my dress. My sex ached for Simon's tongue to finish me off. So, so close. I was throbbing. Throbbing!
I finally spotted my dress and threw it on, just as mom walked into the bedroom. Simon sat on the edge of the bed, he at least had the decency to look embarrassed.
“Mom, hi.” I said breathless. I prayed my dress was not inside out or back to front. Mom looked back and forth suspiciously. I managed a smile and glanced at Simon, who was eyeing the floor sheepishly. “What a surprise.”
“I'll put coffee on, shall I?” She said with a raised eyebrow. She knew, oh god she knew. I glanced over at Simon. His shoulders shook uncontrollably with silent laughter as she left the room. I glared at him, failing to see how this was in any way funny. That just made things worse. He covered his mouth, trying to disguise the odd choke of laughter as a cough. He was not a convincing liar.
“I haven't been caught with a girlfriend by her mother since I was sixteen.” He gasped, still laughing. I shot him a look.
Still not funny.
Mom set the coffee in front of me. After a quick introduction, Simon had made excuses about having to leave. I took the cup, paying too much attention to the ribbons circling the cup. Anything to avoid the conversation I knew mom and I were about to have.
“How's Tom?” Mom asked pointedly. There it was. Mom's subtle way of prying into my love life.
“Tom and I are just friends. We have always been just friends.” I steadied myself for the usual barrage of unwanted love advice.
“Well that's not true. You two used to be joined at the hip.” Mom argued, her frown firmly in place with no intention of leaving. I sighed. This was going to be much harder than I thought. Mom loved Tom. Everyone loved Tom it seemed.
“Tom and I have only ever been friends.” I repeated. Slower this time. I don't know if mom noted the frustration in my voice, but she moved on.
“And your new friend? Simon?” I hated the way she said his name, like she'd just eaten a bad olive. “How does he fit into the picture?”
Oh god.
“He is a friend.” My palms lay flat on the couch. I pressed my hands down, as if trying to keep my composure. “A good friend, mom.”
“Right.” Mom nodded, pursing her lips. Finally, she got it. She looked stared hard at the window, as if taking great interest in the blue grey curtains that hung on either side. I hoped they weren't dusty.
She looked at me. She had the same expression Carol always gave me. Disapproval.
“I think I see what's going on here. How old is your new friend, exactly?” I took a breath. Here we go. I knew the age difference was going to be a problem for my mother. More of a problem than him being my teacher, not that she'd admit that.
“He’s thirty-eight, mom.” I said, shifting my feet under the chair. I hadn't realised how uncomfortable these chairs were. I thought about lying. He could pass for late thirties quite easily. Mom let out a horrified gasp.
“Emma, he is eighteen years older than you!” Mom was shouting by this point. I resisted the urge to cover my ears. Her voice was grating on my nerves. I could feel a headache forming in my temporal lobe. I gently rubbed at it, wishing I could somehow stop this entire conversation.
Why should I have to apologise for his age? I am an adult, capable of making my own decisions. “Did I mention he has a four year old daughter?” I said sweetly. I was viciously rubbing salt into the wound, but at this point I didn't care.
“Emma!” Mom gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. Tears sprung in her eyes. “You're turning into your grandmother!” I stared at her shocked, then I began to laugh. Soon I was laughing hysterically, then I was crying. Or laughing. I'm not sure. Mom sat, shell shocked by my behaviour. She was not the least bit amused.
She was speechless.
She stood up abruptly, gathering her bag and jacket. “I will talk to you when you have some more sense.” She spoke harshly, then marched to the door.
“Okay, but bring gran next time!” I called out to the slamming door. I couldn't resist. Gran would be on my side. I'd have to keep Simon away from her though. I wouldn't put it past her to try something. I texted Simon. We had unfinished business to attend to.
Chapter Eighteen
Two hundred and fifty seven. That was the number of little roses that ran around the trim on the ceiling of my bedroom. I knew this because I'd spent the past two hours counting them. I hadn't slept well. Too many thoughts racing through my mind. Too many thoughts to try and process. Today was the parole hearing.
I glanced at Simon, asleep next to me. The cream sheet was draped over his lower back, his leg exposed. The blankets were pooled at the foot of the bed, a sea of blue and green.
