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He’s either lying or men really are from Mars and women are from Venus.
Maybe he’s lying to be nice. Maybe you’re awful in bed and he doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.
Leaning into the locker room mirror to reapply my mascara, I mutter, “Never had any complaints in that area before.”
But the words aren’t comforting. It’s been a long time since I had sex with anyone on a regular basis and none of my boyfriends ever acted like I was anything special in that department. They never said no to a chance to get it on, but they never went out of their way to seduce me, either.
Maybe I’m doing it wrong, but everyone I’ve slept with has been too nice to give constructive feedback.
“Are you okay?” a young woman in a Golden Gophers t-shirt asks from behind me, catching my gaze in the mirror.
“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile.
“You just looked like you were…scared or something,” she says.
I let out a shaky laugh. “Well, there are lots of things to be scared of on the verge of thirty-one.”
The girl nods seriously. “Yeah, I already worry I’m turning into my mother. I can’t imagine what I’ll be like in ten years.”
Her words bring a real smile to my face. “Yeah, well, I got lucky there. My mom’s pretty great.”
“Lucky you,” she says, rolling her eyes as she lifts a hand. “See you around. Glad you’re okay.”
I am okay. And I know a way I can be even more okay.
Back on the road, I call my mom, putting her on speakerphone as I head south. She answers on the second ring with an excited, “Wren! What a nice surprise. Are you on a break at work?”
“No, I’m on my way to a conference,” I say. “I’m in the car for a while, so I thought I’d call and check in. How are you? How’s work and the walking club? The quilting circle? Is Tabitha still making you listen to Hamilton every time you meet up to sew?”
“Work is great now that tax season is behind us,” Mom says, the way she always does between May and January of every year. She’s a very upbeat accountant clerk. “And now Tabitha’s on a Tori Amos kick. Wren, that Tori is as talented as all get out, but has so many sad songs. They’ll just break your heart into pieces, I tell ya. Last week, three of us had to excuse ourselves to cry in the hallway. Pat is going to bring in a Paula Abdul playlist next time. That woman knows how to make some happy music.”
Already feeling better, I suggest they might want to try The B-52’s, too, and we move on to the latest news from the walking club. Mom only lives twenty minutes away, in a slightly smaller town than Bad Dog, but with international calling issues the past three months, we haven’t had a chance to catch up in a while.
I fill Mom in on my return to work and how Starling’s settling in, which prompts a worried noise from the other end of the line. “She texted yesterday that she lost her job,” Mom says. “She seemed happy about it, but I know she doesn’t have that much money saved up. Should I be concerned? Maybe send her a little something to tide her over?”
“I think she’ll be fine, Mom,” I say. “She’s picking up extra cash for watching Dr. McGuire’s new dog for him part-time and she’s doing so well at the Furry Friends Society. If the board votes to establish a permanent fundraising position, I’m almost positive she’ll get it.”
“Ah, so, Barrett got a dog?” Mom asks. I tell her a bit about the weird, but adorable, Keanu and Mom laughs. “Well, that’s great news. For Keanu and Barrett. He’s always seemed like such a lonely man. Sweet and smart as a whip, but lonely, even with that big family so busy around him.”
I chew my lip, kind of wishing Mom and I were the sort of mother and daughter who talked about steamy sex-capades with our bosses.
But Mom hasn’t dated since my dad left and the few times that I’ve tried to share more intimate things in the past, she always seemed uncomfortable. That just isn’t in her wheelhouse, but she is an excellent judge of character. She basically summed up what Barrett shared with me earlier this week in a few sentences, making me wonder if she might have more insights to share.
“Why do you think that is, Mom?” I ask. “Just because he’s an introvert in a family full of extroverts?”
“Maybe,” Mom says. “The older brother thing might play into it, too. You know yourself, older siblings tend to have more responsibility, more weight on their shoulders. And you only had one little sister to help take care of, not seven. The McGuires weren’t always well-off, you know. Back when Barrett was little, his daddy was still working handyman jobs. He hadn’t flipped houses or bought the hardware store yet, but he was busy all the time, trying to get ahead. I’m sure Barrett had to step in and fill his father’s shoes more than the younger boys ever did.”
