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“Oh yes, Mom more than Dad. But they both lost it. I just told them it’s not reversible so I can’t do anything about it now,” she says with a shrug. She was always more fearless than I was. While I craved their approval, she didn’t care what they or anyone else thought about her. Especially about her tattoos.
“I got some new ink.” I show off my shoulder, slipping down my sweaters sleeve.
“WHOA! That’s sick. It’s our birth flowers like you wanted to get, right?”
“Yup,” I say proudly.
“Damn that must’ve set you back a ton, I can only imagine with New York prices.” She admires the tattoo but I can’t blame her for wondering about the cost. She knows I’m a struggling college student, I mean that’s why I told her I was living with my girlfriend so quickly.
“Dylan actually bought it for me, like a present,” I admit.
“Shit, I need me an older woman if they’re going to be gifting tattoos.” She chuckles.
“Oh shush, you have your hands full with my pride and joy.” I smile.
“Yes, Leanne is doing well. She kept asking why she couldn’t come and I tried to explain it was a grownups trip.” Reagan laughs.
“All right, come on, let’s go show you the city.”
We head right for the restaurant, taking the scenic route which includes Reagan’s first time on the subway and her second time in a cab. The restaurant is packed but Dylan managed to get us a reservation so we walk right in almost like royalty.
Reagan catches me up about things at home, which for the most part are the same. Except my brother’s dating someone and it seems to be pretty serious because they got engaged fairly quickly. Reagan seems to have some opinions about that, but as long as Ryan’s happy then I don’t think we should judge how quickly things transpired.
“So, what about you, how did you and Dylan meet?” Reagan asks, and I almost choke on my steak.
“It’s complicated,” I start. “Umm…”
Reagan looks at me confused and I hate lying to my sister. It is one thing to lie over the phone about things. But sitting here, face to face, feels so different. I just can’t bring myself to lie again, so I don’t.
“I need to tell you something.”
“What’s going on? You look like you’re going to puke.”
“Dylan isn’t really my girlfriend. At least, I don’t think she is.”
“What? Then who is she?” Reagan looks at me, confused again, and I struggle to find the words to explain. What are we? I couldn’t explain that even if I wanted to.
“She hired me to be her fake girlfriend after I went on some dates with her while I was working, being an escort…” I whisper. Reagan’s eyes almost pop out of her head as she takes in everything I’m saying. She puts down her fork and knife and crosses her hands, as if she’s praying. But it’s Reagan so I know that’s not the case.
“Please say something,” I whisper.
“You were a hooker?” she whispers back, horrified.
“I was an escort, there’s a difference.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Escorts go on dates, hookers get paid for sex. And I believe we should be calling them sex workers, not hookers.” I am trying to be politically correct but my sister looks at me like I have ten heads.
“I’m just so confused.”
“So why are you living with her and why am I staying there if she’s one of your workers?”
“Well, honestly things are a little complicated right now.”
“Please explain.” She picks up her utensils and starts eating again at least.
“Well, we’ve been having sex which obviously complicates things so now I don’t know if I’m still working for her or if we’ve crossed a line that can’t be erased. We’ve both been too afraid to bring anything up and I don’t know what to do,” I admit. Damn, it feels good to get this all out off my chest.
