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I rested my head back on the chair and closed my eyes for a minute. Even though it was still a few weeks away, I tried to picture how the dinner would go. We were all adults, so there was no reason to think this would be weird or become awkward. Right?
I think I was more nervous about meeting my mom’s new boyfriend, wondering if he was older or younger, if he made her happy. That was my main concern, because she deserved that, deserved to have a nice man who took care of her for once.
I reached over and grabbed a wine cooler, twisting off the cap and setting it aside. And then I tipped the bottle back and took a hearty drink of the strawberry-and-lime-flavored alcoholic beverage. Honestly, I probably could’ve used something a hell of a lot stronger.
I sat there for long moments, just staring at one of the neighbors in her back yard. She was sunbathing, wearing a skimpy little red bikini as she laid out her towel on her deck, slipped on her Jackie O. sunglasses, and proceeded to put her hair up in a messy bun.
I noticed how she kept looking over her shoulder, and I followed her line of vision to the house next door, where a big, burly man stood by a grill, smoke coming up from whatever he was cooking. He wore a white wifebeater, his biceps huge, his tattoos sporadically placed. He had his longer hair tied up in a bun, similar to the girl right next door. I also didn’t miss how he kept glancing over at her, trying not to be obvious, but he really was.
It was funny watching the girl primp before lying down, stretching out her arms above her head, her act of trying to be sexy for the neighbor guy pretty clear.
I could imagine what their lives together would be like, how they’d meet, what they’d say if they talked to each other. I assumed none of that had actually happened, given the fact that they seemed like they were too afraid to even say anything to the other.
She was getting his attention in a flashy, sexy way, and I had to give her props for that. She was taking charge of her life.
And then there was Mr. White Tank Top, trying to act like he didn’t notice her. But if I could tell he kept checking her out, no doubt she could as well. Women were intuitive that way.
I brought the wine cooler up and took another long drink. I was about to set it down on the little table beside me when I felt my cell vibrate. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw my mom’s face flash across the screen.
“Hi, Mom,” I said and watched as little Miss Red Bikini started putting tanning lotion on her arms and legs. At this point, White Tank Top was turned full around and facing her, a spatula in his hand and his mouth hanging open. I wanted to tell him to watch his meat, because the dark smoke coming up from the grill was starting to be reminiscent of an extinguished campfire.
“Hey, sweetheart. Just double checking that we’re still on for dinner.”
“Of course, but it’s still a ways away, unless you want to make it sooner?”
“No, no, same time is fine. I just want to make sure your schedule hasn’t changed. I’m excited for you to meet Trevor.”
Trevor. It was the first time she’d said his name. The name Trevor sounded young.
“Yup, still good to go.” There was a pause, and then I heard my mother start to giggle. Followed by the rustling of sheets and a distant, low, deep voice.
I sat up straight and felt awkwardness claim me.
Oh my God. Was my mother in bed with her boyfriend right now? Why did she think calling me was a good idea? Why was this my luck? Two uncomfortable sex situations in the span of an hour.
But I was not about to touch on that subject or bring it to light.
Knowing my mom was having sex was at the top of my list of hell nos. Probably the same way she didn’t want to know or think about me getting it on.
She started talking about what to bring, even though the dinner wasn’t for a while.
“Mom, we have a ways to go still.” I laughed softly.
“We need to be prepared, honey.”
She went right back to talking about whether to bring a dessert or side dish then started going on about all the things that might be good. And here I was worrying about how everyone would interact, and what her new beau would be like, and she was wondering whether to make a raspberry parfait or bring a cherry cheesecake.
Maybe I was overthinking this. Maybe I was worried for nothing. Maybe I just needed to pull the stick out of my ass and go with the flow, like my mom was apparently doing.
Because what was the worst that could happen?
Chapter Eleven
Sofie
A couple weeks later
Ipopped the cap off my lipstick and stared at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing it over my bottom lip first, and then the top. I had my hair in a low bun, little wispy strands framing either side of my face.
