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“Did you do all of this for me?”
“No, Kent,” she deadpanned. “I have a gentleman caller coming over in five minutes. The place has practically turned into Sodom and Gomorrah since you left.”
I sat across from her, stretching a napkin over my lap. “It would be okay if you did.” I took a bite of bacon and had to stifle the moan as it crept up my throat. Aside from the meatloaf she’d made the night before, it had been months since I’d eaten anything other than scrambled eggs. The flavor felt like tiny explosions on the tip of my tongue.
“I could say the same about you.” She tapped the table, her way of getting my attention any time I’d been unruly during a meal as a child. I looked up, straightening my shoulders out of habit. “I just want you to be happy, baby. Find you a nice husband one day.”
If I was being honest, her support still felt foreign to me. In my absence, she’d practically turned into a model PFLAG mother, a stark contrast to my upbringing. Though she’d shown her acceptance regularly since my exile, I still felt like if I acknowledged it—if I showed my appreciation for her acceptance—she would rip the rug out from under me, and start quoting Leviticus.
I nodded, cutting into my omelet and dipping it into a dollop of sour cream.
“There’s a man working at the dress shop with Elmyra Foote. He’s just dying to meet you. He was practically champing at the bit.”
“Oh, no you don’t.” I picked up the butter knife that was sitting beside my plate and pointed it in her direction. “Never again. Not after last time.” I cringed at the memory of the man my mother had sent to Georgia to woo and wow me. Over a tragic meal at a secluded Atlantan bistro, he had succeeded in neither.
“He’s such a sweet soul, Kent. You didn’t even give him a chance.”
“He was seventy-six, and he smelled like mothballs and formaldehyde,”
“He’s forty-four, and he’s a mortician.”
“That’s disgusting, and everything about that sentence offends me,” I said, stabbing a piece of bacon with my fork. “He kept asking me if I’d put any thought into my funeral needs. I’m pretty sure he was trying to kill me just so he could get the commission.”
“Be that as it may,have yougiven any thought to your funeral needs?”
I popped a strip of bacon into my mouth. “Is that how you roll now, Mom? Invite me back just to knock me off and collect the insurance check?”
She shrugged her shoulders and stared down at her plate. “Well…”
“Bully for you. The life insurance went out the window with the fancy job.”
My mother, ever the showman, stood up from her chair and walked around the table. She reached down and swiped a strip of bacon off my plate, cramming it into her mouth and chewing obnoxiously. “Should probably watch your cholesterol then,” she said, sending bits of half-chewed bacon flying across the dining room as she returned to her chair. “I’ll be at work until four today. I tried to take off so that we could have some time together, but Dottie called me last night and said that her cat wasn’t doing too well. She thinks today might be the day.” Mom sighed. I knew how hard euthanasias were on her. As a receptionist, it wasn’t in her job description to stay in the room, but it didn’t surprise me that she did. She was a natural caretaker. Without me to dote on, she’d doled out her affection to grief-stricken pet owners. “I hope you don’t mind. We’ll have all the time in the world to catch up, won’t we?”
“It’s fine. Don’t worry.”
“I knew you’d understand. My little prince and his heart of gold.” Sliding her plate away, she looked at me, her smile fading. “I don’t want to be pushy. I know you’ve just gotten home, but when I was in the Pick-n-Save the other day, I saw a help wanted sign. The manager said they’re short-staffed. I thought you might put in an application. Just something to get you out and about. It’s not a hotel chain vice president position like before—”
“Director of Finance,” I corrected her.
“But it’ll get you back into the land of the living.”
“I made six figures last year. I think I’m a little overqualified to be a checkout boy,” I said, taking a sip of orange juice.
“Six figures? Tell me, how many figures are you making right now? There’s nothing wrong with being a checkout boy or a shelf-stocker. Honest work is honest work.”
I gaped at her, and then I said nothing because she had a point.
“Listen, sweetie, if the Pick-n-Save isn’t something that sounds like a good fit, that’s fine. But I want you to put in a bit of effort. Print off a few resumes and just work your way around town. You’ll be tired after your trip, so you can take today to relax, but tomorrow I think you ought to give it a shot.”
“I’ve already told you, I’m not staying. I’m not moving home, Mom. This is just a quick trip, remember? Until I find the next job. I’ve already been applying to places in Dallas and Houston.”
“And until you find something there, I’d like you to find something here. You’ve been alone in that condo of yours for seven months, honey. It’s not good for you. I know you’re embarrassed, but you don’t have a thing to feel ashamed about. So you had a few glasses of wine and accidentally sent…” She swallowed. “An explicit photo of your whosits and whatsits to the entire company’s directory. So what?”
My eyes bulged. She swore she wouldn’t do this. “You said you’d never bring it up again. You promised.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s not like you meant to do it on purpose like some deviant. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
I almost choked on my tongue. I’d sent a picture of my penis—sheathed in a festive Christmas sock with the words Ho, Ho, and Ho scrawled down the length of it—to over fifteen-hundred employees during a drunken sexting session. What was I supposed to feel? Pride? Even worse, the intended recipient had been a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the only man I’d ever loved. I was pretty sure the guy had been a catfish, but I’d still gone along with it, hoping against hope that it was myTwo-liter.That he’d finally found an ounce of courage. That he’d finally come to findme.
